#burn so slow neither of them knew it was on fire

[shrillow]

Winter Flowers - Ch 3

sylus x reader; dragon!sylus x human sacrifice!reader

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

NSFW: gore, smut, cunnilingus

You spend the winter in the dragon’s lair. 

At first, neither of you seem to know what you’re doing. Where to start.

Shall he begin with the dead languages of a people whose last descendants no longer walk the earth? Will he show you the fashions of the world? Should he recount the doctrines of the hundred religions he knew? Perhaps he still possesses those old star maps which sailors once used to brave the seas?

In the end, Sylus begins with a story. Many stories. Whatever your hand brushes—an instrument, a piece of furniture, a weapon—he unravels its history with the steady, patient rhythm of his voice.

“It was an heirloom passed down through a royal bloodline that ruled two thousand years ago . . .”

“The fae believed that sword was forged by a sun god when he was banished to the mortal world . . .”

“This was a popular instrument used for herding sheep. You place your fingers over these holes and blow here . . .”

From sunrise to sunset, the dragon recalls the stories of things with eidetic precision. To your delight and amazement, Sylus has a seemingly limitless memory. And despite the spontaneous nature of your lessons, the dragon is a surprisingly good teacher.

“Only because you’ve proven yourself to be a prodigious student.” The affection laced through his words softens his smug grin.

You blush and bury your nose back into the astronomy text you’re translating.

Nights in the cave are your favorite, for you and dragon select a book from his expansive collection and read together.

Sylus’ tail loosely curls around you while you decipher a collection of mariners fables. Something about a sea serpent who’s hunting a group of sailors after they stole a legendary treasure from it—a brooch? The interpretation is frustratingly vague.

It’s slow work, and the ink has either faded or smeared, but you persevere through the ages it’s endured to be read by you.

The dragon corrects you occasionally, but otherwise is content to rest his head in your lap.

Through the night, your voice fills the cavern, drowning out the winter noise. So engrossed in the book, you don’t notice when Sylus grows quiet.

You glance down to see if he fell asleep, only for you to catch him staring at you. His gaze is honey in the light. Skin like the golden shade of the wheat fields. Even his silver hair seems to catch fire and all his sharp edges are burned down to something tender.

You have not touched each other since the rut, and you dare not now. Why would you? You are not his mate.

Oh, but it’s moments like these, where time turns to liquid and the earth quiets until it’s just your and the dragon’s hushed murmurs, when you want to melt into him and never leave.

How long can you pretend? At least one more night.

“Why’d you stop?” he murmurs, “Are you bored?”

You shake your head. “I just lost my place.”

Sylus lifts himself up, and you mourn his closeness until he gently grasps your hands beneath the book. “Would you like me to take over?”

You ignore the way his thumb circles your knuckles. “Only if you teach me the rest tomorrow.”

His next words leave a dull ache in your chest.

“I’ll teach you everything I know.”

So as the world darkens to its last season, and the snow quietly gathers outside your alpine sanctuary, you and the dragon weave a tapestry of the universe, of everything that once or continues to sleep below the ageless stars.

Sometimes, your mind wanders back to the village. To your siblings and father. To Tara. Not because of some longing for those sleepy huts and worn fields. Only because that is the nature of memory, and as all these treasures that pass through your searching hands inevitably remind you of them.

“Tara would love this.”

You flip through a manuscript on herbology, searching for a more effective salve for Sylus’ injuries. You recognize only a handful of the plants mentioned, Tara would know at least half.

Sylus’ tail flicks out. “Who?”

“My friend,” you elaborate, “She’s a healer. She knows every plant in the valley, when they grow, which ones work together and which don't.”

You grind the dried herbs Tara had stuffed into your bag before you left. She’d almost given you her entire stash, even though those same plants would not be seen again until spring. You're grateful for her generosity as you peel back the dressing and gently clean the dragon’s wounds.

His injuries are surprisingly slow to heal. It may be weeks yet until his full strength returns. You suspect it is due to whatever magic the bounty hunters used to subdue him. The very thought makes your blood boil every time.

“Why were those men after you?” you ask Sylus. You force your hand to steady as you apply the new salve.

He tries to look over his shoulder at you, only to pull at the stitching. “Ngh. I thought you would’ve guessed by now, sweetie.” He holds up a bloody bandage. “Healing blood, remember?”

The answer does not sit well with you.

“And the collar?”

“Useless runes and mage tricks,” he sneers, “I’ve broken every one they’ve put on me.”

Images of the dragon collared flash through your mind. You’re extra gentle when you clean around his neck. “How often do they come?”

“A couple times a century.” He shrugs. “It’s to be expected. Dragons are a valuable commodity.”

Your hands pause over his skin. “What do you mean?”

“Our blood heals. Our scales make excellent armor. Witches use our tears to brew love potions.” You stare at him horrified. Sylus just smiles. “I was once told our livers are boiled to a paste to reverse one’s aging.”

“You’re just messing with me now.”

“I haven’t even gotten to my best parts.” His eyes take on a sudden, unmistakable heat. 

Only Sylus would joke about something like that. Regardless, your face starts to burn.

Sparks fly from his mouth when he laughs. “It’s nothing to worry about, sweetie. They would have to kill me first, and I’m very difficult to kill.”

Perhaps it’s the trick of the light, a dance of shadows, but the red veins on his chest catch your attention as he heaves with laughter. You swear that they have shifted closer to that hollow above his heart.

Difficult, you worry, but he never said impossible.

-

You and Sylus discover your affinity for music.

He presents you with a zither, a fiddle, hand drums, and panpipes. He gifts you sheet music and ancient canvases depicting grand banquets so you can study the hand placements of the musicians who were painted into the scene.

Most of the time, however, you learn by trial and error, copying from the simple melodies you learned in childhood. You hum those tunes to yourself, plucking at your pipa until you strike the right notes.

“You have a good ear,” the dragon compliments, “have you played before?”

“No, but I sing,” you tell him, “mostly to calm the herd. My father played the lute, but it broke and he never bothered to fix it.”

Your focus drifts to the pipa in your hands. A couple strings are missing, but with some tuning, the remaining ones ring out clear and strong.

“Do you miss him?”

You stare at Sylus. He works on a strange contraption, various tools and something he calls a magnifying glass sprawled before him.

You follow your father across the hills as he plays a tune to guide the flock back to the village for shearing and butchering. You listen to his easy strumming as you fall asleep by the hearth. You hear its strings snap under your brother’s young fingers.

“Not in the way I should,” you say.

Sylus looks up. “There’s no wrong way to miss a person.”

“Is there someone you miss?”

The question catches both of you off guard. 

“Sorry,” you amend, looking away, “I shouldn’t pry.”

Sylus doesn’t say anything at first. He fidgets with the object, turning it over and over while silence permeates between you.

“The music stopped,” he observes, “could you play it again?”

A few days later, you find the device he was working on in your room. It’s a mechanical bird, with articulating metal wings and a beak that can open and close with a twist of a gear. Its eyes are the same shade as yours.

-

Tell me what you desire.

His eyes are fountains of truth, pouring with the ageless, nameless, and forgotten. Waiting for some soul to drink from its waters.

Take what you want.

Is it that easy? You open your hands and feel them grow heavy with the weight of this world.

Do you want more?

You bring your hands to your mouth and sate yourself until you are bursting.

Poetry, music, medicine, dragons.

How strange to think that you were scared to plunge beneath the surface. What might you find? What might you unleash? Only to find that it is a bottomless well; the more you consume, the deeper it becomes.

Not all of it is good—of course it’s not.

War, disease, tyrants, curses.

You recognize the beauty, the cruelty. And as any true glutton, you drink more in the hopes of understanding it.

Selfish girl.  Your mother's ring leaves a scar on your cheek as she strikes you. Wanton daughter.

When Sylus offers you starlight from his hand, you hesitate.

“I thought dragons were possessive creatures.”

“I was unaware that generosity would damage my reputation," he quips, “Won’t you at least try this on for me, Dear Shepherd?”

Shimmering diamonds of various sizes are fastened to a silver chain. Fractals of light splash onto the walls. Only the river that passes through the valley has sparkled so magnificently.

“We don’t wear jewelry in the village.”

Jenna’s pendant dangles near your face as she reads to you. You watch your reflection in its scarlet body. Your village boasts no riches and disdains all vanity. But Jenna—

It is her greatest treasure. It is her only treasure. Yet, sometimes you catch her grasping the pendant like a knife to her chest.

Sylus considers you for a moment, a small cluster of lights glint in his eyes. “Then it’s a good thing we’re not in the village.”

Sylus turns you around. His breath caresses the back of your neck as he secures the necklace. “There,” he breathes, “beautiful.”

Your mouth is painfully dry. “It’s heavy.” 

“Beauty should not be taken lightly.” His hand twitches—you think he’s going to touch you—but Sylus bends down instead, hovering over your shoulder like an owl.

“It’s yours if you want it.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” His gaze drinks you in. “This was once a betrothal gift. A man promised his beloved that he would fashion a necklace from the heart of a star.”

“Very romantic,” you hum, “but was the price worth it?”

“I’m sure the star didn’t mind,” Sylus reassures, “they don’t have feelings, after all.”

One beauty for another. The whole earth is merely an appetite to satisfy. What are you within ouroboros’ hunger? The eater or the eaten?

With the dragon looking at you the way he does, you feel like you are both.

-

Your chamber slowly fills with trinkets.

New bedding, chests full of garments, bronze mirrors, all sorts of musical instruments, and towers of books.

"Even the greediest dragon would be impressed by your hoard," Sylus comments, but he never asks for anything back. Nor does he demand for something in return.

You understand sacrifice. You are descended from those who brokered a deal with an ancient power and irrevocably bound your fate to him thereafter. He is owed your soul, your body. And yet . . .

You stand beside Sylus before a grand tapestry.

“What is this?” you ask him.

“The world,” he replies, “at least some of it.”

Your mouth falls open. Continents and oceans are rendered from thousands of dyed threads. Even the borders are lined with gold patterning. Artistic portrayals of various plants and creatures fill the bare spaces. Foreign words hover across specific parts of the map.

“Where are we?”

“Not here,” he says.

You trace your hand down the old weaves, frowning at his words. “Did my people come from these lands?” As you examine map, your attention catches on a set of words floating above a strange looking animal. “What does this say?”

A strange expression crosses his face. “‘Here be dragons.’”

You realize the creature beneath the words is supposed to be a dragon, but it’s no dragon you’ve ever seen. Triple-headed, slavering, and grotesque. No expense was spared in portraying the dragon as a beast.

“You’ve been alone a long time, haven’t you?”

He doesn’t deign you with a response.

He claws at his skin. He fights against a fever that will ravage his body until all he knows is the mark that claims you as his. You have never known a creature more hateful towards its own nature. He told you several times that you could leave; you think he wishes you did, but not for the reasons you think. 

“Sylus,” you choose your next words carefully, “Why did you make the deal with my ancestors if you were just going to let us go?”

A stillness ensnares the both of you in a kind of limbo, tethering you to a precipice you’re not sure you would survive.

“Do you think I would force you?” His voice is the current in the air before a lightning strike.

You aren’t under any delusion that he isn’t capable of violence, however, you’re not prepared for his anger—

No. Not anger.

His body is coiled tight, brow furrowed and eyes so dark and red like gaping wounds. When your hand searches for his, he retreats as if you are a pair of dancers forbidden from touching.

“Of course not,” you tell him, meaning it.

You think he might answer you, but then he hesitates, and you know you’ve lost him. “Then you need to stop.”

His words feel like a brand.

“If you don’t,” he continues, “you’re not going to like the answers.” 

-

Sylus doesn’t talk about what happened. Neither do you.

The dragon speaks in offered books and mechanical gifts, through muted smiles and old literature.

His quiet touches lessen. His lingering gaze fades.

You hold your silence like a noose around your neck.

You miss the Sylus who clutched you in the dark, helpless with need. Who kissed your scars and named you huntress. Who could not pretend that he was a thing without feeling. 

Only in the secret hours after midnight do you let yourself imagine tiptoeing into his chamber and slipping into his nest, allowing his body heat to close around you like a summer day.

From outside, just before sleep catches you in that lovely dream, you hear the baying whine of something suffering, some creature dying.

-

The weather eases; you explore the mountains with Sylus.

He shows you glades that hide the best views of the valley. He takes you to waterfalls from which you drink the freshest water you’ve tasted. You meander through the woods at sunset when the light turns the snow pink and orange. You can see the lake and a herd of caribou making their way across the open plains. You’re too far away to be of any concern to them. Meanwhile, the dragon ambles by your side, scoffing at your jokes and flicking snow at you.

You ask him no more questions about the past. It turns to smoke when Sylus’ eyes settle on you. He plucks a winter camellia and threads it into your hair. 

“I’ve read about this before,” you say as you gather twigs and start weaving a crown.

His eyes flash. “Oh?” 

“A knight gives a flower to a princess.” You creep toward him until your coats brush and your breaths mingle in the cold air. “She tells him to take her back to the palace . . .”

His tail brushes your leg. “And?”

You toss the crown onto his horns. “Then she asks him to make her mooncakes!”

Sylus’ laugh echoes wonderfully through the mountains. You wish you could bottle the sound.

He brings you out in the evening when the skies are clearest, and he points out all the constellations.

“To the west is the Tortoise, it shares a star with the Old Fisherman. And over there—a bit higher—is the Tiger and the Crane . . .”

You stay up well into the night listening to the dragon spin tales from memory. With his head tilted to the heavens—face open and white hair glowing with the light of the full moon—it reminds you strangely of Tara.

You shiver as a sudden gust barrels up the mountain.

“Cold?” Sylus brings his coat tighter around you. With a snap of his fingers, a flame flickers to life in his palm.

“Thank you.” You sigh at the warmth. “That’s a pretty neat trick.”

Sylus hums in agreement, though his mood turns melancholic. “I learned it from a witch.”

“That’s something you needed to learn?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Dragons are creatures of magic. All magic is a matter of patience,” he explains, “and will.” A hesitant smile begins to form. “I believe you have much of both.”

Your heart flutters. “Do you really think . . . ?”

Sylus stares at you incredulously. “You could call down the stars if that is your desire.”

There’s that look in his eyes—an unwavering intensity you’ve only seen glimpses of since the rut—before it’s gone again.

“Besides, it’s a useful skill to know when you leave,” he goes on, “people will be disinclined to mess with a girl who can wield fire.”

-

You don’t notice it at first. How can you, when you spend every day with the dragon?

You are removing the last of Sylus’ bandages when you realize how dull his scales have become.

After that, you notice everything else.

There are bruises under his eyes when he reads to you at night. His hair has lost its luster. The red veins on his chest glow brightly as if inflamed.

Valley-born that you are, you’re unfamiliar with the signs of starvation.

His indifference vexes you. It terrifies you.

You’re paranoid that Sylus will disintegrate from your very touch. You are one sleepless night away from wringing all his dreadful secrets from his throat.

Fear. What a violent animal.

The dragon guards his silence and pretends that nothing is wrong.

-

You watch him with his automatons, tinkering away at their intricate joints and handmade gears. You follow the curve of his back as he hunches over his worktable, lost in his craft. It’s so human. 

You can’t help but stare at his profile. His lips are slightly parted; you want to rediscover the shape of them, find common ground between soft skin and stilted breaths. The light behind him casts a golden halo around his head. It reminds you of sunsets in the valley, how the mountains’ silhouettes are carved from the brilliant hues of a dying sun.

How beautiful. How unreachable.

Although you’re grateful for everything he shares with you—the more you learn about the world, the more questions you have about the dragon himself.

How did you learn this? Where did you acquire it?

Why did you come here? Why do you remain?

The answers to your questions cannot be found in a book.

You pore over mythology texts, bestiaries, religious anthologies, and epic poems. All are more or less the same.

An evil dragon terrorizes a kingdom; a monster kidnaps the princess; a winged serpent tricks the hero into killing his beloved. 

You open a hunting manual on a whim, but immediately regret picking it up.

‘A dragon’s underside is the softest part of their body. As such, make your first incision under the jaw. Continue slitting around its mouth, then down the stomach. Now, you can begin peeling back its skin—’

The words sink into your flesh like rot. You slam the book shut.

You think you know why Sylus has been alone all this time. Why he will always be alone.

-

The dragon is not yours.

Stitch stitch stitch.

Yet, he comes to you when his wounds have torn open. You strip off his ruined cloak and don’t question it.

He has given you—books, tools, jewelry, and music. He has given you himself in the only way he can.

It’s enough it’s enough it’s enough.

You thread a needle through his skin. It feels like sacrilege.

His long fingers grasp your shaking hand, warm and unafraid. It feels like worship.

“You could never hurt me.”

A dragon’s roar is swallowed by the violent storm. Nothing warm-blooded can survive the cold.

The spot beneath your ear tingles.

“Sometimes I want you to hurt.” 

His gaze does not waver. “I won’t stop you.”

Tell me of your shame, you want to say to him, as I have told you mine.

“Are you dying?”

“If only fate were that kind to me.” His mouth twists into a mockery of a smile that quickly evaporates when he sees your stricken expression. You wait for him to say more; he doesn’t.

Oh, he might give you the world, but he cannot give you this.

You gather his tattered old cloak, torn and bloody, and neatly fold it in your lap. It is good fabric. You want to believe that you can fix it.

“I will leave come spring,” you tell him.

Sylus’ expression is indecipherable. He strokes the back of your hand, committing every vein and knuckle to memory. “Then we mustn’t waste our time together.”

-

One night, when the sky is tinged a deep purple, you glance down into the valley and notice the blazing lights of your village.

You motion to Sylus. “Look.”

Several dozen lanterns drift into the night sky while music trickles up the mountain. Although you cannot see the villagers, you know they’re gathering in the town center for the dances.

“I can’t believe it’s already the new year,” you breathe. If you close your eyes, you can almost smell the sweet tarts you and Tara made together.

“Is that what you’ve been celebrating,” Sylus muses, “I wondered what all that noise and revelry were for.”

You turn to him, realizing that the dragon has been watching your village celebrate for the last thousand years without knowing the reason. Has perhaps sat alone on this very ledge to watch the lanterns pass over his head and the festivities down below.

“Stay here.”

You scurry back to the cave to retrieve your pipa.

His tired eyes settle on you when you return. Even now, you want him. Whatever is left of him. Whatever will remain after tonight, even if it falls away like water through your fingers come morning. You will remember him like this: snow in his hair, phantom smile, and bleeding gaze heavy with all the things he cannot say.

You press your fingers to the strings, and begin to sing.

-

He comes to you at night.

You gasp when you blink awake and see his silhouette above you.

He wordlessly slides in behind you, under the furs. It is muscle memory when his arms snake around you and his face finds the crook of your neck. He carries the scent of pine and woodsmoke and . . . something sharper. His skin is hot to the touch as you press your hand against his chest and prompt him to look at you.

A faint tendril of red mist spills from the corner of his eyes.

“Do you want me to leave?”

His voice sounds like cracked glass.

Without a word, you guide him back down until his skin is against yours. You would savor this moment if sleep did not find you all too soon, even as the air smells faintly of blood.

-

There comes a day when Sylus slips off into the mountains and does not return. 

You suspect the worst.

The winds are fierce, but your will is iron. You trace his path down the mountain and through the trees, listening for the beat of dragon wings.

You call his name but all you receive is the mountain’s echoing response. The snow and wind beat against you, punishing your determination.

You trudge through the forest past sunset, until the moonlight casts the woods in a lonely grey. Still, you find no sign of the dragon.

Did he really leave? Did hunters get to him?

One fear after another hurtles through your mind, urging you farther and deeper into the forest. You brought your spear, having learned from experience that predators have no issue encroaching on the dragon’s territory.

What else did your village get wrong? What would happen to your people if Sylus could no longer protect them?

What would you do if you cannot find him?

A violent heat pulses from your nonexistent mating bite. Your legs and face are numb, and you can barely see in front of you.

You snap your fingers, whispering a word of power just as Sylus taught you. Sparks fly off your trembling fingers. You try again and again until the smallest of flames swells to life amidst shadow and snow.

You can only maintain it for a few more moments before your foot catches on something and you crash to the ground.

The flame gutters out. The winds wail through the barren trees. You lift your head, wipe snow off your face. You look back to see what made you fall and you scream.

The unseeing eye of a caribou stares back at you. Its blood oozes from the gashes along its body and pools beneath your hands. Still warm.

You stagger to your feet, and nearly trip again over another carcass.

An entire herd of reindeer lie in mangled puddles, slaughtered in the dozens. Steam rises from their bodies. Torn limbs and viscera stain the once spotless snow.

Just like the sheep.

You grip your spear until your knuckles turn white, the grain of the wood biting uncomfortably into your skin.

The trees close over you like the bars of a cage, their shadows smothering out light and sound. You cannot see where you came from.

Between the trees, you see the dragon. But everything about him is unrecognizable to you.

Sylus crouches over a carcass, tearing and consuming its flesh with razor-like teeth. Black spikes jut out from his skin. He’s elbow-deep in gore and red smoke spills from blood-bright eyes when he spots you.

You run.

-

His screams shake the mountain.

You hide in the dark with your spear, keeping watch outside the dragon’s lair.

You wait for days. You wait long after his cries have died out.

You should leave.

The thought pecks at your mind.

The dragon will not return.

You stare out across the mountains as another storm rolls in. Snow gathers in a frenzy, the world so bright your eyes sting.

The dragon is mad.

You read one of Sylus’ books to distract yourself.

The dragon is a liar.

He emerges from the whiteout like a spectre. He is as you remember him, a quiet ancient power exudes from his decaying body. But when he stumbles upon seeing you, you see his mortification.

“I thought you would have left already.”

Your grip tightens around your spear. “You killed my flock.”

He does not deny it.

“Is that why you’ve remained,” he asks, “to extract my apology?”

Your nostrils flare. “I would have the truth.”

“It will ruin you.”

You regard the dragon. Does he think you are a child in need of protection? You are not so feeble-minded, you never have been. He allowed you to believe that he was sick, that he was dying—and even after seeing the worst of him, he resists. So you will force his hand.

You unsheathe the dagger he gifted you, and slice it across your arm.

The dragon springs toward you and freezes. Red mist pours from reptilian eyes, his claws extend and his skin splits to reveal mangled spikes. Sylus’ knees dig into the earth as he collapses and emits a vicious growl. The red veins writhe across his chest.

You quickly wipe the blood away and press a thick bandage to the cut. “You didn’t just need a mate,” you whisper, “you also needed blood.”

Sylus bows his head. “Abhorrent, am I not?” His distorted voice slices through the air, guttural and raw. The red mist dissipates, his scales slide back under his skin. “How do you feel knowing you’ve bedded a monster?”

Monster. What a cruel word.

“I would not forsake you for this,” you say.

His eyes flutter before they harden in disbelief. “One second,” he threatens, “is all it would take to raze the entire valley.”

Tara and your family flash through your mind. You take a steadying breath. “But you haven’t yet.”

“I found a way to delay it.” With a mate. With blood—your blood.

There’s something else he isn’t telling you.

“Why did your rut come early?” 

He’s quiet for so long, you think he might turn and fly away for good. Until he admits, “I didn’t take her blood before she left.”

“Why not?” you press, “What happened last time?”

The look on his face will haunt you for years to come.

“They sent me a child.”

-

The dragon steals glances at you, waiting for you to speak—to leave—anything. He moves as if to touch you before thinking better of it.

He anticipates your censure, but you cannot find the words to reassure him.

“Only those who’ve had their first blood can be chosen.”

“I know.”

Your blood continues to soak the bandage, though you barely feel the injury’s sting.

“What did you do?” you ask.

“I took her across the lake, and told her to never return to the valley,” he answers.

Your village never spoke of the last girl who was chosen, and you, like a sheep, never asked. Never wondered about their lives until your fate mirrored theirs. How could your village send a child up the mountain to be his mate believing what they do about the dragon’s brutality? 

You don’t realize you’re crying until Sylus wipes your tears away. “I never harmed any of you. I swear it.”

He looks as distraught as you feel.

“I believe you,” you rasp, and he sags with relief. “But Sylus. Couldn't you have returned her? Demand we choose someone else?”

His expression shudders with pain. “The last time I did that, they put her to the torch, convinced that she disappointed me.”

You feel sick.

Memories of the harvest season. Children’s games. The mead hall’s lively music and Josephine’s patient guidance as she walks you through a new embroidery technique—

“I am sorry.” 

—All tarnishes as Sylus kneels before you. He seems to be the only solid thing keeping you anchored to this moment. Diminished as he is. Self-named monster that he claims to be. “You deserved to know before I ever placed my mark on you.”

Remorse darkens his face when he glances at your bleeding arm. You see his hunger. Sylus takes a sharp breath before he retracts a claw and prepares to cut his own palm. His hands shake.

And you—you cannot resent him for withholding the truth. Not when it takes everything he has to resist the bloodlust.

Would a monster cut himself for someone else? Would he yield when told to stop? Would he teach you how to chart the stars? How to speak an ancient language? Would he read to you long into the night, or ask you to play that song one more time?

You stop him before he can draw blood. A bewildered, helpless expression crosses his gaunt face.

“I am already cut,” you say, raising your arm to his mouth, “Why let it go to waste?”

-

His strength returns. The red veins retreat.

You lie in his nest, sleepy and surrounded in his warmth.

“Is there any way to fix it?” you ask the dragon, “This—this bloodlust?”

He sighs and shakes his head. You press yourself against him in a way you haven’t since the rut. 

Who cursed you?

The question sits heavy on your tongue as you follow the haloed edges of his lean body. Hard and soft in equal measure. Violent and innocent.

You press your hand over the hollow of his chest. “Did any of them stay with you, Sylus? The way I had?”

He swallows.

“You’re the only one.”

-

You stare down into the valley. For a village of inconsequential size, it casts long shadows across the white expanse.

They sent me a child.

The dragon may have lied about the sheep, but your village elders—well—what more did they lie about?

You cannot let it happen again. But if you return to the village, would your family and neighbors heed your words, or would they put you to the torch as well? What would stop them from sending another little girl up the mountain?

By the time Sylus' rut returns and his bloodlust needs to be sated, you’ll be nothing but rot beneath the earth.

Your neck burns from the very thought when you hold up the finished cloak to Sylus.

“I’ve made some repairs. Do you like it?”

Sylus cautiously takes the cloak, examines the patched holes and new fur lining with round eyes. His fingers run along your even stitching, stopping at your embroidery. An elaborate pattern of wildflowers and knotwork Elder Josephine taught you long ago.

“I hope you don’t mind,” you say, “I also replaced the old fur with the wolf’s pelt. It should be much warmer now.”

As if the dragon has to worry about the cold. You mentally shake yourself as Sylus slips the cloak over his shoulders, surrounding himself in a field of flowers.

“Your skill knows no equal,” he praises, halting your train of thought. He bites his lip, looking uncharacteristically rueful. “I will probably ruin it again.”

“Then I will mend it again.”

And again and again and again.

A light blush tinges the edges of Sylus’ ears. You watch him smooth down the collar of his cloak, and the memory of the hidden words you embroidered there flash in your mind.

You glance away. “Think of it as something to remember me by.”

In a hundred years, the next woman may find a trace of you here, and know there is nothing to be afraid of.

-

You find yourself staring across the lake more often. Dreaming. Planning.

You have studied the maps, languages, and histories. But there is only so much you can learn from a book.

You spot Sylus some distance away, crouched low. His hair blends in with the snow. He extends a hand towards a fox peeking out from the underbrush. It snarls at the dragon before scampering away.

Something in your chest twists. It's a familiar sensation, so why does it hurt so much more now?

What you're leaving behind feels larger than what's ahead of you.

When Sylus notices you across the clearing, his regal horns shimmering in the winter sun, you think you will long for him forever.

He crosses the distance between you, and says simply, “Thank you."

“You're welcome,” you reply, because you know what he means.

Sylus leans down until your foreheads nearly touch. “May I?” he asks. When you nod, you feel his mouth brush your temple as he inhales deeply. “Your scent haunts my dreams.”

Your breath quickens.

“What do I smell like?”

His gaze settles on you, revealing the jewel of his eyes in all their warm devotion.

“Like flowers.”

-

You do not want winter to end. But end it will.

The frozen lake gradually thaws. Although the snow never truly stops in the mountains, the slow melts creep up through the forests.

You wander through the mountains for one of the last times. The sun casts its glare across the pale landscape, but the persistent cold is not easily vanquished.

You come across a meadow overflowing with wintering blooms. Their colors stand out against the blinding white. You run your hands over their delicate yet hardy petals.

Yellow daffodils and primrose. Snowdrops and winterberries. Jasmine and blue violas.

You follow the meadow until you’re on the outer edge of the mountain proper. Out here in the open, its strangely quiet.

Vibrant red flowers pepper the mountainside, standing out against the pristine white. They sway in the breeze, their sweet fragrance calling to you.

You've never seen their like before. As you bend down to pluck one of them and bring it to your nose, you hear the beat of wings.

The flower is ripped from your hand. You don’t have time to cry out as Sylus wraps a hand over your nose and mouth.

“Don’t breathe!”

But it’s too late. You feel your mouth go dry and your heart beats madly against your ribs. You latch onto Sylus as your legs start to give

“Fuck,” he growls, covering his own face. Your grip slips as your skin breaks out into a sweat and your palms turn clammy. Sylus holds you fast, and drags you away the meadow. You watch his lips move, but you might as well be underwater from the way you can’t make out a single sound.

“Sylus, what—” Inks spots of color flood your blurring vision. Your heart is racing so fast you think it might explode. You swear you hear your mother calling for you.

You reach for the dragon but you no longer have control of your limbs.

When you look at yourself, your skin is melting off your bones.

Your mind fractures. You fall through the seams of reality, to a place where not even the dragon can follow.

-

Heat. Ash. Blood.

You wince at the intense light. Your eyes are slow to focus, all you see are warping colors and loose shapes crossing your vision.

You cannot feel your body. You wonder if you have one.

“ . . . hear me?”

What? You try to speak, but you’ve forgotten how.

“Do you remember your name?” A face sharpens before you. Hauntingly familiar and achingly beautiful. 

What is a name? Why do you need to know?

Your silence shatters that pretty face. His voice breaks as he babbles apologies and pleas at you. 

You want to help him, you do. But your tongue feels swollen and some of his words don’t make sense to you . . . you want to wipe away his tears but you cannot find your hands.

“Do you know who I am?”

Of course you do.

“Sylus."

His eyes flutter, and he releases a soul-deep, relief-filled sigh. He presses his forehead to yours; you realize he’s shaking.

“I thought I lost you.”

When you brush your knuckles against his cheek, they come away damp. “What happened?” 

“Those flowers,” he explains, “can fell even the greatest animals. Inhale their scent and you’ll sleep forever.”

You swallow, your throat feels as dry as kindling.

“How . . .” You survey your surroundings. You’re back in the cave. Tara’s herbs, your mortar, and a bowl of dark liquid lie beside you.

Your mouth tastes like iron and salt. “Thank you.”

Sylus reaches for your face before pulling his hand back at the last second. “Consider it part of my debt to you.”

You take in his tense posture—how he shelters you with his body even though the danger is internal. His tail is tightly coiled and his claws are out. There’s a deep furrow between his eyebrows. You have not seen him so fierce since the rut.

Oh, this won’t do.

“Is that all we are to each other,” you ask him, “debts and deals?”

His throat bobs. When he doesn’t answer, you sit up and run your fingers down his face, across his sensitive chest He makes small, airy gasps that light a fire in your core.

“If I still bore your mark,” you murmur, “maybe you would be more honest with me.”

His breath hitches.

You wait for him.

You do not have to wait long; Sylus cups the back of your head and then he’s kissing you.

-

In some ways, it’s much like the rut, but in many others, it’s completely different.

Sylus kneels between your legs at the edge of his work table. His tools and unfinished projects lie discarded on the ground. He drags the flat of his tongue against your sex and drinks the juices that spill from your twitching entrance. You roll your hips against his face and welcome the searing heat of his tongue inside you.

He whines as you stroke his twisting horns, from base to tip, sharp enough you could prick yourself. He swirls his wet lips around your clit before sucking deeply on the tender nub. His fingers slip between your folders with ease, and crooks them until they press against that spot inside you.

“Sylus!” You arch off the table, grabbing the edge as wave after wave of pleasure cascades through your body. He continues to work your clit as you clench around his fingers.

The dragon gazes up at you, face and ears flushed, panting wildly.

You pull him to his feet and crash your lips against his. His mouth opens immediately. You taste yourself and moan as his hands slide up your body and begin undoing the rest of the laces of your dress.

His mouths down your neck, lingering where his mark used to be, before continuing lower to pepper your bare shoulder with kisses. He pulls down your sleeves until your breasts are exposed and he can take one into his salivating mouth.

You fumble with the buckles of his trousers, only for him to brush your hands away.

“Let me taste you again,” he implores. He gives you several small kisses on your lips and you sigh in response to the onslaught of affection. “Let me do this for you.”

“Don’t you want . . . ?” You gasp when he teases your entrance with his fingers. Your legs wrap around his waist and pull him as close as you can to yourself. You feel his hard length and your thighs shake with need.

“What I want—” Sylus strokes your breasts with his other hand “—is for you—” you hear his knees strike the ground once again “—to cum on my face.”

His breath teases your clit, already swollen up with renewed interest. 

“Can you do that for me, sweetie?”

You nod weakly, before Sylus buries his face between your legs and proceeds to steal your ability to think.

-

He kisses you before you fall asleep. He kisses you during your daily walks through the mountains. He kisses you while he spills deep inside you, exchanging names with a shared breath, until you smell like fire and he of wildflowers.

He kisses you as if he's starving. Perhaps he is. Perhaps he always was.

“I thought—” He shivers against your lips as you trace his naked spine “—that you merely tolerated my rut. You only stayed for what I could teach you.”

You brush away the lock of hair from his forehead. "Couldn't you tell?" you say in disbelief, "I stayed for you."

His eyes widen.

You look away, suddenly shy. If you still had his mating bite, you think it'd burn a hole right through you. "But I have no right to covet you."

You are not his mate.

Sylus threads your fingers together, your interlocked hands are molten gold in the firelight. He kisses your knuckles as he stares at you with a reverent expression. And you realize, suddenly, he's only ever looked at you that way.

“You always had that right.”

You are not his mate, but you are everything else.

When you make love to him, it is less impatient than the wildfire from before. The two of you are more like embers, not yet ready to die.

-

The night sky above the city is alight with every color. You watch them explode and pop and burst across the lake. 

“What’s happening over there?” you ask Sylus.

He sits beside you on the cliff, one leg propped up while he lets the other swing beside yours.

“Tarus City has its own celebrations,” he explains, “this time of year marks the opening of the gates to the underworld, when demons began entering the mortal realm.”

“Is there any truth in that?”

“Perhaps.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Why don’t we find out for ourselves?”

Your eyes light up. “Is this fearsome dragon asking me to attend a festival with him?"

"That depends entirely on your answer."

The joy in Sylus' eyes is more addicting than the rarest of wines. When you extend your hand, he meets you halfway.

"I'd like nothing more."

To be continued

Can also be read on ao3!

[plusultraetc]

there are many wonderful interpretations of erasermic and they are all my favorite but I think the funniest possible version is that they were each other's unserious first kiss in high school but didn't start dating until post-canon

[shybluebirdninja]

Public Heat

Summary: Logan’s wild side takes over as he fucks you onto the balcony.

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Human!Fem-reader Note               : exhibitionism sex, smut

The cool night air hit your skin, but the heat between you and Logan was enough to set the whole city on fire. You barely had time to think before you were pushed up against the railing of your balcony, Logan’s rough hands already pulling at your clothes, his growl rumbling through the darkness.

“Logan, we’re—” you started, glancing down at the street below, the lights of the city glowing, people walking by completely unaware of what was about to happen. But Logan didn’t care. He wasn’t the type to give a damn about who could see or who might hear. In fact, the thought of it seemed to turn him on more.

“You worried about a little audience, sweetheart?” he rasped into your ear, his voice dripping with that familiar roughness that always sent a shiver down your spine. His hands gripped your waist, spinning you around until your chest was pressed against the cold metal railing. The city was spread out below you like a playground, and here you were, at the mercy of this feral man.

Before you could say anything, Logan’s hands were on you again, tugging at your pants, rough and impatient, and you couldn’t help but moan as he peeled them down. The cool night air hit your exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat burning inside you, but you didn’t care. Not when Logan was behind you, his body pressed so close, his breath hot against your neck.

“You’re soaked already,” he growled, his hands running over your bare ass, squeezing possessively. “You like this, huh? Knowing anyone could look up and see you get fucked by me.”

You could barely respond, your mind spinning from the intensity, but your body gave him all the answers he needed. You pushed back against him, craving more, craving everything, and Logan’s low, dirty chuckle told you that he knew exactly what you wanted.

“That’s my girl,” he muttered, and before you could catch your breath, he slammed his dick into you, hard and deep. The force of it made you gasp, your hands gripping the railing for dear life as Logan started moving, not caring at all who might be watching.

The way he fucked you was wild, reckless, like he couldn’t hold back anymore, and the thought of people walking below, just a glance up and they’d see you like this, only made it hotter. Logan’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air. You could barely think, barely breathe, the only thing you could focus on was the way he felt inside you, the way he owned every inch of your body.

“Goddamn, you’re fuckin’ perfect,” Logan growled, his voice rough with lust. His hands slid up your back, pushing your chest further against the railing, arching you even more so he could bury himself deeper, harder. “You love this, don’t you? Letting everyone see how good you take it.”

You moaned, your body shaking with the intensity of it all, and Logan’s pace only quickened, his cock slamming into you over and over, making sure you felt every inch of him. The thrill of being so exposed, knowing anyone could see, made it impossible to hold back, and you could feel your orgasm building fast, your body tightening around him.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasped, barely able to form words, but Logan wasn’t stopping, wasn’t slowing down. He was relentless, his hands gripping your hips so hard you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow. But that was the last thing on your mind now.

The tension in your body snapped, and you came hard, your legs trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Logan growled in satisfaction, his hips slamming into you one last time as he chased his own release. You could feel him throbbing inside you, and then, with a deep, primal grunt, he came, filling you up as he held you tight against the railing.

For a moment, neither of you moved, just standing there, bodies pressed together, both of you trying to catch your breath. The sounds of the city below seemed distant, almost unreal, as you slowly came down from the high of it all.

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he chuckled softly. “Think anyone saw?”

[flowerandblood]

The Song of Promises (Sneak Peek)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ a little preview of the story that awaits you in February; it doesn't end my hiatus, but I'm in the process of writing and I see a little light at the end of the tunnel ]

[ description: Aemond's childhood is filled with loneliness and regret until Daemon arrives in the Red Keep with his first-born child, daughter of Rhea Royce. The fact that neither of them has a dragon of their own binds them together with a thread of understanding, and their slowly developing relationship gives birth in the young prince's mind to a plan of which she is a part. Slow burn, childhood companions to lovers, first intimacy, rude, insolent, arrogant Aemond with big ego. ]

_____

[...]

Just as she had done in their childhood days, to leave her rooms now she had to wait for the watch to change; only then would she slip out and take advantage of the moment to make her way down a dark, rarely used corridor through a side entrance to the prince's quarters.

She had no idea if anyone but her knew about it; presumably if they did, the guards thought the additional door remained locked. However, her cousin had left them open for her, and it was through these that she entered, stepping into his chamber, enveloped in the warm light of the fire.

She spotted his silhouette at once – he was sitting at the top of a long table, on which lay stacks of maps and letters, a thick, old volume in his hands.

When he heard her footsteps, he lifted a glance of his healthy eye to her, and then returned to his reading again, carelessly turning the page over.

She was not bothered by this; he was often in the habit of pretending not to see her at first. From her perspective, it was his attempt to cope with the fact that, although accustomed to solitude, he was hosting someone else in his private quarters.

She untied her cloak, placed it on one of the richly decorated oak chairs and, wearing nothing but her nightgown, took a slow, quiet step towards his bed. She knew she could do it, and that she was certain to stay with him anyway, so she simply lay back on the soft sheet and closed her eyes, listening to the pleasant sound of the sizzling fire.

For a moment, all she could hear was that and the rustle of pages being turned – the smell of him and the parchments pleasantly filled her nose, calming her.

The quiet creak of wood woke her from her half-sleep and she shuddered, opening her sleepy eyes – she spotted his silhouette heading lazily towards her. His hand rose to the belt of his tunic, undoing it with the quiet click of a buckle.

“Tomorrow. You must promise to obey me. Otherwise I will not fly with you.” He said calmly, looking at her with an expression on his face that pretended to show indifference.

“I will.” She said.

“Mm.” He hummed under his breath, finally pulling the leather material off his shoulders.

She made room for him and moved sideways on the bed as he sat on the edge of it and leaned over, pulling his boots off his feet. She watched wordlessly as he did the same a moment later with his eye patch, finally throwing it carelessly onto the stone floor. He sighed and hid his face in his hand, massaging the area around his scarred eye socket in some subconscious reflex.

Stress was causing discomfort to return to the left side of his face.

“You are in pain.” She whispered softly, raising herself up on her elbow.

He didn't reply, just swallowed hard and froze in stillness.

“Let me.” She insisted, and he finally looked at her and nodded.

She raised herself up on her knees and moved towards him, sitting down so that she could see his face. He looked at her silently with some kind of melancholy as her hands gently grasped his face and her thumbs began to massage his temples.

He immediately closed his eye and flinched as her thumbs moved over his brow arches and cheekbones – he twitched when she did it the first time, but relaxed more and more with each subsequent stroke, and his face took on an expression of relief.

“I wouldn't object if you did this to me all night.” He said quietly, his eyelid still closed. She smiled involuntarily at his words, running her fingers over his forehead, nose and cheeks, going back to the beginning – to his temples and brows.

“I can.” She said warmly, but he shook his head.

“We need to rest. Come. I want to sleep.”

[writingbuckets]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐯

paige bueckers x podcaster!reader

wc: 5k

a/n: heyyy... so sorry i've been MIA, i had finals then went on vacation and am just now getting settled. but the good news is that im officially on break so i have nothing to do but write. the even better news is that to make for falling off the grid, i've written an absurdly long chapter AND it's a double update. theres also a surprise for you in part 6 *wink wink* enjoy!

The text came earlier than you expected that morning, breaking through the low hum of background noise from the TV. You were sprawled across the couch, a half-empty mug of coffee balanced precariously on the armrest, idly scrolling through a random sports highlight reel that had been playing for the better part of an hour.

Your phone buzzed against your thigh, the vibration cutting through your thoughts. Picking it up, you noticed the name at the top of the screen before you even read the message: Paige Bueckers.

Paige Bueckers:Pick you up at 7. Wear something nice.

Straightforward. Confident. Classic Paige. A smile tugged at your lips as you read the words, the familiar surge of warmth spreading through your chest. She had this way of making everything seem effortless—whether it was threading an impossible pass on the court or casually setting the tone for what felt like your first real date.

You stared at the message for a beat longer than necessary, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. Memories of the last few weeks flickered through your mind. What had started as casual hangouts—grabbing coffee after gym sessions, joining her and her teammates for late-night food runs, or studying side by side in the library—had slowly shifted into something else.

There was the way her eyes lingered a second too long when she thought you weren’t paying attention. Or how her hand would brush yours during a game of pick-up, sending sparks through your skin even when she laughed it off. How the teasing between you had gone from lighthearted to loaded, every quip hiding an undercurrent of something deeper.

The tension had been building steadily, a slow burn that neither of you acknowledged directly but both felt all the same. You weren’t sure when the casual hangouts had started feeling like something more—maybe it was the night she drove you home after a team dinner, her hand gripping the gear shift tightly as you talked about everything and nothing. Or the time she lingered after an impromptu game of HORSE, offering to shoot a few extra free throws with you, even though you both knew she could sink them blindfolded.

You hadn’t put a name to it yet, but the space between you felt charged, like it was waiting for the right moment to catch fire.

Still, Paige had been careful not to push. She kept things easy, never giving you a reason to second-guess her intentions—until now. Something about her message felt different, more deliberate, as if she’d finally decided to stop dancing around the edge of whatever this was.

Your fingers moved instinctively, typing out a reply.

You:Define “nice.”

The three little dots appeared almost immediately, a sign that Paige was already crafting her response.

Paige Bueckers:Something that’ll make me regret making dinner the main event tonight.

Your face heated as you read the words, and you quickly locked your phone, your heart racing. The flirty confidence in her text was nothing new—Paige had always been bold, unafraid to say what was on her mind. But this felt different, like she was deliberately testing the waters, seeing how far she could push before you pushed back.

For a moment, you debated whether you should reply. The temptation to fire back a teasing remark tugged at you, but the idea of leaving her hanging was just as enticing. Instead, you leaned back against the cushions, your thoughts spinning.

In truth, the idea of going on a proper date with Paige wasn’t as foreign as you might have thought a month ago. Back then, it had been easy to chalk up the lingering glances and subtle touches to her naturally magnetic personality. Paige had a way of drawing people in, making them feel like they were the only one in the room. You weren’t immune to that charm—no one was—but you’d convinced yourself that what you had was firmly rooted in friendship.

Now, though, you weren’t so sure. The lines had blurred, the boundaries shifting in ways you couldn’t ignore. And if Paige’s message was anything to go by, she wasn’t ignoring them either.

The weight of it all settled over you as you glanced back at your phone, the screen dark and unresponsive. Tonight wasn’t just about dinner—it was a step forward, an unspoken acknowledgment of the tension that had been simmering between you for weeks.

You glanced at the clock, the numbers blurring slightly as your mind raced. You still had hours to prepare, but suddenly it didn’t feel like enough time.

Paige Bueckers had a way of keeping you on your toes. And tonight, you had a feeling she was about to raise the stakes.

The hours leading up to 7 p.m. were a chaotic mix of anticipation and nerves. You rifled through your closet, pulling out one outfit after another, none of them feeling quite right. Casual but sophisticated? Too boring. A little edgy? Too over-the-top. Eventually, you settled on a sleek black dress with a low neckline that hugged your figure in all the right ways.

As you stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric and adjusting the straps, you couldn’t help but wonder what Paige would wear. You’d seen her off the court enough times to know she could pull off anything—from oversized hoodies to the rare tailored outfit that turned heads.

By the time 7 rolled around, you were practically pacing the apartment. The knock at the door made you jump, and you took a deep breath before opening it.

Paige stood there, leaning against the doorframe like she had all the time in the world. She wore a fitted blazer over a crisp white shirt, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, paired with tailored pants that emphasized her long frame. Her sneakers—pristine white—gave the outfit a casual touch, but she looked undeniably put together.

Her eyes swept over you, lingering just a second too long to be polite.

“You look…” she began, her voice trailing off as a grin spread across her face. “Incredible.”

Your cheeks warmed under her gaze, but you managed a smirk. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Bueckers. Didn’t think you owned anything without a logo on it.”

She laughed, the sound low and easy. “Special occasions call for special outfits. You ready?”

You nodded, grabbing your clutch. As she held the door open for you, her hand brushed lightly against your lower back, and the subtle gesture sent a thrill up your spine.

**********

Paige hadn’t given you any clues about where you were going, no matter how many times you’d tried to prod it out of her earlier that day. Every attempt was met with the same maddeningly smug response: “Patience, Y/N.”

By the time her car finally pulled up to the restaurant, you understood why she’d been so secretive. The place was breathtaking—one of those spots that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a luxury travel magazine. Soft, ambient lighting bathed the space in a warm glow, while elegant decor—polished wood, minimalist greenery, and sparkling crystal accents—created an atmosphere that was somehow both intimate and grand. Even from the curb, you could tell this wasn’t just dinner—it was a statement.

“You really went all out,” you murmured as Paige came around to open the car door for you, a move so smooth it made your heart skip.

She grinned, offering you her hand as you stepped out. “Told you I was determined to impress you.”

You followed her inside, the quiet hum of conversation and the gentle clink of glasses welcoming you into the space. As your eyes adjusted to the low lighting, you took in the subtle details that made the restaurant feel special—candlelit tables, discreet nooks for privacy, and an unspoken air of exclusivity that was equal parts thrilling and intimidating.

Paige must have noticed your hesitation because she nudged you lightly with her elbow. “What’s the verdict? Too much?”

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping. “Not too much. Just…unexpected. I didn’t peg you for the romantic type.”

She gave you a mock-offended look, placing a hand over her chest like you’d wounded her. “I’ll have you know, Y/N, I can be extremely romantic when I want to be. Guess you’ll just have to wait and see for yourself.”

The host greeted Paige with a warm smile—her name clearly recognizable even in a place like this—and led the two of you to a secluded corner booth. It was tucked away, offering just enough privacy to feel like a small haven amid the otherwise bustling space. The soft light from the nearby wall sconce cast a golden glow over the table, and as Paige gestured for you to slide into the booth first, you couldn’t help but appreciate how thoughtful she’d been.

“This is...nice,” you admitted as you settled into the plush seat, glancing around at the cozy setup.

“I know,” Paige replied, sliding in across from you with a smirk. She leaned back against the booth, her long legs stretching out in front of her like she owned the place.

Her confidence was infectious, and you found yourself relaxing slightly, though the elegance of the setting still had you a little on edge. As you picked up the menu, your eyes widened at the selections—dishes with names so fancy you weren’t sure if they were in English or Italian.

Paige tilted her head, watching you with amusement. “What’s going through that overthinking brain of yours right now?”

You set the menu down with a small laugh. “Honestly? I’m trying not to freak out over how fancy this place is. I’m not sure I can even pronounce half the stuff on this menu.”

Paige laughed, the sound warm and unguarded, and it immediately put you at ease. “Relax, it’s just dinner. Think of it as a really well-decorated diner.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting back a grin. “A diner where the appetizers cost more than my grocery bill for the week?”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her playful grin firmly in place. “Okay, how about this? I’ll order for both of us. Deal?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, both intrigued and skeptical. “Bold move, Bueckers. What if I hate what you pick?”

Paige’s grin widened, and she tilted her head slightly, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Then I’ll spend the rest of the night making it up to you.”

Your breath caught, the words hitting with more weight than you expected. You tried to keep your composure, but Paige wasn’t done. She leaned back in her seat, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and confidence. “But, let’s be real—you won’t hate it. I have excellent taste.”

“Oh, do you now?” you shot back, finding your footing again in the banter. “And how exactly do you know that?”

She shrugged, a hint of challenge in her expression. “Well, you’re here with me, aren’t you? That’s proof enough.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “Wow. You’re really laying it on thick tonight, huh?”

“Just calling it like I see it,” Paige replied smoothly, her grin softening into something more genuine. “But seriously, Y/N, don’t stress. This is supposed to be fun, remember? Let me handle the menu, and you just enjoy the night. Deal?”

You hesitated for a moment, but the way she was looking at you—equal parts playful and sincere—made it impossible to say no. Finally, you nodded. “Alright, Bueckers. But if you order something weird, I’m holding it against you forever.”

Paige chuckled, lifting her hand as if swearing an oath. “Noted. I promise to stick to the non-weird stuff.”

As the server approached, Paige rattled off an order with a confidence that impressed you, selecting dishes that sounded fancy without being over-the-top. The way she spoke to the server—polite but with a casual ease—only added to the charm she seemed to be radiating tonight.

Once the server left, Paige’s attention shifted back to you, her gaze soft but focused. She drummed her fingers lightly on the table, a teasing glint in her eye. “Alright, serious question time,” she said, her tone light but curious. “What’s the weirdest pregame ritual you’ve ever heard of?”

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked at her before breaking into a grin. “That’s random.”

She shrugged, her lips curving into a lazy smile. “I was just thinking about how some of my teammates have the wildest superstitions. Like one of them has to tie their shoes in the exact same order every time. Left shoe first, three loops, then right shoe. It’s wild.”

You chuckled, leaning back in your seat as you thought about it. “Okay, okay. Weirdest one I’ve ever heard? I interviewed a softball player once who said she had to eat the exact same breakfast before every game—eggs, toast, and a single slice of pineapple. If the pineapple wasn’t there, she swore it threw her off completely.”

Paige’s eyes widened, and she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “A single slice? That’s… oddly specific.”

“I know, right? She was dead serious about it, though. Said it was her ‘good luck charm.’”

Paige laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “I get it, though. Sports are such a mental game. Sometimes those little things trick your brain into thinking you’ve got the edge.”

“Okay, Miss Rational Athlete,” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have any weird pregame habits I should know about?”

Her smile turned sheepish, and she looked down at her hands for a moment before meeting your gaze. “Nothing too crazy. But I do this thing where I listen to the same song right before warmups. It’s like my hype track.”

You leaned forward, intrigued. “What song?”

She hesitated, a playful grimace crossing her face. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“No promises.”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at her lips. “Alright, it’s ‘Run This Town.’”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you. “Are you serious? That song’s so old!”

“Hey!” she protested, pointing a finger at you. “It’s a classic. Plus, it works. Gets me in the zone every time.”

“Okay, okay,” you relented, still grinning. “I’ll give you that. But now I’m curious—what’s your off-court hype song?”

She tilted her head, considering it for a moment. “Off-court? Probably something chill, like ‘Best Part.’”

The answer surprised you, and it must have shown on your face because Paige raised an eyebrow. “What? You didn’t think I was capable of being mellow?”

“I mean… not really,” you teased, biting back a smile.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Wow. See, this is why I asked you out. You keep me humble.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, your chest warming at the sincerity beneath her playful words. “Glad I could be of service.”

Paige leaned back, her eyes scanning your face like she was committing every detail to memory. “Alright, your turn. What’s the one thing that always gets you in the zone? For work, podcasts, whatever.”

You thought about it for a moment, tapping your fingers against the table. “Honestly? Coffee. I know it’s basic, but if I don’t have a cup before I start working, it’s game over. My brain just doesn’t function.”

She laughed, her gaze softening. “That’s not basic. That’s survival. Trust me, I’ve seen my teammates without coffee before morning practice. It’s not pretty.”

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm after that, the conversation flowing effortlessly as you swapped stories and quirks. Paige shared tales of grueling practices and ridiculous pranks her teammates had pulled, while you recounted some of your most memorable podcast interviews and the behind-the-scenes chaos that often went unnoticed by listeners.

By the time the first course arrived, you were completely at ease, the earlier tension long forgotten. Paige had a way of drawing you in, her attention unwavering and her presence magnetic. And as the night went on, you couldn’t help but notice how natural it all felt—like the two of you had been doing this for years instead of just navigating the uncharted territory of a first date.

**********

Dinner was… perfect. Not just because of the food—though each dish that arrived was better than the last, a delicate balance of flavors that you could still taste long after the plates were cleared. No, what made the night unforgettable was Paige herself. She had a way of making even the most mundane details captivating, her stories woven with humor, sincerity, and a touch of self-deprecation that made you smile more times than you could count.

She leaned back against the booth, her posture relaxed but her eyes alight with energy as she recounted her childhood in Minnesota. “We didn’t have much, but we had a hoop in the driveway. That was all I needed,” she said, her voice softening with nostalgia. “I’d be out there for hours, shooting until it got so dark I couldn’t see the rim. And even then, I’d keep going, pretending I was hitting buzzer-beaters in some championship game.”

Her gaze drifted to her glass, the condensation forming lazy trails down the sides as she toyed with the stem. “I probably drove my parents crazy. The sound of the ball hitting the pavement, over and over…” She chuckled, the memory warming her voice. “But I’d get lost in it, you know? Like nothing else mattered in those moments.”

You found yourself smiling, caught up in the vivid picture she painted. It was easy to imagine a younger version of Paige, her determination already evident as she honed her craft under a dimming sky. “Sounds like you were always destined for the big stage,” you said, your tone half-teasing but mostly genuine.

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, and there was a flicker of something in them—gratitude, maybe, or acknowledgment. “Maybe,” she said with a small shrug. “But what about you? What got you into media? There’s gotta be a story there.”

You hesitated, the question pulling you back into your own memories. You reached for your glass, taking a sip to gather your thoughts. “It wasn’t anything glamorous,” you started, setting the glass back down. “I just grew up obsessed with sports. My first crush was a soccer player I saw on TV—I had no idea what was happening in the game, but I was glued to the screen.”

Paige grinned, a playful glint in her eye. “A soccer player? Scandalous.”

You laughed, nudging her foot lightly under the table. “I was, like, ten. Cut me some slack.”

She laughed along with you, the sound bright and infectious, but her expression softened as you continued.

“Anyway,” you said, leaning forward, “I realized pretty early on that I wasn’t going to be the one making highlight reels, but I loved the stories behind them—the moments, the people. So, I started writing. Got into broadcasting later. It felt natural, like I could connect to the games in a different way.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, as if she were trying to piece something together. “But… you almost gave it up, right? You mentioned that on the podcast once.”

You nodded, suddenly finding the edge of your napkin very interesting. “Yeah. There was a time when it felt… impossible, I guess. The deadlines, the pressure to be better, the endless grind of it all. I started wondering if I was even good enough to be in the same room as the people I admired.”

Her expression grew serious, and she tilted her head slightly, her attention locked on you in a way that made your chest tighten. “So why didn’t you?”

Her question was simple, but it hit somewhere deep. You fiddled with your fork, tracing its edge against the plate. “I guess… I just couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Even when it got hard, there was this pull, like I needed it. Telling those stories, being part of that world—it felt like a part of me, like letting it go would mean losing something important.”

Paige was quiet for a moment, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I get that,” she said softly. “Basketball’s the same for me. It’s not just a game—it’s everything. It’s who I am.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The restaurant’s soft lighting seemed to cast the booth in a bubble, insulating you from the world outside. You could hear the gentle hum of conversation around you, the clinking of glasses and silverware, but it all felt distant—unimportant compared to the presence in front of you.

You glanced at her, the sharp lines of her face softened by the warm light, and felt a strange sense of peace. The kind of peace that came not from the absence of noise, but from being seen—really seen—by someone who understood.

She shifted slightly, her arm resting casually along the back of the booth, her eyes never leaving yours. “You know,” she said after a beat, her tone lighter now, “I think we’re both just a couple of overachievers trying not to burn out.”

You snorted, breaking the stillness with a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

Her grin widened, and she tapped the edge of her glass against yours in a mock toast. “To overachieving, then. And maybe figuring it out along the way.”

You clinked your glass against hers, smiling despite yourself. “I’ll drink to that.”

And as the night stretched on, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics—favorite movies, embarrassing childhood stories, and the kind of idle banter that felt effortless. But the memory of that shared moment, the quiet understanding between you, lingered like a thread tying the night together.

After dinner, Paige suggested a walk. The air was crisp but not biting, carrying the faint scent of rain from earlier in the day. You strolled through the quiet streets, the usual city buzz softened under the golden glow of streetlights. The soft shuffle of your footsteps filled the pauses in conversation, and the occasional murmur of distant laughter or the faint hum of passing cars added a comforting rhythm to the night.

“This was nice,” you said, glancing at Paige out of the corner of your eye.

She turned to look at you, her hands tucked casually into the pockets of her jacket, the edges of her hair catching the light. “Yeah?” she asked, her tone warm, teasing but earnest.

“Yeah,” you replied with a small smile. “You definitely exceeded expectations.”

Her lips quirked into a grin, a flicker of pride dancing in her eyes. “Good. I wasn’t sure if I could top the coffee shop date.”

You laughed softly, the memory of that day sparking a familiar warmth. “This was… different.”

“Better?” she asked, her head tilting slightly, as if your answer really mattered to her.

You nodded, feeling the weight of her gaze settle on you like a gentle pressure. “Yeah. Better.”

The space between you seemed to shrink as you continued walking, your shoulders brushing occasionally. Every accidental touch sent a quiet thrill through you, a reminder of how your connection with her seemed to deepen with every moment.

At one point, Paige came to an abrupt stop, her sneakers scuffing against the pavement. You turned to face her, puzzled, and found her looking at you with an expression that was open yet uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, her voice softer than usual, almost tentative.

You tilted your head, trying to ignore the way your heart picked up its pace. “Depends,” you replied lightly, though the intensity in her gaze was making it hard to keep your tone steady.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hands still in her pockets. It was as if she was searching for the right words, the confident Paige you knew now replaced with someone more vulnerable, someone whose sincerity tugged at your chest.

“What are we doing here?” she asked at last, the question hanging between you like a delicate thread. “I mean… I know what I want this to be, but I don’t want to assume anything.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard by her sudden honesty. Her usual confidence, so steady and self-assured, now gave way to something raw and unguarded.

“Paige…” you started, unsure of what to say.

She didn’t give you a chance to fill the silence, her words spilling out in a rush. “I just—look, I don’t want to screw this up, okay? This, you, us… whatever this is becoming. I’m not good at figuring this stuff out, but I know how I feel about you, and I need to know we’re on the same page.”

You stared at her, the faint sheen of vulnerability in her eyes anchoring you in place. She wasn’t hiding behind jokes or bravado; she was laying it all out for you, her walls nowhere in sight.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing against hers before curling gently around them. “You’re not screwing anything up,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the wild pounding of your heart. “This is… whatever we want it to be.”

She let out a slow breath, her shoulders easing as the tension melted away. “Okay,” she said after a beat, her voice quieter now. “Good. Because I really like you, Y/N. And I want to see where this goes.”

Her admission made your chest tighten in the best way, the sincerity in her voice wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You smiled, unable to stop yourself even if you tried. “I like you too, Bueckers,” you said, your words teasing but completely genuine. “Now, can we keep walking before I overthink this and ruin the moment?”

She laughed, the sound breaking the tension and making the streetlights around you seem a little brighter. “Lead the way,” she said, her hand still brushing against yours as you resumed your walk.

And as the two of you moved forward into the quiet night, the unspoken promise of something more hung between you, electric and full of possibility.

When Paige walked you back to your apartment, the crisp night air seemed to cling to your skin, amplifying the charged silence that settled between you. Every step felt deliberate, the quiet hum of the city around you fading into the background. Standing just outside your door, she lingered, her hands shoved into her jacket pockets as if she was holding something back, her gaze steady and searching.

“I had a great time tonight,” she said, her voice lower than usual, like she was sharing a secret meant only for you.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice quieter than you intended, your pulse quickening under the intensity of her attention.

For a moment, it seemed like she might leave. Her weight shifted, her eyes flickering between the door and your face, a subtle war playing out in her expression. Then, almost imperceptibly, she took a step closer, her proximity making the air between you feel heavier, charged.

Her hand brushed against yours—a fleeting, deliberate touch. “Would it be crazy,” she asked, her tone both hesitant and daring, “if I asked to come in?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her question settling in your chest. The tension that had been simmering beneath the surface all night now felt like a live wire sparking between you. Your breath caught for a moment before you answered, your voice soft but sure. “It wouldn’t be crazy,” you murmured, stepping aside to let her in.

Paige moved past you, her shoulder grazing yours in the process, sending a thrill up your spine. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet intimacy of your apartment. She turned to face you, her jacket still hanging open, her hands now free and resting at her sides. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes—they were full of intent, smoldering with something that made your heart pound in your chest.

“So,” she said after a moment, her tone playful but tinged with something deeper, more serious, “what happens now?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with possibility. Words seemed useless—there was no answer you could give that wouldn’t pale in comparison to the gravity of the moment. So instead of speaking, you closed the distance between you, your feet moving before your mind could catch up.

Her breath hitched when you reached her, and for a fleeting second, her confidence faltered, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. Her hands found your waist with an almost tentative touch, her fingers pressing into you as if testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, when you instead leaned in closer, her grip tightened, pulling you flush against her.

The world outside ceased to exist. It was just you and Paige, the heat between you building like a slow burn finally catching fire. Her lips hovered inches from yours, her breath warm against your skin as her eyes searched yours for permission, for reassurance.

You didn’t make her wait. Your hands slid up her arms, your fingers curling lightly against the back of her neck, guiding her down to meet you. When your lips finally met, it wasn’t tentative or hesitant—it was purposeful, a culmination of the tension that had been simmering all evening, maybe even longer.

Her kiss was soft at first, exploratory, but it quickly deepened, her confidence returning as she pressed closer, her hands slipping from your waist to the small of your back. Every touch, every movement felt deliberate, like she was committing the moment to memory.

When you finally broke apart, breathless but unwilling to let go, her forehead rested against yours, her voice a soft murmur in the charged silence. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” she confessed, a small smile tugging at her lips.

You laughed quietly, your hands still resting on her shoulders. “You’re not the only one.”

Her smile grew, her confidence now fully restored. “Then I guess I should’ve asked to come in sooner,” she teased, her fingers tracing idle patterns along your back.

Your only response was to tug her closer, ready to let whatever was building between you take its natural course.

[viridescentelf]

In your debt - Part 3

Young Halsin x Reader

Art belongs to @ozumii-fucking-wizard, I also used their Young Halsin headcanon list as a reference :) i love the idea of him being a bit hotheaded in his younger years hehe

Find Part 1 and Part 2 here.

Slow burn, sorry. But the next part will get spicy, I promise. >:D

Song in this fic:

Warning: Swearing

-----

You awoke on a huge matt, covered in a thick quilt. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light as you scanned your surroundings. You were staring at a large tent peak above you, which swayed sleepily in the wind. You turned your head slightly, examining the area further. Smoldering embers cracked softly in the middle of the room, with various tiny cushions placed around it. A kettle peeped, hovering above the low fire, green steam escaping its mouth. Adorning the tent were many little trinkets: dreamcatchers, windchimes, wooden toys and engraved clay pots decorated the walls and small shelves. The ground looked slightly sandy next to you, furthering the softness of your position. The matt was far too big for you, so was the quilt. You looked like a little mouse had sneaked into the cat’s bed.

You noticed a stinging sensation and remembered what happened with the goblin.

Your hands drifted under the covers to your pulsating side. A thick piece of rough fabric met your fingers and as you pawed along carefully, you realized it was bandaging. The pain was dull, but made its evil presence known.

That’s right. You were with Halsin. In his village.

You had no idea what else the dreamy druid had done while you were knocked out. You must’ve looked like a corpse.

You noticed you were wearing different clothes. This long sleeve tunic wasn’t yours and neither were the wide pants you spied while lifting the covers.

Had he…had he changed you? You blushed at the thought.

Had he seen you naked???

You attempted to sit up, quickly, which turned out to be a mistake. Deciding to prop yourself up carefully, you hovered over your unwounded side, relying on the strength of your arm. You eyed the large mug of water close to you, bringing it hastily to your dry lips.

It tasted so clean. You realized how gross the water really was back in the city.

You finished the water in a few gulps and placed the mug back where you found it.

Just then, your ears picked up a distant conversation. The voices were agitated. You weren’t able to get up and walk towards the entrance, so you strained your ears to listen carefully.

You recognized Halsin’s voice, who sounded exceedingly frustrated.

“So, your solution is just to ignore the looming threat? How on earth can you be so thick?”, he growled at an unknown male speaker.

“That is no tone to take with me, novice. You’re in no position to question my decision”, the other man answered, his tone so low it made the hairs on your arm stand up. Who was this?

You heard repetitive, thudding footsteps. It sounded like someone angrily pacing.

Halsin spoke again, his intonation louder than before: “If they tried once, they will do so again. And with more devastation. More goblins! They want our children for some sick game and you would rather do nothing!”

“The only person making that claim is lying halfdead in your tent. You do not know them. I do not know them! I will not send a group towards certain death because a stranger made a groggy statement!”, the other man met Halsin’s tone, with warning etched within.

You felt your stomach drop. The terrified faces the children had made while Izick was fighting you flashed before you. You knew you were telling the truth, but how could they know that?

“Uncle, they are the reason our children are safely returned to us!” There was a slight pause and you heard him step towards the tent, perhaps pointing. “If they hadn’t intervened, the drow-“

“Silence!”, the man Halsin addressed as uncle bellowed, the echo reverberating through the area.

“I do not care what could or would have happened. I care about the facts of the situation. It was YOUR task to watch over them. And YOU left Zacharia alone so that you could feel like a hero. Zacharia’s death and the possible fate of your brothers’ and sisters’ is on your conscien-“

A mighty roar interrupted the uncle’s chastising. A second followed with thundering thuds and tremors. Slicing through the chaos, you heard an assertive, older woman’s command:

“ENOUGH! Halsin, Dafydd. Stop this nonsense!”

The vibration in the soil ceased slowly, with one still insisting on remaining.

“Halsin…!”, she threatened.

You felt the shaking of the earth stop, finally but reluctantly. With vicious pants from both of the arguing parties, you heard the woman speak once again:

“Halsin, go check on your patient. And you, Dafydd, go do something you deem important. We do not have time for pointless squabbles like this.”

A pause and finally a few grunts of agreement. You heard footsteps leaving and two sets walking towards your tent.

Why were you panicking? It was ok for you to be awake, right?

You hastily pulled the covers over half your face as you lay down a bit too bluntly.  You didn’t want them to know you were listening.

The tent flap slid open and you saw Halsin hold it open for the other person.

An older elf woman walked in, her long grey hair tied neatly in elaborate braids. She had exceedingly kind, hazel eyes that met yours with a soft twinkle. Her dark skin glistened with tiny drops of sweat. Her attire was rather casual, it looked like she spent a lot of time outside, judging by her sun kissed, wrinkly nose.

She smiled and you returned it carefully.

“Ah, so this is the savior”, her voice matched the one who had scolded the two men before. Halsin didn’t say anything, but grumpily stomped to the other side of the tent to grab a piece of wood. He started aggressively carving at it with a knife that looked too small for his hands.

The elf lady rolled her eyes and kneeled beside your head: “How are we feeling this morning, duckling?”

You cleared your throat, blinking a bit confused at the last word, but sat up slowly, while she helped you up: “Uh… I think… ok?”

Your words sounded unrecognizably hoarse.

The older elf conjured a gentle, yellow light from her palm and lay her hand on your shoulder. Closing her eyes, you felt a wonderous thrum from her touch.

“Mmh, yes. Healing slow but nicely”, she opened her eyes, winked at you and turned her head towards the tall druid, who was still chopping viciously at the tiny block of wood.  

“Good thinking with the ginkgo leaves, son. Their organs are healing quickly”, she kept her gaze fixed on him. He met her eyes briefly, let out a rough “Hm” as a response and continued shaving.

You looked at Halsin, too. His furious aura engulfed the entire tent. His brows were frowning so intensely that you could barely see his calming eyes. This was his mother? They looked nothing alike. And she was so much older.

The woman turned back to you, deciding to ignore the brewing giant in the corner.

“I’m Anwen, elder druid of the High Forest. I assume you know who the sulking moose over there is”, she gestured vaguely at Halsin, who grunted and continued whittling more aggressively.

You nodded, trying to stop yourself from laughing. The hissy fit was a bit comical coming from such a large man, but you understood where the anger came from.

“Y/N…” you lay a hand on your chest, indicating yourself. “Thank you for … uh…” you were looking down at the clean garb you were wearing.

Halsin blushed excessively in the corner of your eye, turning to face the tent wall.

Anwen grinned: “Well, well, now I know where my sleepwear went.”

You stared at her anxiously.

“Oh, don’t worry. You need it more than I do right now”, she placated.

Your eyes wandered to the back of Halsin’s head. You could see the blushing had increased. So, he had changed you…

“Duckling, I am beyond thankful that you came to my children’s aid. They all won’t stop talking about you and your rescue. I’m sure they’d be happy to meet you properly, once your strength allows”, Anwen tugged at your cover, pulling it over you more and forcing you to lie back down.

You obliged.

“Halsin tells me you overheard something from the goblins. Something about the children…”, she patted the cover close to your chest.

You explained what you had heard before you intervened. Elder Anwen listened intently, nodding along as you described the attire the goblins were wearing to the best of your ability. She thanked you kindly and exited the tent, addressing Halsin to join her in prayer at sundown. This left you alone with the handsome druid.

He finally placed his craft on the sideboard next to his carving knife, leaning against the board and letting out a deep, irked sigh. You didn’t know what to say, so you just watched him.

The silence lingered between you for a bit, when he finally turned to you and tried to smile.

“Sorry. I’m glad you’re doing better.” He approached the side of your matt and squatted down. “I should change your bandage…”

You nodded after realizing you had been staring at him for too long and pushed the cover off your upper half. Hesitating slightly, you lifted the tunic to reveal your nursed belly.

Halsin sat down on the sand and started taking the binding off carefully. You let out small hisses, as he pulled the adhesive off your wound. You saw leaves sticking to the side of the band that lay directly on the most sensitive area. These were presumably the ginkgo leaves Anwen had mentioned before. He grabbed the teapot from the fireplace and filled a goblet with steaming, green water.

You beheld his work in silence, as he dabbed a soaking cloth on your abdomen. He conjured more healing magic with his hands, which hovered over your belly for some time. The comforting humming of his incantation joined the low purring of the fire. The dull light of the tent danced across his face, which seemed absent and deep in thought.

“Thank you for…all of this...”, you cut through the quiet, realizing you hadn’t really thanked him for saving your life.

Your words seemed to snap him out of something. He blinked hard and turned his head towards you, as his hand floated above your stomach.

His smile grew warmer and your heart skipped a secret beat: “You needn’t thank me. It’s the least I can do.”

He returned his attention back to nursing you. Watching him work, you felt a gnawing in your throat that you couldn’t ignore any longer.

“… are you alright?”, You had been wanting to ask about the conversation you overheard since he walked in.

Halsin hesitated for a moment, his eyes flitting from your face to his hands.

“It’s nothing you should concern yourself with. You’ve done more than enough,” he murmured.

You thought about the words the other man, Dafydd, had chastised the young druid with. Halsin seemed to be struggling with immense guilt and a need to correct it.

You accepted his unsatisfying answer and let your eyes wander around the tent, as you heard Halsin sigh once more. You didn’t know each other. Why would he share his woes with you? You were just a useless bard that happened to stumble into an unfortunate situation.

You spent the next few days in his tent, having Anwen and Halsin visit you every hour to bring food, drink and give you healing sessions. You were feeling better every day, the throbbing pain slowly dissipating from your lower body. It got to the point, where you even forgot you were hurt to begin with.

Anwen told you stories about Halsin, whom she adopted as a young boy. Most of the stories were quite embarrassing and you enjoyed learning about his mischievous nature. He carried himself with immense grace whenever he was around you, but you secretly knew he had a massive fear of moths and used to hide in baskets or pots to avoid druid training. He grew more relaxed each passing day, as well, showing off his collection of wood carvings you’d been eyeing in the corner of the tent, realizing you were someone easy to speak to.

You left the tent from time to time, as well, and were allowed to join in meals and share stories with the rest of the villagers. The village had been damaged by the attack, but not by too much. The druids seemed organized enough to fix things swiftly. Everyone treated you kindly.

The children were enthralled with you. They had carved a new, albeit extremely creaky and sad-looking, lute for you as a thank you, which you accepted with warmth surrounding your heart. Their eyes stared up at you, adoringly, as you haphazardly played on your gifted “instrument”, the notes plunking out strained and harsh. Gods, it was ugly. But you loved it anyway.

You learned Dafydd was the archdruid of the High Forest and Anwen’s brother. He was a lanky, older, but tall elf with the same eyes as Anwen, yet lacking her kindness. He had an intense authoritative energy and barely smiled, only nodding to greet you when you joined the circle. The only person he truly listened to was his sister and he was extremely harsh with the rest of the novice druids whom he trained, especially Halsin.

The children begged you to join them in their barn one night, where you learned Halsin slept while you occupied his tent. They dragged you to the heaps of straw, showing off their own attempts at carvings. You spied a larger wooden object hiding under a thin, massive blanket. That was most likely where Halsin slept, judging by the size of the bedroll. You decided not to pry.

The kids requested you sing them to sleep, as the orange sunrays drifted through the small cracks in the wooden walls. They were all snuggled together, glittering eyes blinking expectedly up at you, as you sat on a large bundle of hay.

How could you say no to them?

You started humming softly, watching them curl up closer to each other and stare at you with their little faces. You thought back to a gentle lullaby you had thought of, while you were wandering through a small village, which had a tradition of burning old keepsakes, in order to release them to the spirit world. You had been writing it below the Oaktree you always visited in the High Forest.

You didn’t need an instrument to keep the rhythm going, as the music flowed from your lips naturally:

I smelt smoke

On the wheezing of the wind when I awoke

A pyre of memory

Some fly-tipped treasury

Out there burning slow

Dark soaked fields

And the snuffling wet noses at my heels

Suddenly hackles raise

At the crackling of the blaze

Out there burning slow

And sometimes I catch him

With his axe in

The shadow

So secretive and private,

But I’m breathing in his life when

He’s out there burning slow

You repeated the lines a few times, until you noticed every chest of the children moving slowly up and down in a sweet cadence.

You heard someone behind you and turned to see Halsin leaning against the open door, the dark night behind him, his arms crossed:

“Beautiful tune. Been long since I’ve heard it.”

You blinked at him in stunned silence. He had heard it before?

He chuckled, noticing your confusion: “I told you Thaniel is fond of you. He likes to sing me your songs. The children do, too. Now I’ve had the pleasure of hearing it from the origin’s mouth, as intended.”

“Oh, wow… I didn’t know a forest spirit liked music…”, you pondered that thought, wondering what this Thaniel being was. If he had been listening all this time, where had he been hiding himself while you played on the riverbank?

Halsin joined you, sitting down on the hay ball. The might of his body made your side move up a bit, leaving your legs to dangle. He watched the children sleep, with a permanent smile on his face.

“Aren’t they precious?”, he cooed and you nodded with a silent chuckle, as one ork boy snored gently.

“Oh wait, one moment!”, Halsin stood up and tiptoed to the large bedroll, pulling the woodwork from under the draping.

He hid it behind his back, which worked amazingly, since he was so wide.

“Close your eyes,” he grinned.

You complied and waited with a secret shortness of breath. He had made something for you?

“Open,” he purred, sweetly.

As you opened your eyes, you were met with a beautifully crafted lute. The wood had been engraved with lovely vines and flowers.

Your mouth dropped open.

Halsin hurriedly sat beside you again, the hay ball raising you once again, as he handed you the intricately constructed instrument. The feel of the soft oak gave you goosebumps and the redness in your face was impossible to hide.

The strings were firm and carefully strung into place. You plucked a few softly. It sounded heavenly.

“This- what- how- why-…” you couldn’t string a coherent sentence together. Halsin chuckled.

“The children told me you sacrificed your lute to save them. The one they made for you is ...cute... , but I thought you needed a proper one.”

You gaped at him. You had never gotten such a thoughtful gift in your entire life.

You felt tears bite your eyes, but you blinked them away.

“Gods…thank you Halsin…I- I don’t know what to say. It’s marvelous!”

His smiled widened: “It’s the least I can do, I’m in your debt, remember?”

You smiled back, gazing at the artwork.

Moments passed as you both watched the sleeping children quietly. Your heart was still racing from the tremendous gesture.

You felt Halsin’s shoulders tense up as his face collapsed into the thoughtful one you first encountered in the tent.

You gulped inaudibly and decided maybe now he would be more open to talking to you. You had this urge to soothe him, especially after receiving the lute.

“Are you still bothered by what the Archdruid said?”, the words just spilled out of you. You realized it would indicate you had overheard the conversation and your throat closed up. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry…” your hands fidgeted around the lute as you nervously babbled on.

Halsin let out a brief gust of air between his nostrils. He nodded a bit, unbothered by your question.

“It’s just…”, he stopped himself. You saw his hands tremor slightly, “Dafydd is such a…such a…”

Your brows furrowed in concern.

Halsin took another deep breath, calming his slight shaking: “I didn’t abandon Zacharia. He told me to go and help. He told me he would take the children to the thicket and hide. I didn’t know those damned goblins were tailing us.” The words tumbled out of him with quiet agony staining his intonation.

You sat up a bit straighter, put the lute down on the ground and turned more towards him, unsure what else to contribute, but offering your ear.

Halsin balled a fist, as he watched one of the girls turn over in her sleep.

“Dafydd won’t go after that filth that tried to steal them. Says it’s pointless and risky and hotheaded. But what if they come back? Perhaps with an army of drow instead of stupid goblins. What if they get their hands on them and…” You heard his knuckles crack as he flexed his fist more.

He realized what he was doing with his hand and released his grip.

“I have to do something. I can’t just sit by and hope for the best.” His eyes scanned the barn floor, then finally met your worried gaze. The jade hue sparkled in the moonlight. You buried the thought about how handsome he was, while you focused on his problem.

You let his words swirl in your mind for a while. You never had any contact with Lolth sworn drows, just the kind ones that had escaped that fanaticism to Baldur’s Gate. At least you assumed they were Lolth sworn, you didn’t know of any other drow group that would do such a thing.

You agreed with Halsin. It was a terrible threat and a danger for the children to have the sheer possibility of another kidnapping exist.

“The thought haunts me, too. So, I understand how you feel”, your voice was almost a whisper, in fear of waking the sleeping souls, “It’s a huge risk to let them conspire in the dark.”

Halsin nodded. He leaned forward, holding his weight on his legs with his elbows. 

He seemed to be at war with himself, unsure if he should tell you something. His eyes scanned you and you felt your body shake. A thought of what his lips tasted like invaded you, which you blinked away ashamedly.

Focus.

You attempted to hide your racy thoughts with a stupidly fake cough.

Halsin sat up again and bit his lip. Then he grabbed your hands and held them within his own. A brush of heat sizzled up your spine. He was so close to you.

“I’m going after them. I need a few nights to prepare, but then I’ll track those miscreants down. Frelma and Danan have agreed to come with me. Three is better than one. I have no idea if we’ll survive such an assault, but it’s better than sitting here and waiting for the next attack. We’re still concocting a plan. The drow are too dangerous to let live.”

His eyes bore into yours, a shred of relief after finally telling someone clouding them: “Please. Do not tell anyone, especially not Dafydd.”

You stared into his forest eyes, that quivered with anticipation at your response. You tried your absolute most not to lean in and clasp your lips in his, although every sinew within you yearned for it. Why was he so Gods-damn fine?

FOCUS.

“I’m coming with you.”

The phrase escaped from you. You couldn’t believe what you just said. Neither could the druid, who still held your hands gently.

He tilted his head, pacifyingly, his eyes softening sweetly: “You are braver than anyone I’ve ever met. But that would be quite foolish. No, you will stay here until you’re fully heale-.”

“I insist.”

OH MY GODS, SHUT UP.

Your insides were screaming at you, what the fuck were you thinking? What would you contribute? Battle music? You would only be in the way.

Halsin let out a soft laugh, lowering your hands but still holding onto them. He shook his head and gazed at you:

“You’re a fascinating person, truly. But I cannot allow you to-“

You released your hand from his grasp and held up a finger. An idea sparked within you. An extremely stupid idea.

“I know I can’t fight. But I can run.”

Halsin’s brow furrowed, waiting for an explanation.

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.5 K Warnings: homophob*c slurs, homoph*bia. Prompt: If things cannot be changed, can the attention be diverted? This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 64: Put Out the Fire

Remus’ hand, the one that had been holding you down seemed to loosen up slightly. You looked up, he seemed just as tense but you saw Sirius plop back down into the water and you couldn’t stay down there any longer, your need for air was almost overwhelming at that point, and while you had frantically looked for a wand in the pocket of both boys’ shirts that were still on the floor to try and use some kind of charm for breathing underwater, Remus’ wand had been on his sweater and Sirius’ on his robes, so instead you’d had to hold you breath.

You gasped for air and looked towards the now shut doors. The first thing you saw was Remus’ shocked gaze, you turned to Sirius, he had his head hidden in between his palms. You looked in between the two of them, you felt your feet trembling and your lips wanting to say something. You hadn’t seen what happened, but by Sirius’ quick standing up and tense muscles under the water, you were sure someone had seen them. 

“Who?” You asked, voice raspy. The room was dеad silent, no sound other than the water still coming out of the taps and the soft echo of the small wave you’d created upon resurfacing. Both boys were almost frozen in place. Neither of them seemed ready to answer your question. “Who was it? At the door?” you pressed. 

It took a whole moment for either boy to muster up the words. “Snape,” said Sirius almost in a whisper. Remus was still quiet. 

“Severus Snape?” you asked, horrified. “How much did he–” 

“Everything,” he interrupted. You felt as if you'd gotten a punch in the gut and all the air had been drawn out of your lounges –you knew exactly how that felt. “Except for you, he didn’t see you. Remus made sure.” You blinked a couple of times and let out a short breath, trying to deal with all the new information. “He called us sissys,” Sirius continued. You saw Remus flinch out of the corner of your eye. 

“So he’s also homophobic,” you said in a scoff as if you weren’t surprised. “And he… just left?” 

“He left when I pointed my wand at his ugly face,” Sirius said, there was a tinge of that very characteristic boastfulness of his laced in his words. “Right Moony?” 

No response. 

“Moony?” Sirius asked again, now focusing his gaze on him. 

Remus was looking at Sirius but not entirely, it was as if his gaze was lost somewhere in the space he occupied. Sirius turned to you, questioning. Remus looked as if he had been petrified, though you could see the soft rise and fall of his chest. 

“Remus,” you said, much softer than Sirius, but his gaze was still completely lost.

Sirius was about to shake him but you were fast enough to hold his hand before he got to touch him. He gave you a confused look and you nodded softly. You used your hold on his wrist to draw it closer to Remus in a much softer manner and guided it until he touched his cheek. You then placed your hand on top of Sirius’ –much like you’d done to Remus earlier– and guided his index just under Remus’ chin. As you suspected, his heartbeat was almost as fast as it had been earlier, but this time it wasn’t because of pleasure, Remus was terrified. 

You threw another soft look at Sirius before pulling your other hand towards Remus’ unattended cheek. “Remus?” you called again. 

“Moony?” Sirius said shortly after, imitating the softness of your tone. He caught on almost as fast as you on what Remus was experiencing. He’d experienced it himself more times than he’d like to admit. 

“He knows,” Remus spoke finally. “He knows I’m a werewolf and he knows I’m queer.” You could tell how hard it had become for him to breathe. He was barely blinking as he said it. 

“He can’t talk about the first one,” Sirius said softly. 

You already knew about the incident. Severus had gotten charmed by Dumbuldore so he didn’t speak about Remus’ secret. You wondered if the spell had been ambiguous enough to also stop him from talking about this. It was highly unlikely, Dumbledore was a brilliant wizard, he wouldn’t leave space for loopholes.

Remus didn’t even have the energy to look at Sirius in the sarcastic way he’d want to. The one that made the obvious thing known: He could talk about the second one.

It was easy to guess what he was thinking. “It’s okay,” you said softly. “It’s okay,” you repeated reassuringly, much like he had done to you in the past. “We’ll figure something out.” 

“We always figure something out,” Sirius said with a smile, and leaned closer to press a soft kiss to Moony’s temple. That seemed to somehow ease the other boy. 

“That’s right,” you added softly and allowed your hand to glide down to his collarbone, squeezing the space between his shoulder and his neck reassuringly. “It may take us a while, but we’ll find a way. We already found our way to each other, whatever happens after won’t matter.” 

“The pressure, it’ll…” Remus took in a shaky breath. “It’ll crush us,”  he added apprehensively. “What if– If you can’t take that anymore,” he added as he looked at both you and Sirius. 

The root of his fear wasn’t on people finding out, but rather it was on the two of you leaving him because of it. You shook your head and sighed once you figured it out. “Rem, we’ve all gone pretty much through hell before getting together. Sirius’s never cared about other people’s opinions and as long as I have the two of you, I won’t either. Shout it out loud to the entire school if you want, I’m yours, we’re yours, and nothing will change that.” 

“She’s right Moons, if you think some Slytherin’s badmouthing us will make us step away from you then–” 

“It’s not just the Slytherins,” Remus interrupted, insisting, anxious. “Our very friends could turn on us. You don’t know the kind of prejudice they have against queer people, against people in a menage a trois or whatever it is you call it. They will look at us and they will judge us wherever we go and–” 

“Hey,” you said softly when you realised his words were taking over his thoughts. “Name one friend you think would leave us if they found out. I dare you.” 

Remus seemed to think about it for a second, he opened his mouth to speak but he couldn’t say a thing. “None of them would,” Sirius confirmed. “You know that, right?” 

“What about my father?” 

“You could always say you’re only half gay, you’re also dating a woman,” said Sirius nonchalantly and got a slap from your side. 

“I’m sure Hope would help him understand if it ever gets big enough for him to hear about it,” you said with a smile. “Don’t worry so much, Rem. We are together in this, we’re not planning to leave you any time soon.” 

“Yeah?” He said softly. Almost too quietly to be heard. As if he was scared you might go back on your words. 

You smiled and leaned in to hug him, Sirius was shortly behind, the two of you embracing Remus tightly. Both boys were still quite shirtless, and you could feel their soft skin against your hands and face, it was reassuring in a way. Your cheeks pressed to the crook of his neck and Sirius pressed almost right behind you. It took him a few seconds, but eventually, he also closed his arms around Sirius, pushing you even closer to him, as if to make sure you were real, as if to make sure you were really there, hugging him, and telling him you’d be with him no matter what. Just months ago something like that would seem unimaginable, and here you were. 

“I mean,” Sirius said. You could hear the teasing smile on his face even if you had your back turned on him. “Did you really think we’d ever want to stop after getting a taste of you?” He added before pressing a sonorous kiss on Remus’ cheek. The smack sound echoed through the entire place.

Remus was startled at first, growing almost red from the unexpected remark –and he was lucky Sirius didn’t lick his face as he initially intended– but then he chuckled light-heartedly. You smiled and pressed a kiss to his neck as well, much quieter than Sirius’ but loud enough for him to hear. “I mean, Sirius’ is right. How could we ever?” 

Remus’ chuckles grew a little louder. And he tightened his grip around the two of you.  A few minutes passed like that. After the heat of the moment and the cold bucket of water that Severus had thrown your way, it was a nice, simple, and incredibly reassuring embrace. “We should probably leave now,” he said while rubbing circles on Sirius’ back and pressing a short kiss to your hair. 

“I don’t want to,” you said petulantly. The idea of leaving the warmth and comfort of them presenting itself almost as a nightmare. 

“Severus might tell a teacher, and then we’ll really be in trouble.” 

“Remus!” Sirius complained this time around. He was clearly much calmer now, impossibly delighted at having both his boyfriend and his girlfriend cling to him so fervently.

“You both know we should go, don’t make me the bad guy.” 

You grumbled something as you pushed yourself off him, “Why did we say we wanted common sense in the relationship,” you sighed as you turned to Sirius.

“Because we’re both reckless and would probably end up in detention without Moony,” he reminded you. 

“Well detention doesn’t sound so ba–” 

“Bathroom cleaning.” Remus said without batting an eyelash. 

You stood straight almost in an instant. “Remus is right, we need to leave this place,” you said as you leaned down and allowed your hand to dive down into the water to pick up their shirts, handing them over shortly after. You’d gotten it wrong and mismatched them to their owner, the boys smiled when they noticed, exchanging the wet clumps of fabric between each other as they looked at you stepping out of the water with clothes completely soaked but clean in comparison to earlier. 

Neither boy said a thing, but the sight of your shirt and skirt clinging to your body due to the water tempted both of them to forgo common sense and just continue with what you’d started before Severus arrived. “What?” you asked as they stared. 

“Nothing,” Sirius said, almost too quickly before busying himself with the damp cloth in his hand. Trying to expand it and put it on, even as it was wet. “How is it so much harder to put on a wet shirt than to remove it,” he mumbled as he struggled to find one of the arms. 

“You’re not really meant to put on wet clothes, only to remove them,” Remus replied with a teasing smirk before also leaving the tub. He was dripping, the droplets of water disappearing into the charmed floor. It seemed like whatever water reached it would instantly dry, it’d been designed to avoid students tripping on wet surfaces; it was still fascinating to see the droplets almost disappear as if they had been swallowed by a sponge the moment they touched the ground.

 His trousers were half on –since you’d managed to remove one of the buttons– and pulled down as he stepped out of the bath. Sirius hollered something about him having a “Great arse” and you tried not to laugh as Moony frowned, and pulled up the trousers as a blush suffused his face. Not that Sirius had actually seen anything other than his underwear. 

You leaned back a little bit to look and nodded. “No, I mean he’s definitely right,” you said with a shrug. Which got an exasperated –and yet diverted– look from Moony. He shook his head as he pulled on his shirt, picked his jumper from the side of the tub and took his wand out from one of the sleeves, where it had previously gotten stuck.

“Little Witch, come over,” He said softly. You approached him without questions and he cast a simple spell over you, in a second your clothes were all dried up, they even looked ironed. 

“That’s a neat trick,” you said as you adjusted the button and realised the small hole in the side of your skirt had also disappeared. You looked at it puzzled as you turned to Remus with amazement. 

“It’s a repairing charm,” he responded with a shrug. “I begged Pomfrey to teach me how to do it. I’d lost a great deal of my clothes because of Moony.”

“You’re so brilliant!” you said as you took his hand in between your hands and pressed a fast kiss on his lips. He seemed rather content with your sudden show of love and appreciation. You’d called him brilliant before about a hundred times, but if from now on that praise also came with a kiss, then he’d have to be twice as brilliant as he’d been before.

By the time you left the bathroom, both boys had been dried with Remus’ spell, and you’d had to step out into the sea of toads on the outside hall. Upon little to no deliberation, the three of you decided that going to the courtyard and blending in with the rest of your friends would be your best alibi. Especially if you made a lot of noise and made it appear you’d been there a while. At least like that, you’d be able to diminish the credibility of whatever Severus decided to tell other people. 

If you made the rest doubt that you’d ever been anywhere but in the courtyard, then the probability of having been in the Prefect’s bathroom would go down drastically. Hence, you sneaked through one of Hogwarts’ interminable secret passages and arrived at the courtyard not from the main entrance but rather from an underground passage that dropped you just outside of it. 

You used the same technique you had used outside the great hall to climb up and the three of you blended with the crowd as if you’d been there all along.

“Hey,” you said as you approached your group of friends.

Mary was almost startled when she spotted you “Where were you?” 

“We got ourselves cleaned after the mud incident, took a while to find you in the crowds.” 

“If you had come with me instead of behind your boyfriends–” she stopped herself as if she realised she’d said something she shouldn’t have but added, “Your boyfriend’s beautiful hair then you wouldn’t have ruined your uniform.” 

You pushed her with your shoulder playfully, not reproaching but rather diverted at how fast her stance had changed when she thought she’d said more than she should.  It made you think of how and when you’d tell the rest of your friends about your relationship. 

Which had some conflicted thoughts, part of you wanted to keep it a secret, just because of how exciting it was to have them for the two of you, while the other part wanted to tell every single person in the world about it, because dating Remus Lupin was something worth boasting about. Yes, it had been you and Sirius the ones who finally got one of the dreamiest boys at the entire school. However would you want to keep that a secret? 

If only there were not such things as prejudices and so on, perhaps you might have made it obvious right there and then. But then again, you might have been the one in less trouble if word got out since you weren’t the one openly breaking the classic heterosexual relationships, the boys were. Not even Tom was openly gay, even if it wasn’t exactly a secret, it was more as if he belonged in a secret club, where only other members of the club and selected allies were admitted. 

It was the only way to maintain everyone safe since you were sure the racism already existing in some places of the school wouldn't take too long to turn into homophobia. Yet another excuse to belittle people. After all, you had met Arkalis, and the way he’d implied things about Evan had been enough to tell you the position of the Pure Blood Community in regard to sexual preferences. 

“What do you mean ‘her boyfriend’s beautiful hair?’” Asked James as he turned to Lily in an almost reproachful tone. 

“Nobody can deny it, Sirius has the best hair,” said Marlene. 

“Between who?” protested James. “The Marauders?” 

“Probably the entire school,” answered Mary with a shrug. 

James looked honestly offended by the entire ordeal, not because he didn’t think Sirius had amazing hair, but because Lily thought Sirius had amazing hair. Not that she didn’t have any right to think it, of course, she could think whatever she liked, but it didn’t stop the little discontent over it. “Well, I think Lily has the best hair.” 

“Of course you do,” Everyone retorted, almost in a choir. James just frowned in return and placed his hand around Lily who rolled her eyes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, instantly making the frown disappear. 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed Severus walking past the entrance and towards a bunch of Slytherins on the other side of the courtyard. His robes were still filled with mud, and he was covered by what you recognized to be the slime on the library entrance. There was a choir of laughter among the students once a small Hufflepuff girl noticed him and pointed his demeanour at her friends who seemed genuinely diverted at the sight.

“That is enough, Miss Bingley, please,” McGonagall said in a rather stern voice. 

“But Professor,” retorted another Hufflepuff that stood beside her. “He’s covered in troll snot!” 

This caused yet another chorus of laughs, this time even the Slytherins were poking fun at Severus who had already turned crimson from anger, his face contorting into that of an angry ostrich. When he noticed your staring he gave you a disdainful face with an air of superiority. As if he knew something you didn’t and he knew that something had the power to destroy you. Severus had assumed Sirius was cheating on you with Remus Lupin, and he was already devising a plan to bring the three of you down. He had this unwavering idea that it was your fault he was miserable and that Lily had started dating Potter because you had prompted her to it. He didn’t think it was a coincidence that Potter had been chasing after her for years; only when you appeared in the school had she actually decided to give him a chance. 

For all Severus cared, you and James had put a spell on Evans and that’s why she hung out with you so readily. After all, it had been after you arrived that she had started to throw those resentful looks his way. Almost as if she had started to hate him, which had never happened before. And it was in this madness that Severus was determined to destroy you. He didn’t give a damn if you recently lost your mother and friend, not even when he read on the papers that you’d run away from home; in fact, he’d even hoped you wouldn’t return at the beginning of the year. He was so upset and bitter over the way Lily was acting toward him that he blamed it all on you and couldn’t see past his pain.

It being your fault made sense, you were the perfect scapegoat, especially when he was not ready to admit it had been his attitude, and what he had called her that made Lily start being so wary of him. 

Unbeknownst to all his plans, you held his gaze and smirked, leaning closer to Sirius. “You should have told me he looked so ridiculous,” you said with a laugh, that caused Sirius to also pay attention to Severus. There was a fire in the Slytherin’s eyes as his gaze crossed with Sirius’ unbothered and clearly diverted one. 

“Severus Snape?” Sirius questioned. “Or should we say Severus Snail?” 

Some other kid caught wind of what he said and repeated it a little louder, soon enough there was a choir of voices chanting “Severus Snail, Severus Snail!” while the rest laughed at the ridiculously fitting nickname for the boy covered in slime. 

Severus puffed and blew, and looked more pissed than anything, his stupid proud smile erasing from his face as more and more voices joined the chanting. Neither you nor Sirius had joined, but both of you were laughing merrily. And as Sirius had placed his arm around you and had you lean closer to him, Severus thought he was the most disgusting man he had ever seen (after Potter). But he didn’t feel sorry for either of you, instead, he was ready to rip you to shreds. 

“Enough!” repeated McGonagall, in a much more commanding tone than the one he had used the first time. “Mr Snape, please go to Mr Slughorn to see if he can help you out of your… predicament,” she added. “Everyone else, the classes are suspended for today. Food will be served on the lawn next to the black lake and you shall remain there until further notice, is that clear?” 

There was a choir of excited “yes” coming from the crowds.

She sighed and then turned around, Professor Nightshade was by her side. She gave you a weary glance since she’d been trying to get a hold of you since you went back to school, but the situation at hand seemed a lot more relevant. The rest of the teachers, including Sprout, Flitwick and Spellman, leaned in to hear what McGonagall was telling them in a much softer tone. “I’ll talk to the house elves to devise a plan for the displacement of the Toads,” she said. “Unless anyone has any other ideas?” 

The teachers disappeared into the roofed section of the courtyard and you turned to look at Lily with a proud smile, leaning onto her before whispering: “Told you you didn’t have to worry about the homework.” 

Even with the thick snow outside, the students had all armed themselves with warming spells, there had been a few fires constructed near the lake and the elves were handing out hot chocolate with warming potions –courtesy of Slughorn– to everyone that required them. The prank had turned a boring first day of school into somewhat of a winter picnic or an exterior of a ski resort lounge party. The lake was frozen, the elves had gotten some skates and some students were skating about while others remained close to the fires while drinking their hot cocoas and roasting marshmallows.

Eventually, a Ravenclaw had the brilliant idea of also cooking food in the fire and with the help from the house elves got his hands on some raw meat in bruschetta sticks and with a spell had them float and spin around the fire as they cooked.

 He taught some other students how to do it, and suddenly almost all the fires were not only for warming people but also a buffet of all types of roasted food and vegetables. 

The day might have started with toads, but it ended in a winter festival! 

It’s been a few hours since you’d gotten there with everyone and by then you were all just lounging on the snow, close enough to the fire to be warm, but not so much that the snow would melt underneath you. You had a bruschetta of roasted vegetables in your hand and were munching on some green stuff that tasted like zucchini but with spices. 

“Well it turned out a lot better than I expected,” said James as he leaned back next to Sirius, you had been lying in between him and Remus, shoulders bumping into each other as you pulled food into your mouth. Remus would occasionally have some marshmallows float towards him and share them with you and Sirius. 

“Yeah, we’d never had a prank ended in a party,” said Peter from the other side. He was drinking some hot chocolate and had about 5 marshmallows floating beside him, and another 5 -much smaller ones– inside his beverage. “They almost always end up in detention.” 

“You think they’ll figure it was us?” asked Sirius thoughtfully. 

“I don’t think they even know how it was done,” you retorted. “I mean there is no spell that gets so many toads in so many places at once.” 

“I believe Flitwick and Spellman are trying to figure that out,” added Remus. “I saw them talking to some of the elves, and Nimbletwist said they had been tasked to revise the origin of the toads, but no one is sure where they came from.” 

“Luckily the Swampbombs don’t leave any magic traces…” 

“Don’t be so sure,” said Peter. “We thought stink pellets didn’t leave any traces after their dung was completely released and we got in detention anyway.” 

“How did they figure out they had been yours?” 

“The Slytherins threatened the Zonko shopkeeper to tell them who’d bought them,” he admitted. “Moral of the story– never buy pranks under your own name.” 

You laughed at that and took another bite of your bruschetta, whatever you’d eaten was sweet and slightly condimented, you weren’t sure you’d eaten it before, but you certainly enjoyed the texture of it in your mouth, not to mention the taste was exquisite. 

“Hey, wanna go skating?” Annie Doxon said as she approached Peter, you could tell he was trying to hide his smile and look cool about it when he got up as she extended her hand. You smiled as you saw the two of them towards the lake. 

“And you, Étoile? Wanna skate?” 

You hummed in return, you’d barely slept that night, and then you’d gotten a dеath scare at the bathrooms. It's not that you were sleepy, or that you wanted to sleep, but rather that you were much too tired to will yourself to stand anytime soon. Not to mention there was no place as comfortable as lying between the two of them. “Not right now,” you admitted. “But if you want to–” 

“No, I’m good here too,” he added with a smile, leaning his head a little closer to yours. “Can I have some, Moons?” he asked Remus as he gave a bite to a marshmallow. Moony smirked and floated it towards Sirius who promptly gave it a bite of his own. 

“This is really nice,” you said as you took another bite of your food. 

“Not having class?” asked Sirius.

“The marshmallows?” quipped Remus. 

“No, being with you,” you said, not realising how freaking sappy you’d sounded until it was too late. 

“Is it?” Sirius said with a smirk as he turned to you with a teasing eyebrow and you groaned in return. 

“Never mind, I take it back, I take it back,” you joked, it didn’t matter, Sirius had already thrown himself over your stomach, pushing you closer to Remus and looking up at you with a teasing smile.

“What about it is it that you like so much?” 

“Oh, please!” you complained with a smile as you tried not to make it evident how flustered you’d gotten over your own stupidity. 

“Come on, Étoile, dis-moi!”

“Non, non je t'en prie.”

“I’d certainly like to hear it too,” Remus said as he leaned on his elbows to be able to look at the two of you better. It was like the entire world around the three had faded, leaving only you and nothing else. “What is it, Little Witch?” 

“You just like torturing me, don’t you?” you said, playing offended. 

“Perhaps we do,” Sirius responded as he looked at Remus with a rather complicit smile. 

“It’s just that you look exceptionally cute when you’re flustered,” Remus said, much quieter, in case someone was listening to the three. You covered your face with your hands but both of them were quick and moved them out of the way, looking at you with infuriatingly teasing smiles. 

You frowned and pouted and the two boys blurted out laughing. Perhaps if Severus had seen the entire thing happen he would have realised he’d gotten it all wrong, and that his plans to torment you would dissolve in water like an effervescent tablet.

You were shaking your head as the boys continued to laugh their heads off when you heard a rather big explosion. The entire place went quiet, and people turned to look towards the castle. It couldn’t have been the prank, there was nothing in the swampbombs akin to an actual bomb.

“What–” 

“My god,” you heard a Hufflepuff girl –Alice Becket– say as she looked towards her window. You gave Remus a look since they had been a thing and he just shrugged in return. “I left my fireworm in the dorm room, if toads got in…” 

Suddenly there was another explosion, this time it was louder.

“Alice!” Michael, another Hufflepuff, screamed. “Did you also take Puxie out of her cage?” 

“She looked constrained,” Alice said with a miserable-looking expression. 

And then there was another boom. Imogen, who at some point had sat beside Remus winced. “And… that must have been Tony.” 

“Your fireworm?” you asked as you turned to her. She nodded in return. 

“Alice, may I have a word with you?” Said Professor Spellman with a rather stern look. “Care to explain the explosions in the common room?” 

“It’s the fireworms, Sir. I think they might have encountered the Toads…” she said and then she looked down, shaking her head. “Poor Drewie…” 

“And why, pray tell, did a bunch of Hufflepuffs keep fireworms in their dorm rooms?” He said, voice booming and turning to look at Nightshade. She shrugged in response, even if she was head of the house, she had no idea. 

“Homework,” said Imogen. 

“Hufflepuffs are not the only ones with fireworms either,” said a Ravenclaw as there was another loud boom and smoke started to come out of their tower. 

“By Rowena!” said Spellman as he heard another boom. 

“Where do you keep yours?” You asked, turning to Sirius. 

“Peter is taking care of them, I think he left them with Hagrid or something,” he said with a shrug, not preoccupied at all. So far there had been no explosions on the Gryffindor tower or near the dungeons (that you’d heard) and after a few other booms, the novelty of the incident died and some of the students on other years –everyone that did not own a fireworm– went back to the things they’d been doing before hand.

“I’m so going to fail,” said Michael as he pulled on his hair and shook his head in disbelief. “All we had to do was keep them alive.”  

“Loser!” Said Snape as he stared at the smoke. 

“Say that again, Severus Snail!” jeered Michael as he turned around, clearly pissed at his comment. 

“That’s enough,” Spellman commanded, but neither cared to listen. 

“Call me that again and see what else blows up.” 

“Your face will,” retorted Michael, as he pulled out his wand and pointed it towards Severus.

Nightshade had slowly walked right in front of the boy, and in a much calmer, and yet somehow equally threatening voice said, “Michael Stradlater!” 

He looked at Snape, clenching his jaw and wand still high up in the air. Severus stared at him angrily as he looked at her from the corner of his eyes and then focused back on him. He took a deep breath and slowly pulled his wand down. “He started, Miss!” 

“Not my fault he can’t keep his fireworms alive,” Severus insisted, he was in a terrible mood, and being called Severus Snail only made it worse. On the other hand, Michael was devastated over his worm, not because he was overly attached to it, but because he was failing Care of Magical Creatures and needed the extra points keeping him alive would have bought. He aimed his wand against Severus again. 

“Michael,” Seraphina said again, it was rather impassive. Voice soft, but a clear warning regardless. The boy didn’t relent this time. 

You looked at Remus and smiled, he knew you were up to something even before he brought your hand to your mouth and pulled on the fingers of your glove with a bite and removed it, digging your hand in the snow. 

“Professor, I’m really sorry but I cannot–” A snowball surged through the air and fell right on Severus’ face. Michael looked at the scene completely shocked before he allowed his wand to fall back down as he bent over with laughter. 

“Who the hell–” Severus started, but then another snowball flew through the air and fell on the side of Michael’s head, which got Severus to scoff. Remus was not wearing his gloves at this point either. “Is this funny to you?” Severus asked as he looked around annoyed. 

“Plenty,” said Evan as he threw a snowball straight at his face. 

Severus seemed even more offended that his housemate had thrown a snowball at his face than anything, but then a rouge snowball from Sirius fell on a random student and since he thought it had been someone else, he retaliated towards Imogen and Alice, who of course wouldn’t stay with their arms closed. 

Less than 10 snowballs later, a fight had ensued. There were snowballs falling on the fires and on the food, and even the students who had been trying to read a book, or work on homework (which of course there were some) had now joined. Remus and Sirius and you had started out as a team, until Sirius accidentally threw a snowball at Remus and he retaliated with one towards him that ended up falling on your arm. 

Eventually, Sirius was focusing solely on Remus and Remus on Sirius and you decided to pull back a little since you had already gotten like 10 balls clash onto you in the crossfire. It was as you stood close to the lake, using a spell to make about 20 snowballs at once, that someone with a disillusionment charm passed through and pulled you back behind some old stone walls that you assumed had been some ancient building that the school hadn’t cared much about maintaining.

“Hey Reg,” you said when you noticed it was him. 

He smiled, pulled his head up to make sure no one had spotted him dragging you there and turned back. “How’d you know it was me?”. 

“All my other friends with mad disillusionment skills are in the middle of a snowfight.” 

“Could have been an enemy,” he said in a rather serious tone –you did notice the irony of that thought.

“An enemy wouldn’t have pulled me anywhere nearly as gently as you did.” You shrugged.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, casting a spell around the two of you so you were both now invisible, but somehow he’d managed to make himself visible to you and vice versa.

“You have to teach me that trick.” 

“So you fill the school up with more toads?” 

You gasped in surprise. “What makes you assume it was me?” 

“You weren’t at the Great Hall when chaos ensued, as if you knew it was going to happen.”  

“You were looking for me?” you asked tilting your head to the side with a teasing smile. But Reggie’s face made you realise he was not in the same spirits as you were. “What?” 

“I wanted to talk to you.” 

“That does not sound like good news whatsoever,” you said, somehow still half-jokingly but with an almost strained tone, as you didn’t want to hear what would happen next. 

Regulus took a deep breath and then turned back to you. “After the Christmas party… they thought I’d helped you.” 

“But you tried to stop me!” 

“They didn’t believe you knocked me out just like that…  Evan and Crouch were also on the line.” 

“But the wand I gave Barty–”

“It didn’t matter,” he said. “Arkalis for some reason thought Evan would protect you… Of all people, can you believe that?”

You tilted your head to the side and let out a low “hmmm”. 

“Wait, you can?” 

“It’s a long story. But Arkalis believes I hooked up with him.” 

“With Evan?” asked Regulus. He might have not been in the class but he very well knew about the animosity you had towards each other, and he also knew about him and Barty.

“It’s a long story,” you repeated. 

Regulus shook his head and sighed before he spoke again. “Anyway, we had to convince them that we all hate your guts.” 

“Couldn’t have been hard for those two,” you joked, but Reggie didn’t seem to loosen up after that either, he was tense still. 

“How are you?” He changed the subject. You were about to say you were fine but he didn’t let you speak. “Really.” 

You swallowed. 

“I see you’ve been using her wand.” 

You stopped breathing for a moment, not knowing exactly how to respond to that. “Better than I was then,” you said honestly. “I’ve… so much has happened since. It’s been crazy but the boys have been there for me, through and through. You?” 

He smiled when he heard you. He could tell you weren’t lying. “We convinced them we never helped you.” 

There was an apprehensive way in the way he said it as if he’d had to do something awful to achieve it. “What did they–” Your words got caught in your throat as he rolled back his sleeve. 

His pale arm had been tainted, marred with a symbol that it took you no more than a second to recognise.  A snake with a skull on top, exactly like the one you had seen up in the sky when he persuaded you to stay outside. For a second you wondered if your mother would still be alive had you actually listened to him. It was a terribly destructive thought that you knew you shouldn’t allow to roam in your mind for too long unless you wanted to be back where you’d been before the mirror.

You took it in your hands and pulled it towards you. “Reggie,” you said, afflicted as you looked at his arm. “Did it– Did it hurt?” He stayed quiet, clenching his jaw, which was enough for you to know it had. 

“He can call us whenever he wants now. That hurts more.”

“Can’t we remove it?” 

“I don’t think it’s possible, dark magic is involved. Like a curse.”  

“All courses can be broken,” you said with determination. “Sirius is way better at that than me thought, perhaps we can talk to him and–” 

“No!” he let out in a rush.

“No?” 

“Sirius’ animosity towards me was one of the things that convinced them that I wasn’t on your side. Evan also used Sirius as his excuse to not helping you. And while we’re supposed to pretend to be friends with you at school, it’s only to keep an eye, and make sure you don’t interfere again, if not…” 

“I get it,” you interrupted, not wanting him to say the words that both of you knew would follow. “But, your brother he, you won’t be able to make up with him. I know he’d like to have his little brother back, Reggie. He misses you.” 

“Very peculiar way he’s got to show it,” he responded sarcastically, in a way that was incredibly reminiscent of Sirius himself.

“You’re no better than him.” 

“Well, he shows you he loves you.”  

“He’s still angry about the stuff that happened that summer,” you explained. “But he misses you still.” 

“He has James.” 

You sighed, you weren’t sure how to respond to that. “He needs to think you’re on their side?” 

“There’s nothing more convincing than his scorn,” he said coldly, you could see it hurt him either way. 

“And I? Must I pretend to hate you too?” 

“No,” he said as he shook his head. “We’re meant to keep an eye on you, remember?” 

“So I shouldn’t be surprised if I end up with Slytherin satellites?” 

“I doubt anyone will take it seriously. Except perhaps Mulociber and Severus since–” 

“They too?” you asked in shock. Both of them already hated your guts. Perhaps as much as Barty and Evan had before Christmas. 

“More than me, Evan and Crouch, even. Since they got in themselves, not through their family connections.” 

“Shit.” You said as you thought to the fact that Severus had seen Remus and Sirius in the bathroom.  Would he be scared enough just with Sirius’ threats to leave that fact alone? Would he go running to inform Orion? Did he even have a way to contact Orion? What would the Blacks do if they found out? 

“Yeah,” he agreed. He wanted to ask you how you were coping. Especially about your mother, she’d seen how much closer you were to her than to your father, and while he would have been almost pleased to have Walburga out of the way, the way in which you had defended Avis was enough for him to know it wasn’t like that for you at all. “I’m sorry about… everything that happened on Christmas.” 

“I’m sorry about this,” you said as you placed your hand over his arm again, rubbing your thumb over the mark, as if that would wipe it from his arm. “And everything they made you do after Christmas.” 

Perhaps it wasn’t the nicest thing to bond over your sorrows, but at least, Regulus had someone he could talk to. You had always had James and Lily and all your other friends to bond with, but Reggie could not talk about any of the things he thought with almost any of the Slytherins. He could trust no one, he didn’t want to risk it. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he said as he looked at the mark. “I’m on your side. I’ll always be on your side.” 

You knew he meant it. From day one, even if reluctantly, Regulus had been on your side. And something deep inside told you that he would be till the day he died. And while it was reassuring to know that you had friends who would stand by you no matter what, you had also seen first-hand what standing by you no matter what could do to them.

“Stay safe,” you retorted. “Don’t put yourself in harm’s way for my sake.” 

“Would you even listen if I asked that of you?” he said with a small, almost teasing-like smirk that reminded you just how much of Sirius’ little brother he was. Sometimes even the way he walked was so reminiscent of Sirius that you had –upon seeing him by the corner of your eye– thought it was him. 

“Do as I say, not as I do!” you retorted with a smile as well. Reggie was bringing down his shirt sleeve and buttoning it as neatly as if it had never been pulled up. 

“Hypocrite.” 

“I’m older, I get to be one,” you added teasingly, he actually smiled after that, it was a genuine smile. Almost a twin to Sirius’ except his was a little brighter. You wondered if someone would ever make Reggie smile like his brother, you hoped there would. 

“You really should have been a Slytherin.” 

“Don’t go around saying that, you might get beaten up by James,” you smiled. And pulled your wand out of your pocket before smiling and passing it over to him, he looked at you with narrowed eyes. And then you smiled. “Careful, you’ll get cold.” 

“What?” he asked, confused. 

You smiled and pushed him gently so that he wasn’t covered by the rocks anymore. “Hey!” you said in a voice that didn’t quite sound like you. “Regulus is hiding over there!” 

Regulus gasped and then turned to you with a shocked smile. Now that was the kind of smile you were looking for. “You traitor,” he mouthed as several snowballs crashed against him. Three on his arm, one on his face that made snow splatter and colour a good deal of his hair white, and then one on the side of his leg. 

You winked and picked up a ball yourself, throwing it towards him. “Go on seeker, let’s see if you’re as good at avoiding small balls as you are chasing them!” 

He smiled and shook his head, rolling down on the snow and picking a ball before throwing it straight at your face, even if you were still invisible. 

“You were saying?” he asked with a smile. 

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: Since we're getting close to the end, I'm planning to do a reread (10-15 chaps left) + heavy revision once we're done (still a few months from there but it's probably going to be done sometime this year) because I want to make my own printed version of it (probably on Lulu), and perhaps a cute epub file? It will probably contain pictures, fan art, and other bonus material. Either way, if you want to collaborate, either in the revision or in bonus content, please don't hesitate to hit me up. Sidenote: please check out this ANNOUNCEMENT regarding some alterations to the posting schedule for the rest of the month.

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Read more Marauders Fiction

[blackcoldcrackedheart]

Buck could already see and smell the smoke from the truck. He watched from the tiny window in the truck as thick fumes of black smoke billowed into the sky, contradicting the sunny weather and bright blue sky.

“Okay team, heads up- IC has already given us the heads up about this fire- we’re looking at mass casualties and possibly people who are still alive being trapped inside.” Bobby warned as the truck slowed to a stop.

Buck was the first to hop out, surveying the scene and feeling the adrenaline thrum through his veins. The fire had swallowed up a row of high rise and high-end apartments and a row of stores that were built under them. Buck could see rows of other trucks.

Including the 217.

For one moment, he felt a slight panic run through him before the feeling shifted to something else- something sullen and heavy.

For a moment he thought it would be a long shot that he would even see his ex. It was a mass causality 5 alarm fire with two other fire departments besides theirs. The chances were there but they had to be low.

He was sure he could focus but then he a group of firefighter controlling the high pressure hose. That’s when he finally caught sight of Tommy; he recognized his stature even from a distance without looking at his turnout. He hadn’t changed in the past four months, he looked good.

Really good- soot covered and sweaty type good.

Buck licked his lips, nibbling on his lower lip and then shaking his head. He needed to focus.

“You good?” Eddie asked, leaning closer to Buck’s shoulder as he studied the man. He had caught sight of Tommy too, noticing the other man’s sadden expression as Tommy watched Buck. Eddie recognized Lucy, Ravi (who had transferred to the Harbor a month ago at Lucy’s behest), and another firefighter Eddie knew from the pickup basketball game- Milton, look between Buck and Tommy.

Eddie figured they were thinking the same as him right about now, that neither man was fully over each other.

 He saw Buck make eye contact with Tommy and nod, not even a flicker of warmth in his expression or eyes. Tommy nodded back, his feature cracking just a smidge as he tried to offer Buck a strained closed lip smile, his eyes sad but hopeful. But Buck had looked away.

IC Hernandez was loud over the roaring fire that was going on behind them, he gave the 118 and others a brief synopsis about what was done so far; how they cut power and gas to the whole block, how multiple people were already being sent to the hospital, and how recoveries were still occurring before the buildings could fall.

“How long do you think we have till the buildings collapse?” Chimney asked, the team’s focus shifting from the IC to the burning inferno.

“Minutes.” IC Hernandez answered roughly.

Once they got their orders the team ran to their assigned stations and places, with Buck running to help with the hose. He gave himself a moment to find Tommy, who was also on the hose and putting out the fire further down.

Buck looked up and saw something against the window, “Cap!” He yelled into the radio, “I thought Hernandez said building C was cleared?”

“It is!” Bobby yelled back, Buck looked up again. “Eddie!” he yelled and pointed in the direction of the window, “You seeing the same thing that I am?”

He saw Eddie look confused momentarily before his eyes widen in fear, “Cap, we got someone in building C still!”

“Who the hell else is left?” Hernandez was now on their channel, “Building C was evacuated prior to you guys coming.”

Buck rolled his eyes, “Well not the case now.” He answered curtly. “Permission to go in.” He turned to find Bobby in the chaos.

“Don’t even think about it Buckley.” Hernandez said pointedly, “Building C is timed to collapse, the structure is unsecured, and we can’t ensure that if you go in that you’ll come out.”

“Buck, listen to Captain Hernandez.”

Buck was ready to make a retort, but he saw the window burst open. Showering the ground with pieces of flex glass and metal.

He couldn’t see the person who was able to smash the window out, the smoke was too thick and Buck could see the low glow of the fire, but he could hear a girl’s voice scream “HELP ME!”

Buck looked at Eddie, his face hardening as he ran to the truck to grab an ax and tank. “BUCK, NO!”

He was able to push past Eddie and Chim, knocking them down as he barreled through them in order to save the woman, barely hearing Tommy’s “EVAN!” in the background as he ran into the flames.

“EVAN!” Tommy yelled, only being kept in place because Eddie and Chimney were holding him back with all their might. “LET ME GO! I NEED TO GET HIM! EVVAAAN!”

“Is he insane!?” Lucy asked as she watched the drama unfold, Ravi shook his head as he watched Hernandez rip Bobby a new one for having a bunch of recluse firefighters. “Why the hell would be run inside!?”  

“You’ve met Buck, are you really surprised?” Ravi asked, he was worried- sure. But Buck had this insane sort of luck that Ravi admired. He wasn’t too worried about Buck getting out, he was a great firefighter. Wreckless, yes, but somehow smart about it. Ravi was sure Buck would leave with the vic and only get a slap on the wrist for disobeying orders.

Before Lucy could answer, an explosion from building B had them duck for cover as the earth shook under their feet. Ravi felt his stomach drop to his feet as he watched building C partially collapse onto itself. “I thought they cut the power and gas?” he pulled his radio, “Buckley, do you copy?”

Silence.

He turned to look at Bobby, the older man who mere moments ago was pissed now looked washed out and gray as he stared at the building, gripping his radio as he yelled, “Buck, do you copy?! Buck!”

Eddie was already running to Bobby, “Cap, he’s not responding! We need to go in!”

“We run in there Eddie then we’re just asking for more firefighters to follow us in to save us.”

Lucy suggested that they could cut through building D since it was connected to building C and still intact versus the other buildings. “It’s risky, but we might be able to get to Buckley and the vic before building C actually falls down completely.”

Hernandez huffed out a breath of annoyance, looking at Bobby with ire and the fire. “If we do that then we have to be quick, building C is already filled with smoke and building D isn’t that far behind. We don’t have enough time to secure the base’s structure, but the middle wall shouldn’t need support if we don’t cut too high.” He pointed at Eddie and Milton, “I need you two to-” suddenly his eyes shifted to something behind them and Hernandez and Bobby looked alarmed at they both yelled, “KINARD!” “TOMMY, NO!”

The others turned around quickly to see Tommy run into blaze.

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Slow burn, pining, kiss, fingering, smut, loss of virginity, creampie, longing, dirty talk.

Note: Hello my angels! First of all, thank you all so much for being so patient for this chapter, I know it came out later than it usually does and mummy has been starving you all, but life has been a bitch but here we are! I really hope that you enjoy this, and hope that all is well in your lives. Take care of yourselves <3 Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Prayers, Whiskey and Peaks

Aemond stayed true to his word. His desire to assist you with anything he could began the next morning when he woke, eager to please and already on his feet before you were.

He woke you from the couch as he passed to fill your kettle with water, using the pump in the kitchen, toned arms gripping the handle, before lighting the stove with the embers from the fire. 

Neither one of you mentioned your heated kiss, nor your silent confession, nor his pleading request. It was as if the night had never happened, the peak of your resistance breaking and the pull to him having been a mere passing thought. His attitude, however, immediately changed towards you, his teasing and smug responses became less, and he himself, became more patient, tender, and curious. 

But a small part of yourself missed the cheeky disposition that he once had, and you pondered for the days that passed if his sudden change was at all due to his discovery of your ‘condition’, so to speak. Yet this discovery did not stop his physical attentions, in fact, it seemed to exacerbate them. 

Unbeknownst to himself, or not, he seemed to gravitate towards you. Lingering touches of hands when passing him food, or lamp, or oil. The brushing of shoulders against your own, or even the way he would stand behind you, the heat of his body radiating into your back as you taught him all you knew about tending to the lighthouse, just as your father had. 

And not once, to your pleasant surprise, did you shy away from his sudden interests, or his new found fondness for learning all that you knew. For him to be involved in your teachings, your passions, and your excitement when he would ask questions that you thought he never would, brought warmth to your chest that you had not once felt before. 

You were excited to teach someone about your duties, excited to have someone listen intently, and for a moment you thought if this was how your father had felt when he had taught these thing to you. Or perhaps, when his father before him had passed down the metaphorical and physical torch to him.

Though, it was not without its obstacles. For each time he passed, body brushing behind yours, each time you felt the heated gaze of his eye roaming your body or face, each time his fingers would linger when passing food, or water, or supplies to tend the lamp, your heart would race as though trying to bolt from between your ribs, and your blood would burn hotly, heat rising in your cheeks, and a more familiar, though only to yourself, warmth would settle in your gut.

It did not help, that each time you spoke, or laughed, or managed to pull some sort of smile from his pouting lips, his eye would drop to yours, gazing at you with a longing that you had only just realised you had felt for far longer.

A longing to be held, and touched, and caressed, and what was more, loved. 

But he was to leave, eventually. And you would be alone once more. And that thought on its own pulled painfully at your chest, and on occasion, when in the privacy of the lighthouse, or tending to your garden, tears would prickle in the corners of your eyes.

On that day, a sudden and most flighty disposition possessed you, and upon Aemond letting his signature smirk pull at his lips, you had jumped from the lounge and began a tumble of thoughts that continued to fall from your mouth. He had not been unkind as you rambled, and had instead, been very patient. 

“The storm has passed now.” You had moved away, wringing your hands together, “And you are well enough to travel. I am sure your family would be eager to know of your survival and safety.” 

His lone eye had slightly widened at you, and you avoided his gaze, suddenly feeling a sinking pit in your gut, “I am sure that the swell and tide should be calm enough for me to take you back to shore.” You did not wait for his response, instead turning immediately on your heel to leave the cottage. 

Aemond called out your name, following after you in confusion as you marched towards the side of the lighthouse where your row boat was docked.

“Y/n, wait, please.” He called to you, but you would not face him, you would not allow yourself the embarrassment and shame of having developed any sort of feeling for the man, nor acknowledging that you did not want him to go. 

But he had to.

It was only logical.

And it would happen.

And you would be alone again.

“What are you doing?” He huffed from behind, his voice further away than yours.

Though he had recovered remarkably quickly, his lungs still seemed to take trouble with strenuous use, and occasionally still coughed and rasped when he tried to match your racing steps.

Without turning back to look at him, you called out into the open sea, hoping the winds that pulled would take your voice away with them.

“Getting the boat ready. I’ll collect all that I need and then we can pack you a bag full of my fathers belongings and take you to shore." The words bitter on your tongue, "We can send word from there, and William would let you take lodge in his home until you can sail back to your family.” You hoped that he didn't hear the way your voice cracked at the mention of him sailing home.

You could feel heat on the back of your head from where he was staring, but he made no move to respond, and if you had dared to look back, you would have witnessed his steps falter, and his face fall. 

But you hadn’t, so you didn’t.

Anxiety rocked through you, “It is no bother, truly.” You tried to reassure yourself more than him, “William would be gladdened to help, and I am sure I could ask a friend to let you take voyage on his ship to the nearest post.”

A friend.

Could you ask Dalton to help him? To take him somewhere closer to Aemond’s home?

You supposed you would have to try, and you also surmounted that it would likely come at a price, and one that would not be coins. 

This however, made your stomach pull, and not in the way that it used to, for now the thought of lying in bed with Dalton put an uncomfortable ache in your gut.

“If I am to be more burden to you, Miss," His voice was sharp, deep, and you could tell that he was upset in some capacity, "Then I shall take my leave.”

You didn't dare turn to face him, to see the way his lips pulled down into a sneer, instead focusing on how you finally came to the lighthouse, stepping down the few stone steps by the water to your makeshift dock. But instead of finding your small rowboat, all that could be seen was the sunken hull beneath the waves.

“Gods be damned!” You swore, looking down into the water at your sunken boat. You had been so distracted by Aemond being washed ashore, you had not even thought to take the boat up from the raging swell. 

The wooden row boat that was your fathers before you, had smashed itself to pieces as it was rocked by the waves into the cliffs face. 

“What is it?” Aemond rushed to you in concern, breath wheezing slightly as he looked down to where you were gazing. 

“The storm sunk my boat!” Your hands flew up into the air, “What have I done to deserve this, Gods? Have I not been faithful to you all?” Your hands gripped at your hair and tugged, pain pulling at your scalp, “I even prayed! Prayed to you. Nursed him to health, and this is how you repay me? You are mocking at me!” You spun away from Aemond, leaving him down on the steps to look at the sunken boat that had been your plan to leave the island, cursing the Gods as you moved.

You did not see as you mumbled and bitterly spat, trudging back to the cottage, focus solely on making your way back inside to drink from the whiskey you had been saving, that Aemond had smiled down at the ruins of your little boat. Not only had he smiled, he had whispered thanks to the Gods.

Aemond did not want to leave.

And the Gods had heard his prayers. 

You stomped back to your cottage, tears prickling in your eyes as your chest ached. That boat had been your fathers, and it would cost money you didn’t have to acquire a new one, or even attempt to fix the old. You were now, truly, stuck on the island, with no way to escape the man unless you sent word to William, who you doubted would come right away, and would only come when scheduled, as he himself had a job and duty to his family.

What was more, your forced proximity to the man, who your heart had begun to grow affections for, was now inescapable, and you felt, and then denied, that that was the true reason for your disconcert. You knew, deep down you knew, that this now was going to develop into something. That now that the both of you would be stuck for at least another week, and it would all come to a head.

The door to the cottage slammed open, the sun outside eventually moving to set as you rifled amongst your things for the whiskey you had hidden.

You needed a drink, you needed an escape, because a physical one you could not attain, so at least the sweet and familiar burn of whiskey and the numbness that followed could help in some capacity. 

You sat yourself down at the table, all but slamming the bottle and glass to go with it on its surface, eyes boring into the flames of the fireplace as you sat numbly, trying to suppress every ounce of emotion that you felt. You ripped the cork out of the bottle and filled yourself a generous pour, bringing the drink to your lips as you continued to stare blankly at the fire, one lone tear falling down your cheek. 

The first bit of the whiskey burnt, and you hissed slightly as you swallowed it. But then came the warmth and the sweetness of the alcohol that William had promised when he gave it to you. You sat for what felt like hours, and most likely was, nursing that one glass, and then another, as you stared into the fire. 

Aemond had not returned back to the cottage yet, and you thought that perhaps he was horrified at the thought of being stuck with you for longer, too embarrassed to come back to you and show you his disdain, and due to his upbringing, likely being a gentleman, allowing you to have your ‘womanly hysterics’ alone.

When the cottage door finally did open, you hadn’t turned to face him, and only brought the whiskey up to your lips to prevent yourself from asking him where he had been. 

It was no matter to you. He would leave soon and you would be alone.

That was what you told yourself weakly.

“The lamp is lit,” Came his smooth timbre from behind you, “You needn't worry about lighting it tonight.”

You blinked.

He lit the lamp for you?

“Thank you.” You breathed quietly, not tearing your eyes from the fire as it devoured the logs you put inside.

His footsteps thumped towards you before stopping and turning back to the kitchen, where the scrape of glass was heard, and Aemond came back, seating himself on the opposite side of the table to you, placing his own glass in front of him. 

He didn’t ask as he swiped up your bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a finger of the amber drink. 

The silver haired man sat in your periphery, bringing up the glass to his lips before he sipped silently on it. He did not hiss as you did, but instead hummed appreciatively.

“This is a fine whiskey.” He commented, swirling the drink in his glass.

You nodded, finally tearing your eyes from the fire to look down at your own glass, bringing it up to your lips, enjoying the heat that it paved as you swallowed, “A gift from William. Locally made by a man named Balon. Quiet man. Knows his whiskey.”

Another hum.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the sound of calmer waves outside and the crackling of fire, and the occasional thump of either of your glasses touching the table after having made their journey to your lips. And then in that comfortable quiet, Aemond having reached to refill his glass, and you having done the same, he finally broke it.

“I never thought I would be stranded so far from home.” Aemond began, long fingers tapping gently on the table to get your attention. It was only then did you look at him, meeting his lilac gaze, “In all my years of life, not once have I seen a storm as violent as she.”

You swallowed thickly, “Nor I. It felt as though my little island would have been swallowed whole.” 

Silver hair fell forward over his shoulder as he ducked his head, “That is what happened to Vhagar.” He solemnly smiled, “Oldest ship in my family, passed down generations. The largest on the known seas.” He paused, tapping his finger against the glass, “Or was. My ancestors have sailed her for hundreds of years. Could fit a crew of over a hundred men. She has seen war and battle, and won them all. But Vhagar was no match for the Lady Mistress Sea.” He took a large gulp of his whiskey, “A wave four times the height of your lighthouse came crashing down upon us.” Another sip, long finger tapping anxiously against the glass again, “I do not remember a thing but waking to your voice, to seeing your face above mine.” Your heart clenched with pain for him, for the anguish he must have endured, to losing his ship, his crew. 

Everything. 

“I am so sorry. I cannot imagine what it must be like.”

Aemond shook his head, “No need for your apologies. You have been a generous host, and the saviour of my life.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you nibbled lightly at your lip, fingers pressing into your glass of whiskey, “Did you know where you were?”

A nod, “Aye. We had set sail for the North, past the Iron Islands. I wished to see more of the world we live in, but the world did not wish the same for me.”

You frowned, “Where is your home?”

“A long way aways.” Aemond finished his glass of whiskey reaching to refill it, the sound of it being filled loud between you, “My mother is not fond of sailing, in fact, she begged me not to go. Perhaps I should have listened.”

“All mothers worry for their children.” You offered a shy smile.

“Hm.”

You fiddled with the glass in your hands, feeling the warmth of his gaze on your face as you looked away, “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

“Aye.”

No elaboration.

“Do you miss them?”

Silence. 

You met his gaze again, watching as his eye searched yours for answers. You couldn’t help but notice the way he sat again, rod straight, arm and hand politely on the table, and with this observation, you could not help but voice it out loud. 

“You’re a Lord.”

Aemond blinked, seemingly caught off guard by your words, before finally he nodded.

You suddenly felt more self conscious than before. Here was a Lord in your less than modest home, drinking from aged cups and sitting on older chairs. He must look at you with distaste at times, and with this observation came the ache in your chest that he would never be interested in someone like you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you plastered a small and fake smile onto your lips, “And what family does the Lord of Vhagar descend from?”

You watched as Aemond pushed his tongue into his cheek, suppressing the smirk that threatened to break on his face at your comment. It made your stomach erupt with butterflies.

“Targaryen.”

You blanched. 

Targaryen.

That was the people William had told you about. 

They were Kings. They were-

“You’re royalty.” You blurted, heat rising in your cheeks again at your embarrassment.

The silver haired Lord’s jaw clenched as he looked at you, before nodding again, softer this time, as though he was uninterested in the title in that moment.

You immediately bowed your head,  wringing your fingers together nervously on the table, “My apologies, your grace, if I have been anything but untoward. My home is humble and small, and I am afraid I have not much to give or show for it. If you-“

“-Y/n.”

Your ramble was interrupted, and warmth engulfed one of your hands. You blinked down at the large pale fingers that were clutching your own.

“Please do not treat me differently now." He begged softly, "You have been nothing but wonderful to me, and far more gracious than any Lord or Lady I have met.”

You swallowed thickly before nodding, shifting in your seat, but Aemond refused to let go of your hand, instead keeping it held in his atop the table, a lone thumb brushing over your knuckles softly as you struggled to calm your racing heart.

"Do you miss them?"

Your question must have come as a surprise, for his thumb stilled against your hand.

"At times." His answer was barely a whisper, "I miss my sister. My mother. That is all."

"I am sure they miss you very much. I am almost certain they are worried for you." Your words tumbled out quickly, unable to stop, "They will be gladdened to have you home, hale and healthy soon. I know that your siblings and mother will weep with joy." You smiled, but it felt strained, his face entirely blank as he watched you, "Your father must be sending men to look for you."

"My father dead."

Your lips parted.

Fuck.

"I am so sorry. I did-"

"-Do not be. I hated the man."

If your mouth fall any wider, you'd swallow the table whole.

"Oh." You swallowed dryly, "Well then, I am sure your family-"

"-They do not care for me and what I do," He spat, anger simmering beneath the surface, "I can assure you of this. My own nephew took my eye." His hand lifted lazily to point at the long scar upon his face, clouded eye nestled within.

Your heart sunk.

His own nephew had done that? Had they fought? Was it an accident? A myriad of questions popped into your mind about this man and his family.

No wonder he was in no rush to get home.

You flipped your hand to grip his tighter, his gaze falling to your joined fingers momentarily before he looked out the window to the lighthouse. You followed his gaze, watching as the lamp illuminated out to sea, the darkness of night having fallen across the horizon.

And then he continued, "They only care that I fulfil my duties to society, and marry whom they think is most advantageous."

Oh.

He was to be married.

Your heart felt like it stopped beating, but his fingers rubbed against your hand softly, almost out of habit if it could be one, and so you decided to swallow the sadness that suddenly filled you, and move the converasation away from his family.

In an attempt to dissolve the sudden tension, you pulled your hand from his, noting the way his lips twitched at your absence, but you moved swiftly, filling his glass generously once more and yours again.

“I am gladdened for your company these past days,” You began quietly, “And more gladdened that you will not be dying any day soon.” You watched Aemond lift his drink to his lips, and felt a sudden wave of confidence come over you, and so you continued, “Otherwise if you died, it would be a waste of good whiskey.” 

Away the glass was pulled from his lips, and behind it, a full smile, teeth and all. Your heart fluttered in your chest at the sight. His full lips pulling into a sharp yet lovely grin, crooked white teeth nestled within on display, and the slightest of rosiness to his cheeks. You felt triumphant, and even more so when a soft chuckle came from his chest.

Gods, I am sorry for cursing you before. Thank you for this gift.

The night continued on, your eyes casting occasionally out the window to look at the lamp, to make sure that the lighthouse was still lit. You both dined on some bread, scones with jam, and some dried meat together, not wanting to tear yourself away from the comfortable conversation that flowed between you.

You were not drunk, however the warmth and buzz of alcohol certainly strummed in your veins, and not only that, you felt more emboldened to relax around him, noticing that the cheeky disposition that he once had, slowly making a reappearance. 

It wasn’t until you looked out to the lighthouse for a fifth time, did Aemond finally say something.

“Do you not trust my skills?"

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. No, because that would mean not trusting your own knowledge and skills, and from the way he had actively listened to you, repeating your instructions and knowledge, and even going so far as to asking things further, it only solidified your belief that his skills were more than satisfactory. 

It was more so, that you did not trust yourself to look up from your glass of whiskey to meet his burning gaze. 

What you did not trust yourself to do was another thing entirely. 

“No.” You blushed shaking your head, “Not at all. I am the one who taught you how to do so. Unless you question my teachings?”

His response came far quicker than your answer, “Not at all. I would say you are by far the most knowledgable teacher I have had.”

A crooked smile wound its way on your lips. You looked up to meet his gaze, “I am sure there are many things that you could teach me that I do not know.”

You don’t know why you said it, you did not even truly mean to be so crass, but at your words, his gaze darkened, and Aemond looked at you through his silver lashes, “I am sure there are. What do you wish to know?” 

Heat rose up your neck and into your cheeks, core immediately clenching at his changed demeanour. Your mouth felt dry, and try as you may, you found you could not tear your eyes away from his lilac one.

“I-“ You wet your lips, “I’m not sure.”

The glass of whiskey pinged as Aemond clinked his signet ring against it, pursing his lips as he watched you.

“I don’t believe that.” Aemond’s hand dragged slowly across the table, one long finger reaching out to caress your hand, digit grazing over yours that held the glass.

Your breath stilled in your throat, and the air around you became charged, and still you could not tear your eyes away from him, “I suppose,” You swallowed thickly, “You could teach me about sailing." You diverted, "I have only ventured on my row boat, so I know little about what it takes to man a ship, let alone Captain it.”

The finger moved again, up then down, up then down, crackling energy moving beneath the skin leaving goosebumps trailing up your arm. Your breath became shallow, and that familiar warmth between your thighs amplified. 

“Hm.” Came his deep hum, “Sailing. Is that all you wish to know?”

In a moment of weakness, you looked away, cheeks burning hot and heart almost jumping from your chest. Your breasts heaved against your stay, and the finger that caressed yours slipped away. You looked out again, feeling completely overwhelmed, mind racing like the winds of a storm, crashing thoughts and crackling emotions swirling rapidly inside of you. 

You cast a cowardly glance to the lighthouse, your only escape, your only safety. The one thing you knew best, the one thing that was solid in your world, unmoving, unbreakable. Your one constant.

The scrape of a chair, and then, warmth. 

A hand beneath your chin, Aemond lifted your gaze up to his as he stood above you, his eye darkened with desire. You shivered, not from the cold, but from him.

Everything about him set you ablaze.

“Y/n,” He whispered your name like a prayer, drawing your attention to him and only him, “Tell me what you want.”

There was no going back. No stopping what was about to happen, and your heart didn’t want to stop it, your heart wished to continue, and in that moment, you took what courage you had left, and breathed your answer.

“You.”

His head bent down to you slowly, and you exhaled a shaky breath, watching as he came closer and closer, thumb and forefinger pinching your chin lightly, not at all cruelly, but rather to keep you there for him, and when his lips finally met yours, you melted.

Uncertain as you were, Aemond guided you again through the motions, his lips moved against yours slowly, your neck craned back to kiss him, lips pressed against his. He tasted like whiskey, and the sea, and smelt of the musk that followed him, sandalwood. 

A hand snaked around your waist, and gently pulled you to stand. Even whilst standing, you still craned your neck toward him, Aemond towering above you as you tried to stand on the tips of your toes to assist in reaching him.

Little by little you melted into his embrace, one hand coming to cup your cheek, the other pulling you in tighter by your waist, the warmth of his body seeping into yours hotly, and the smell of him engulfing you entirely. Your lips parted against his, and he hummed deeply, the vibration in his chest rumbling against yours. Your hands fisted into the front of his tunic, pulling him closer, desire burning you up. 

You had never felt such fire before, such heat. The pull to him, his embrace, his every being set you ablaze, a flame that you were sure, would last for a thousand years.

It felt as if you were burning together.

The hand at your waist tightened, and a moan fell from your lips into his. Tentatively, your hands loosened at the front of his tunic, sliding up to his shoulders, feeling the silky strands of hair between your fingers as you buried them into the back of his head. Aemond grunted in approval, and pulled you impossibly closer to him.

You could feel, much to your delight and nervousness, the hardness of his desire pressing against your stomach.

His lips pulled from yours, and you blindly chased after them, hearing a small chuckle emit from his throat, but his lips pressed to the corner of yours, then to your cheek, then below your ear, and finally, a whisper.

“I wish to take my time with you.” Aemond said huskily, a soft inhale pulling air into your chest as your core grew wet with want. Your fingers tightened in his silver tresses, pulling a low moan from him. 

Two large hands slowly skimmed down your sides, causing you to squirm in their grip as he mouthed at your pulse in your neck. Small whimpers and heavy breaths was all to be heard until his hands came beneath your ass, and then the kissing stopped, his grip tightened, and you found yourself pulled up into his embrace. 

You squeaked, legs wrapping around his waist, your hands pulling tighter in his hair as he grunted, his lips crashing against yours once more, hungrier. Starved. You could feel his hardness against your core, and timidly, you rolled your hips against his. 

Aemond sighed into your mouth, his fingers tightening against your flesh, his legs carrying the two of you to your bedroom blindly. Your back bumped into the doorway, earning Aemond a breathy giggle, which in turn earnt you a low apology breathed through parted lips.

With all his carefulness, Aemond gently placed you back on the ground by the bed, breaking apart from your embrace momentarily. You looked up at him through your lashes, watching as he pushed away the hair by your face reverently. It was so tender, so praising in its touch, you felt as though the world fell away and just left you both. And with those careful hands once more, hands that were roughened and calloused from years at sea, he skimmed them down your front, halting at the line of buttons that started at your collarbones and ended at your waist.

Aemond did not move to undo them, and instead kept his hands were they were, resting atop them as he waited for your answer. Waiting for your consent to move forward, your permission to allow him to see you bared as no-one else has.

Permission to touch you in ways that no-one ever had, not even yourself. 

Your heart raced in your chest, a nervous excitement making its way through your veins as you stared at up at him, your answer, you already knew, but right now, with the way he was waiting, with the way he was moving with caution and care, you could scarcely voice it. And so, without finding the voice that had been lost, you rose your own hands, placing them over his.

Aemond did not pull away, his chest rising and falling agonisingly slow, as though he was restraining himself, nor did he step away when your fingers skimmed beneath his and began slowly to pull your buttons through their holes, to show him that you very much wanted this as much as he did. And although your hands shook whilst you did it, his hands skating up to your shoulders and neck, then down to your waist and up again whilst you did it, you felt a blooming confidence to undress yourself for him. 

When finally the last button was undone, your dress sagged against your shoulders, Aemond’s warm fingers brushed the material over and down your arms, goosebumps rising on your skin. His hands continued, down, down, down your arms until the top half of your dress fell away, and the skirt of it held true, the belt and tie at the back not yet being undone. But it was not your fingers who pulled it away and to the floor, but his, reaching his hands behind you to assist until all that you were left standing in was your stays, slip and stockings.

His eye drank you in, gaze falling lower and lower, your chest pressing against the stays as you heaved in breaths of anticipation, heat erupting over your skin with every second that passed. His pupil had blown wide, swallowing the lilac to leave the eye almost completely black with desire, and only then did he step away from you, and begin to do the same. 

Away came his shirt, and then his shoes and breeches, until Aemond stood completely bare before you, all the while, your hands pulled at the strings of your stays, slacking its grip on your body, until it too joined the pile of clothes below.

Then came your slip, shoulder by shoulder strap, the silence around you deafening with each agonising moment that passed as you both watched each other, a slow reveal of what was to come, a slow reveal of each others bodies, and not once had you dared to look past Aemond’s shoulders at his nakedness in fear of what you would find.

For you knew without even truly knowing it, that there would be some sort of... sizeable member on his person.

Aemond stepped forth in a flurry of pearlescent skin and hair and captured your lips in his, his hands helping to pull down the slip that separated you both, no patience or care to wait any longer, the tension finally pulling his resistance taught until it broke. His thumbs dipped beneath the silky material and dragged it down your body, lips moving away from yours to mouth at your neck again, but Aemond did not stop at your shoulders.

The sailors trail of kisses moved from neck, to clavicle, heated lips seeking the skin hungrily, then he continued from clavicle to sternum, a sharp inhale breaking the silence around you, his eye momentarily peeking up at you as you looked down at him, hands on his shoulders. Turning his head, he kissed at the sides of your breasts, breathless sighs pulled from deep within you, and still he trailed lower, kneeling down in front of you as he pulled the slip with him. 

His face was aligned with your core, the slip held at your hips by his hands as he looked up at you, one last silent request to which you gave him a small nod of your head, inhaling deeply for courage.

When at last he let go, letting the silk fall to the floor below, his eye dropped away from your face and down your body, settling at your centre in front of him. You could feel a hot breath of air against your mound, as he let out the breath he was holding in. 

“Gevie.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to each of your hip bones, his hands skating down to the tops of your stockings on your thighs. Your hips jerked forwards, a small hum on your tongue as you looked down at him. 

Aemond ducked his head and mouthed at the crux of your thighs, a kiss placed on either side of your core, an exhale breathed into the hair atop your mound, a wanting inhale, which all the more set your nerves alight.

With the patience of a saint, Aemond rolled down your stockings on each leg, and tugged away each shoe, until the both of you were completely bare, and you had to force yourself to breathe deeply. Everything told you to hide your nakedness, to run, to apologise, but the way he looked at you, the way he kissed at your inner thighs, inching his way higher to your centre, you found you couldn’t, feet rooted to the floor completely. 

In the low candle light, Aemond looked a though he was praying, eye half lidded shut, on his knees, hands brushing gently along your thighs as he mouthed near your core, slowly inching his way closer and closer, eye focused on your face, until it finally happened. 

A low whine escaped your lips as Aemond pressed a kiss to your centre, bottom lip dragging along your pearl softly. Pleasure struck through you when he did it again, his eye sliding shut, his large hands wrapped around your thighs as though to keep you from running away. 

Each kiss was slow, wet lips pressed to your centre with practised ease, the man taking his time with you as you stood on shaky legs. His lips parted against you, and the wet of his tongue parted your folds, causing you to jerk your hips into him.

“Ah!” You squeaked, fingers gripping his shoulders tightly, unsure of what to do with them, warmth spreading up through you as Aemond pulled away momentarily to look up, tongue wetting his lips.

“Sīr dōna.” He purred, before dipping his head once more, tongue swiping up through your wet folds to pay attention to your throbbing bud. Each kiss was followed by a flick of his tongue, and you found yourself heaving breaths, and pleasure wound a familiar coil inside of you. 

Aemond’s hands slid from the backs of your thighs to the front, up to your core where he used his thumbs to part your folds, opening you up for him. You looked away shyly, a breathy moan passing through bitten lips as he focused entirely on your pearl.

He pressed himself against you tightly, nose bumping your bud as he licked lower towards your entrance, tongue scooping up your slick eagerly as he hummed, his speed and pressure gaining with desire. 

You were so close already, the coil tightening rapidly with every swipe of his tongue and press of his lips. You knew he could sense it, with the way your thighs shook and your stomach clenched, breathy sighs and moans falling from you as you writhed in his grip.

One hand slid down, the long digits tickling at your thighs as it moved underneath you to your entrance, it was then when Aemond broke away to look up at you again, gaging your reaction, and when you made no move to stop him, he rubbed a digit back and forth through your folds, gathering the wetness there before slowly pressing inside of you.

He kept his eye on you the entire time, the breath in your chest stilled as you held it, his fingers far longer and thicker than your own, already a minor stretch filling you inside.

You thought of what was to come, of what would eventuate from this all, how his length would be much larger than just one finger, and the thought alone caused you to clamp down against him. 

Aemond stilled and pressed a kiss to the tuft of hair at the top of your mound, “Relax for me.” He whispered, and with a deep breath you did, allowing yourself to feel the pleasure rather than the discomfort. 

“Good.” He praised, leaning forward once more to kiss and lick at your centre, the one finger inside slowly pumping in and out of you, not foreign to what you have done to yourself before, but foreign in the way that it was not your hands doing it. 

His first finger was met by a second, and although there was a slight burn as he pressed inside of you, it still filled you with a desire you had never felt before, a barely restrained whine filling the room as he paused, keeping them pushed deep within you to allow you to adjust as he sucked at your pearl, tongue flicking over it, molten heat spreading through your limbs. 

Your legs buckled forward, hips canting towards him, the tips of his fingers grazing the spongey patch within you causing you to cry out. Aemond’s brows furrowed, and tentatively, his fingers stroked at the patch again, a moan melting off of your tongue. He focused his intent, crooking his fingers against the patch inside, his tongue not once slowing down against your bud.

The coil tightened, tighter and tighter, and your hands flew from his shoulders to his hair, fingers tangling themselves in his pearly tresses and pulling, earning you a rumbling hiss, spurring his movements further. Your core tightened around him, your peak barreling towards you, and Aemond sensed it, mumbling against your wet folds as he fucked his fingers in and out of you wetly.

“Let go for me.” He moaned, sucking at your pearl with intent.

Heat burst through you, and you jerked with a cry, your peak ripping through you with such a force, if it wasn’t for your hands in his hair, and Aemond’s hand on your thigh, your knees would have collapsed beneath you. 

Aemond rode you through your pleasure, fingers and tongue not slowing once as he prolonged your peak. You breathed heavily, hands loosening in his hair as you tried to catch your breath, heat strumming in your veins as he pulled his fingers from you, placing calming kisses against the top of your mound and hip bones. His hands smoothed your hips as he finally stood, standing over you, his lips and chin wet with your essence. 

Pulling you close, he kissed you, and you could taste the tang of yourself on his lips, parting your own to lick at his mouth as he did to you. The heat built inside of you again, the fire in your gut beginning to burn once more, and slowly but surely, he led you backwards, pushing you to lay down as he moved to crawl atop of you. It was then that your eyes took in his whole body.

All of him. 

And there was a lot of him. 

Aemond’s length stood heavy against his hip bone, swollen and hard, his tip a ruddy pink as clear liquid leaked from the top. Pale veins creeped around his base, with soft silver hair dusted across his pubis. It was thick, and long, and far bigger than the fingers he had placed inside of you. 

Sensing your gaze and dry swallow, Aemond lifted your eyes back to his with a touch of his hand beneath your chin, a reassuring gaze meeting yours, “We will go slow.”

You swallowed again, nodding, not knowing how going slow would help fit him inside of you. But it was clear that this was not Aemond’s first time, and what was clearer was that he was decidedly sure of himself and his abilities, and that, at the very least, settled the lingering trepidation that you had. 

He crawled above you, body slowly lowering onto yours as he kissed you again, a hand skimming down your side as he shifted slightly, bringing his fingers down to your core once more. You hissed, feeling his digits dip through your folds, a burst of sensitivity shooting through you. And as if taking this into account, Aemond pressed one finger into you slowly, and then another, distracting you with a heated kiss.

Warmth began to bloom inside of you again, slowly building with each crook of his fingers, the sting of the stretch of a third finger dissipating with the heat of pleasure that began to grow and grow.

Each crook of his fingers brought that familiar pleasure back into your core, slowly building and building as you writhed beneath him. Your eyes fluttered shut, back arching as your chest pressed into his, the warmth of his gaze grazing along your face. You could feel your slick gathered between your thighs and fought the blush that rose in your cheeks, head turning to the side.

“Don’t hide.” He cooed, “You’re perfect.” His thumb swirled against your pearl.

The coil within pulled tighter with each swipe of his thumb, and you felt the warmth of his lips against yours as he brought you to your peak once again. You moaned into his mouth as he fingered you through it, lips trailing to your cheek and down your neck, whispering words or encouragement.

“Sīr gevie.” 

Dragging his fingers from your core you opened your eyes, looking up at Aemond who looked back down at you. His hand moved in your periphery, and you followed the movement. The sailor dragged his slick fingers along his length wetting it, your gaze locked on his hand as you watched him languidly stroked himself above you. Your core clenched around nothing.

“Are you ready?” He whispered, lone eye searching yours for confirmation. 

You licked your lips and swallowed, heart racing in your chest as you tried to calm yourself, muscles tightly wound in nervous anxiety for what was to come, but you wanted more, you needed more.

You needed him. 

It wasn’t until you nodded that a small smile pulled at his lips, making your heart flutter. Aemond adjusted himself above you, leaning some of his weight on an arm above your head as he lined himself up with your dripping entrance. The candle light in the room drenched the room in a warm glow, illuminating his violet eye and silver features. 

Gods he was beautiful. 

You could scarcely believe that this was real, that this was happening, that he was here, in your bed. That he had survived and lived with you for days, regaining his strength and now he wanted to do this with you, he wanted to take your maidenhood, and to you, it seemed that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

The tip of his length brushed through your folds, and your breath held in your chest. Aemond paused, keeping his eye on you, waiting until you nodded again for him, and then slowly but surely, pushed inside.

Every muscle tensed as he pushed inside, a sharp sting shooting through you. You winced and Aemond stilled, watching your face intently, his long silver hair falling over his face and down over you like streams of moonlight. 

Despite him being just barely halfway inside of you, you felt full and stretched apart on his length. You writhed underneath trying to alleviate the dull ache, core clamping down on him which made Aemond hiss above you, his cock throbbing inside of you.

His eye fluttered shut and the hand that had been guiding his length gripped your hip tightly, breathing heavily atop you. After a breath, his violet eye opened once more to gaze at you, head dipping to press a tender kiss against your lips before sliding inside to the hilt. 

You both breathlessly moaned into each other, feeling him press against every single part of you. Every ridge, every vein, you could feel as it brushed up inside of you, his tip nudging against your cervix snugly. You tightened around him, and if it was even possible, he jerked further inside with a tilt of his hips. You sighed into his mouth, the painful throbbing slowly ebbing away to make way for a new sensation.

Aemond broke the kiss once again, dipping his head again to look at you, “Good?”

You didn’t know how to respond, so instead, you arched back up to capture his lips, nibbling at his bottom lip lightly. This was all that he needed before he pulled out of you slowly, testing your reaction before he pushed back inside. 

Your hands, unsure of where to hold him, gripped his shoulders again, and the hand on your hip tightened further, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake.

Each thrust was gentle, slow, and he took his time, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips, trailing down to your neck where he nipped and sucked at your pulse point. 

“Gods.” You mewled, arching into him, grip slipping from his shoulders up into the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

Aemond groaned as you tugged him closer, his hips thrusting against yours, each pump of his hips pulling mewl and moan from you, soft grunts and sighs falling from his plump lips, his face nestled into the crook of your neck as you gripped him tighter against you.

You had never thought it could feel like this, so full, so deep, so entirely overwhelming, and with each moment that passed, Aemond brought you closer and closer to your third peak. His thrusts began to speed up, your breasts jolting with each pump of his hips, the wood of the bed softly creaking beneath you. 

Aemond lifted his head from your neck, looking down at you, his soft lips parted as he grunted, “Sīr sȳz. Gūrogon nyke sīr sȳz.”

You didn’t know what he had said, but the way he had said it made you whine, head thrown back as your core contracted around him, causing a sharp moan to fall from his parted mouth. The bed beneath you was damp from your slick, and with each thrust, the obscene wet sound of your folds filled the room loudly. 

The hand on your hip skimmed up your body to your breast, squeezing the mound softly before pinching at your nipple lightly.

“Ah!” You arched your chest into him, the new sensation creeping through your chest. 

“Iksā vok. Kesā sagon ñuhon. Sīr vok syt nyke. Eminna ao grevenka lēda ñuha rūs. Qogralbar.” Aemond’s hips made a particularly hard thrust, the tip of his cock pushing against the end of your walls.

“I don’t-” You moaned, hand pulling at his hair for purchase, “I d-don’t know what you’re saying.”

His lips pulled into a smirk, and his head dipped to kiss you deeply, tongue pushing into your mouth to lick at yours. You moaned into his mouth, feeling the coil begin to tighten in finality.

“You will.” He breathed, pulling away, resting his forehead against yours, “You’ll know soon.”

The hand at your breast travelled to your mouth, and your parted your lips instinctually, letting him rub two fingers over your tongue, coating them in saliva before they trailed back down your body to your swollen pearl.

As soon as he pressed them against you, you jerked, walls clamping down onto him.

“Good girl,” He praised, “Let go for me, want to feel you squeeze my cock.”

The obscenity of his words sent you over, the waves of pleasure crashing over you again and again, as you did exactly what he told you to do. Your eyes screwed shut, head thrown back, whining moan ripped from your chest loudly. Aemond cried out above you, and you felt his member throb within you, warmth filling you up as he slowly stilled. 

His forehead pressed against yours, the both of you breathing heavily, chests against each other as you came down from your highs. You didn’t even have the wherewithal to think about the fact that he had filled you, the only thought in your mind was the tingling sensation that spread throughout your limbs and the utter bliss of him inside of you. 

When the both of you came down, Aemond peppered gentle kisses across your face. First at your cheeks, your lips, your nose, until finally your forehead, where his lips lingered as he slowly pulled out of you. 

The empty feeling you felt as he pulled away was foreign after being so full, and you whined at the loss of closeness. Warmth began to seep from within you onto the bed beneath, but you couldn’t force yourself to care, your eyelids drooping as fatigue pulled you under. 

Aemond shifted in the bed to pull you to his side, your head resting against his bare chest, the thump-thump-thump of his heart loud beneath your ear.

With gentle hands, he trailed his fingers up and down your side as you tucked yourself closer to him, enjoying the feeling of protection and warmth that he gave you.

The room was still, and the candle light got lower and lower, as did your eyelids. When finally they drifted shut, Aemond shifted beside you, looking down to watch as you began to fall asleep in his arms.

You didn’t see the small smile that pulled at his lips as he watched you, or the way his eye creased with content, the only thing you felt was his lips at your hairline before you feel into a deep sleep.

I didn't put translations because the reader doesn't speak High Valyrian, so she wouldn't know what he was saying, but here they are if you're curious.

Translations:

Gevie - Beautiful

Sīr gevie - So beautiful

Sīr dōna - So sweet

Iksā vok. Kesā sagon ñuhon. Sīr vok syt nyke. Eminna ao grevenka lēda ñuha rūs. Qogralbar - You are perfect. You will be mine. So perfect for me. I will have you round full my babe. Fuck.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@blackswxnn @marihoneywk @targaryenrealnessdarling @namelesslosers @aemondsfavouritebastard @dahlias-and-marigolds @aemondsbabygirl @toodlesxcuddles @jemmaagentofshield @malfoytargaryen @bellaisasleep @aaprilshowers @assortedseaglass @elizarbell @xpersephonex @lijeno @likeanecho344 @coffeeobsessedtrencher @diannnnsss @lexwolfhale @notasockpuppetaccount @at-a-rax-ia @spinachtz@marysucks-blog @generalkenobitrash @zenka69 @shygardengalaxy-blog @kittendoll05 @300nightmare003

[katsukota]

First Date

Things with Touya always burned. It was usually a slow burn at first, until smoldering flames erupted from emotions previously covered. So even though you'd spent months with the scarred man, on your first official date, you find out something that only made the previous months feel like years.

an : not proofread sorry i have to get ready for work soon

You and Dabi had been unofficially dating for months now. Neither of you were the type to quickly cling onto others, and both of you remained stubborn in keeping your feelings a secret.

Though, it didnt do much. It was obvious to everyone, even the both of you. You, nor Dabi were stupid. You picked up the underlying messages and feelings in each interaction. Prolonged eye contact, memorizing each other's favorite drinks, leaving clothes in the others room, going shopping for the leagues groceries together, bandaging each other's wounds.. um.. yea.. okay guys.

Still, both of you remained stubborn, refusing to admit your emotions to the other. Continuously betting on the other swallowing their pride first.

You had thought you knew Dabi. In the months you experienced living with him at the Leagues hide out, you believed you have learned more about him than anyone. In hindsight, you felt like you'd missed some of the most obvious things about him.

Month one, you two ignored each other. His stiff personality didnt particularly call to you. You had better things to focus on, and clearly he did too. The constant bombarding of various League members, while sweet, over whelmed you. No need to remember more people than you can handle right now. You let him fade into the background.

Unfortunately, he never seemed to truly disappear. Like a fire thats gone out, the embers stay shining through its wooden coffin.

During your smoke breaks, you found him always taking them at the same time. Things stayed silent, not bothering to attempt small talk. It seemed both of you preferred it that way. No social bond or understanding developed the following weeks.

The next month, Shigaraki suddenly paired you two together. Only now had you actually processed he had a name. 'Dabi.' Weird. Pretty ugly name, you thought. You ignored him adamantly at first, but now that a name was set to the face, you felt obligated to at least make eye contact.

The mission itself was quick, and involved at most four sentences of dialogue. His already strong quirk applied with your stockpiled boost abilities made for a merciless duo. While you two didnt seem to exactly hate eachother, you weren't really jumping for the chance to be together.

But if either of you were trying to use the mission as a reason to avoid the other in the future, it completely backfired. Not only was Tomura impressed, but All for One himself directly paired you two to handle new recruits. Isn't that great ?

Month three now, your lighter started running low on fluid. Even though the man who just always seemed to be out on the balcony when you were had the perfect quirk to solve this issue, youd rather use his staples to shut your mouth up than ask for help.

He watched as you vigorously flicked the lighter, only coaxing a few sparks out of it. He didn't offer any help, but his face slowly became amused as you got angrier. You looked up and scowled at him, though no words were said yet. A steady dynamic was forming.

It was four months now, and no distinct sign of romance was forming, but when you think back, you believe thats what made it so great. In that moment, the thought of the black haired, or so at the time, man being in any romantic light would have never even crossed your mind. It probably would've made you gag, if anything.

You'd begun starting the recruitment process. This was the first time you and Dabi seemed to agree on something. These guys were fucking losers. Neither of you found any possible use of them, and made it clear.

The first night, no one, not you, Dabi, nor the new upcoming villains managed to get a word in. A blizzard of blue crashed upon the surroundings. What should've been a cool night, melted with the complete refusal you had to acknowledge the man.

You two walked back. You two were both clearly amused, and proud of the situation. Neither of you even made eye contact, but you used your quirks in perfect tandem.

Month five, your lighter completely stopped working. You were clearly not in the mood to deal with anything without nicotine, and got bitchier each passing day.

"Why won't you just light one already ?" You scowled, the withdrawal practically burning. Even though the clear pink tinted lighter you had was visibly empty, you desperately tried to ignite the cigarette.

"Fuckin addict." He huffed, taking a puff from his respective cigarette. Your eyes narrowed, and Dabi had a feeling he should be thankful you had a boosting quirk and not an attack based one.

You groaned, genuinely annoyed, "You're one to talk." He was such an ass ! Without looking back, you walked off to god knows where.

Behind his black hair, he smirked, enthused. Seeing you all upset might be his new favorite way to pass time.

Month six, you finally came back with your own lighter. It was a similar clear but colorfully tinted one, but a blue this time. It was a nice lighter.

He saw it emit a similar blue flame, and lit your lighter more efficiently than your already old one ever did.

"Pretty cool, huh ? It reminded me of you." Oh. He kept thinking about that. Every smoke sesh he watched carefully as you carefully held the stick in-between your lips, using one hand to shield from the nights cold wind, the other spurring the ocean flames to life.

Month seven, he decided he was going to steal that lighter.

He carefully watched your actions throughout the day, and observed where youd go at night. Sure, it was creepy, but he had a feeling you knew.

You both were often out during the day, so his only real option was at night.

Each night, he thought about stealing that lighter from you. Youd sit out at the balcony together. Recently chairs were mysteriously added, so you both found yourselves sitting out there together for longer.

He never asked direct questions, but subtly got to know you better and listened carefully. Eventually, youd get him to answer questions back. It was crazy how the man youd never glanced at twice seemed to suddenly become the one you spent the most time with.

Each night, like moths to a flame, you came to each other. As if his natural light drew you and your new pack of cigarettes each week in. At the same time, that oddly specific blue lighter and honestly.. maybe just you were drawing him in quicker as well.

Month eight, he still couldn't bring himself to just take that damn lighter.

You two were on missions together about every week now, killing a number of recruits simultaneously. Over and over, you two got them out of your way quick, before taking a few 'detours' back to the hideout.

One time you'd gone into a small cafe, and found out oddly enough the bitter man likes his coffee sweet and creamed.

Another, you'd walked along the pier, catching a few sharks in the distance. "Dabi, look !!" He'd never seen you so genuinely excited. The rough and gloomy atmosphere at the home base rarely held chances for sweet moments like these.

Month nine, he finally stole that fucking lighter.

It was a long night, an entire group mission was set out, and many were injured. You and Dabi were the first to clear yourselves, you being efficient in wrapping the scarred man up in your first attempt, and he.. had some interesting healing tips up his sleeve for you.

Finally, you could just sit back, relax, and have a smoke. You weren't sure how much hed want to talk tonight, rough mission and all. You just reached for your lighter and.. "The fuck did my lighter go."

Dabi inconspicuously turned his head to you. "Huh ?" You shook yourself down, but no trace of it was there.

You sighed, you just wanted to shut your head off for a second. "Let me check in my room, I must've forgot it this morning.."

Before you could walk off, a deep voice stopped you in your tracks. "Just let me do it."

You looked over, a bit surprised. He usually declined to do this. "Dont look at me like that.. shut up and give me the cigarette."

He sighed, regretting his offer, when you instinctively slid the tube into your mouth, and tilted your head out to him.

"You're brave." But he didn't hurt you, no. A small flame, blue and familiar, just like your favorite lighter, light up your face.

Dabi felt a little weird. In this position, this angle, this lighting.. you looked perfect.

Month ten, he became much more insecure. Its something he felt many times in his life. Despite how tough and careless he seemed, his body and heart were human underneath staples and ice.

He knew he was scary, an otherwise ugly man due to the severe scarring his own childhood left on him. He was a sullied boy, no matter how hard he tried to wash the scars off.

And seeing how soft, how pure you look in the night light of his inhumane flame. He couldn't handle someone looking at him with soft eyes.

Dabi began avoiding you. You went from sitting next to each other at Kurogiris bar stools, to sitting on opposite ends. You were off sync when getting rid of recruits, him burning you a few times, and you failing to activate your quirk, letting them get away.

You were getting fed up with this, because worst of all, you were left without a lighter.

While Dabi was terrifyingly aware of your timing and 24hr schedule, he couldn't always use that to avoid you because you knew his as well.

Month eleven, you put a stop to this all.

You finally got him at the right time, and weren't going to let him go again. "So, you think you can just steal my lighter, then ignore me?"

Oh. Really, in hindsight, he didn't know why he thought he could keep running without you catching up. Even though your quirk worked as a mere tool for others, and even though All for One and Shigaraki often put you down for that, you didnt just aid, but you did so relentlessly.

You didn't stop and wait for someone to use you, in moments like these, and in moments where you were out on the battlefield, you chased after the strongest ability and strengthened it. When it came to people like Dabi, you chased after him and brought out the softer side.

He sighed, looking back at your soft face. It brought a comforting warmth, but the longer he looked, the hotter he felt with guilt.

"How can you even look at me ?" He choked. "You're so.. clean.." He grasped at the staples and charred skin, scratching and pulling lightly. "And im ruined.." Red drops started rolling down from the bottom of the burnt skin underneath his eyes. Is he..?

"Dabi.." You spoke, unwavering in your stance. You werent sure if you'd regret this, or if hed kill you for trying it, but you felt confident.

Walking closer, you rested your hands against his rough cheeks. Observing him closely, he seemed more shocked, but not upset. "For what it's worth." Your lips ghosted his lower one, the one that was rough and stapled back to his face. "I think you're really, really, pretty."

Month twelve, he finally took you out on a date.

"Im sorry.. its not mu-" "Oh shut up."

Late at night, after he lit one of your cigarettes, he took you out to a riverside, with the moon glimmering in the waters reflection.

"This is beautiful, Dabi !" He paused, turning his head away from you suddenly. "Huh ? Whats the matter ?"

"..Touya" What ? .. Oh !

"Touya ?" He looked back at you, a soft pink airbrushed over his cheeks. He just nodded.

How cute.

Nearing the end of the date, you felt like the world was in your palm but light and airy. Holding Touyas face in your hands felt surreal, like it should have happened the day you met but was supposed to now.

"I want.. to do one last thing." He looked away again, clearly trying to hide the way his face was heating up.

You laughed softly. Its still insane to you how this happened in what feels like so little time. "What is it ?"

"I .. want to dance with you." His blue eyes darted back and fourth, occasionally looking down to see your reaction.

"Thats.." You paused. Dabi, or, Touya, the man who you killed so many people with, was an absolute dick, stole your lighter, ignored you, ran back into your arms when you held them out for him.. likes dancing ? "Thats so sweet, Touya."

You weren't letting him go again. Not after this dance.

[godisshook]

Brotherly Love

Gavin was more than the average frat bro, it was obvious to see. Since he had joined the fraternity, he had been held in high regard by his brothers, and seen as a rising star. He was a sight to behold, and he knew it.

The sophomore was a popular figure within the Sigma Delta Rho fraternity, an adonis with a killer smile and a personality to match. He had it all, or so he thought. A single person would change all of this, and rock his world forever.

Casey.

The slender pledge had captured Gavin's attention from the moment he stepped foot into the frat house. His toned physique and boyish charm were undeniable draws, but there was something more to Casey that Gavin couldn't quite put into words.

Ever since pledging Sigma Delta Rho and moving into the frat house at the start of the semester, Casey had been infatuated with Gavin. There was just something about him that drew Casey in like a moth to a flame. He did everything he could to get his attention, from staying to clean up after fraternity events, to personally running errands for Gavin.

Months would pass, as Casey started to become his own in the fraternity, gaining the trust of his brothers, but, most importantly to him, gaining the attention of Gavin.

The two exchanged glances during frat meetings and shared brief conversations in passing, making Case. The unspoken tension hung heavy between them, both aware of the appearances they had to maintain with the fraternity. They were keenly knowledgeable of the traditional nature of their frat and knew that anything more than fleeting glances would draw suspicion.

Despite this, the two would talk in secret, forming a relationship while trying to keep their romance hidden. It was torture for Casey, as his need for Gavin would consume him entirely. Their romance bloomed slowly but blossomed nevertheless, and Casey would soon get his wish, as the frat was set to have a massive party in the spring.

The night of the party, Gavin and Casey found themselves alone in Gavin's room. The faint smell of alcohol still lingered in the air as they sat on Gavin's bed, lost in each other's gaze. The two had caught each other's gaze all night, and this had been their moment, their escape from the noise. The tension between them was palpable, and neither one could deny the sparks flying between them anymore.

As Casey leaned closer to Gavin, his heart pounded wildly in his chest, Casey couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by his emotions. He wanted nothing more than to feel Gavin's lips against his own, but he knew that this moment could change everything for them both.

Taking the initiative, Gavin gently cupped Casey's face with his hands and pressed their lips together in a passionate kiss. It started slow at first, with gentle brushes of their lips against each other's, but soon became far more intense as they explored each other's mouths with eager tongues.

In a drunken haze, the two intensified the moment, with the heat of the moment silencing the booming party outside. As clothes began to line the floor, Gavin's lips slowly brushed Casey's chest, creating more sparks as his hot breath caressed his sensitive skin.

Gavin continued to kiss along the contours of Casey's body, moving downwards at a slow but fiery pace, causing the heat between the two to reach a fever pitch. Gavin's muscular body heated up under Casey's touch, adding fuel to the burning fire of their passion. Before their moment could reach its expected crescendo, a knock on the door would cause things to end abruptly, forcing the two back out into the commotion.

It was a fleeting moment, but enough to leave Casey wanting more. Days came and went as he found ways to keep his mind off of Gavin. After days of monotony and stolen glances, a simple text would be Casey's saving grace, "Come to my room tomorrow at 4, don't keep me waiting." Still in class, Casey fought a smile, but as soon as he left, he darted back to the house, a smile growing from ear to ear.

Now steps away from Gavin's room, Casey could hear the familiar sound of the showers. A wicked smile came over his face as he knew exactly what to expect.

Casey took the towel lying on the bed, chuckling at the fact that it wouldn't be staying on if things went well. Despite a tinge of fear, the air was thick in the bathroom, as anticipation mingled with need. Casey looked at the form in the shower, and asked, "Gavin, is that you?" With his familiar low voice, Gavin replied, "Of course, get in."

Casey initially shivered as he entered the shower; allowing the cold water to wash over him, as Gavin quickly consumed him with his body, warming him up instantly. Within this embrace, Casey felt the unmistakable bulge of Gavin's cock pressing against his.

Gavin took a tuft of Casey's hair in his hand and began thrusting against his head; his body betraying him as he thrust into Casey's mouth. Casey choked slightly, but he didn't let go, his hands grasping Gavin's thighs, pulling his cock deeper into his mouth.

In between thrusts, Gavin would turn up the temperature in the shower, causing steam to build up, and for heat to swell up inside both of them. The shower became even hotter as Casey got lower and lower, laying soft but burning kisses all over Gavin's muscled body. Casey's mouth surrounded Gavin's cock completely, and Gavin threw his head back as Casey began sucking.

Deliberate in his movements, Casey teasingly sucked Gavin off, as he slowly worked his way around Gavin's cock. Unable to handle the tension anymore, Gavin took control, taking a tuft of Casey's hair in his hand and thrusting it against his cock. Gavin's body betrayed him as he gave in to his desires, thrusting faster and faster. Casey choked slightly, but he didn't let go, his hands grasping Gavin's thighs, pulling his cock deeper into his mouth. Before he could cum, Gavin raised Casey back up, and told him, "We're going to the bed." Surprised, Casey looked up into his eyes, as he was suddenly lifted by Gavin into the air, and out of the shower.

The two dried off, and Casey changed into a fresh pair of underwear. Ensuring the door was locked, Gavin said, "You're not gonna need that underwear for long, just saying." Casey smartly replied, "You know people will hear us if we do anything out here?" As if anticipating his question, Gavin turned up the TV, with the jumble of voices drowning out Casey's protests. Closing the distance with a smirk, Gavin grabbed Casey by the hips, pulling him into a deep kiss. Their tongues intertwined as the two were free to give in to their inhibitions fully dry.

Gavin pushed Casey back onto his bed, their bodies sinking into the soft mattress. He kissed his way down Casey's chest, pausing to tease his nipples and elicit soft moans of pleasure.

Lower and lower he went, trailing kisses along Casey's taut stomach and tracing circles with his tongue around his belly button. He could feel the anticipation building within Casey as he neared his ultimate destination - that throbbing cock that was calling out to him.

Gavin reached over to his nightstand and fumbled around for a moment before finding what he was looking for; a bottle of lube left over from one of his previous conquests. Noticing this, Casey remarked sarcastically, "Of course I'm not your first." Gavin laughed, saying, "If it makes it any better, you’re my first guy.” Noticing Casey’s surprise, Gavin asked, "Wait, am I your first…anything?" Casey's nod made Gavin even more delicate, as he sought to make it count.

He uncapped the lube and poured a generous amount into his hand, warming it between his palms before reaching down to prepare Casey for what was about to come.

Gavin's hand slid between Casey's legs, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin as he prepared Gavin for what was to come. Casey moaned, his body trembling with anticipation as Gavin's fingers slid inside him, stretching and preparing him for his massive cock.

Casey gazed up at Gavin in awe. It was like watching an expert at work, with Gavin somehow knowing everywhere that turns him on. With there being no chance of interruption, the two were completely consumed by the other. They were two souls intertwined in a moment of pure bliss, and Casey never wanted it to end.

In between kisses, Casey would give in to his need, "Fuck me," he whimpered against Gavin's lips. "I want you inside me."

Gavin's heart skipped a beat as he met Casey's gaze. The request caught him off guard; he was shocked by Casey's boldness, but there was no denying the hunger burning within him. Gavin simply replied, "As you wish."

Not missing a beat, Gavin thrust inside Casey, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. He lost himself inside Casey, as his most primal urges began taking over. Gavin's mind raced, his desire for Casey threatening to consume him entirely. His cock twitched, aching for release, as Casey started jerking himself off, matching Gavin's strokes. The two continued to fuck, their bodies slick with sweat. Each thrust sent shivers down their spines, their moans mingling together in a symphony of passion and desire.

Gavin's cock twitched, aching for release. Soon, his body tensed, and he came, his cock throbbing as spray after spray of hot, white cum shot all over Casey. The two would release at the same time, and they collapsed onto one another; with Gavin's grip on Casey's hips tightening, bucking over him as he filled Casey with his seed.

Casey lifted himself off Gavin, as they both tried to catch their breaths. Their eyes met, the raw hunger still present but now tempered as the two found release. As Casey laid on him, Gavin felt a sense of ease, "I've always wanted to see you blush." Gavin said, his voice low and seductive. Casey didn't respond and simply nestled harder into Gavin's body.

"You okay?" Gavin asked, concern in his voice.

Casey nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah, I... I loved every second of it, but it was... intense."

Gavin smirked, his strong hands ruffling Casey's sweat-slicked hair. "That's the whole point, isn't it?"

[lesbicosmos]

six of crows is so incredibly hozier coded and to prove it ive assigned each character/couple a song and given a specific section of the lyrics

(i feel entirely normal about this i swear)

the books in general are 100% eat your young

There's money to be made, whatever's still to come Get some Pull up the ladder when the flood comes Throw enough rope until the legs have swung Seven new ways that you can eat your young Come and get some Skinning the children for a war drum Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young

kaz brekker - arsonist's lullabye

When I was 16, my senses fooled me Thought gasoline was on my clothes I knew that something would always rule me I knew the scent was mine alone All you have is your fire And the place you need to reach Don't you ever tame your demons But always keep 'em on a leash

inej ghafa - would that i

With the war of the fire My heart moves to its feet Like the ashes of ash I saw eyes in the heat Feel it soft and as pure as snow Fell in love with the fire long ago With each love I could lose I was never the same Watch it still live in roofs Be consumed by the flame I was fixed on your hand of gold Lay in waste of my lovin' long ago

jesper fahey - someone new

There's an art to life's distractions To somehow escape the burning weight, the art of scraping through Some like to imagine The dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do Would things be easier if there was a right way? Honey, there is no right way

wylan van eck - through me (the flood)

Any time I've struggled on Against the course Out on my own Every time I'd burn through the world, I'd see That the world, it burns through me

nina zenik - angel of small death and the codeine scene

Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh, I Lay my heart down with the rest at her feet Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene

(this is so nina post-parem)

matthias helvar - foreigner's god

Her eyes look sharp and steady Into the empty parts of me But still my heart is heavy With the hate of some other man's beliefs

kaz/inej - work song

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

(this is just so i would come for you and if i couldn't walk i'd crawl to you i cannot)

matthias/nina - in a week

A thousand teeth And yours among them, I know Our hungers appeased Our heartbeats becoming slow We lay here for years or for hours Thrown here or found To freeze or to thaw So long we become the flowers Two corpses we were

(they're also incredibly work song coded, it was a struggle choosing between helnik and kanej for that one)

wylan/jesper - like real people do

So I will not ask you Why you were creeping In some sad way I already know I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask and neither should you Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do

[inkofthebrain]

Imperial

[Paul Atreides x F!Reader] 1468 words

Paul Atreides, Duke of Arakkis, takes the hand of the Emperor’s eldest daughter for the throne, yet neither are pleased. They know they must learn to be civil, but what will it cost them…

Tags: post-Dune 2, strays from book canon, no use of y/n, dune typical everything, Corinno!Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers kind of? (More strangers to lovers tbh) ARRANGED MARRIAGE TROPE, not proofread LOL

Warnings: mild use of the voice on reader. Dune typical themes, motifs, and actions. Jessica being Jessica….

A/n: this chapter goes from 0 to 100 plot wise: be ready >:) sorry 4 whiplash… || Thank you for all the support! I upload these chapters as i write them so apologies for the spontaneous new chapters. My request are open for one shots and more!

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masterlist

Three———

The following weeks with the Atreides are spent planning, discussing politics, and all the while you continued to silently observe Paul and his mother.

There are two things you are certain of. One, Bene Geserit have been at work, a congregation of women who you have always been weary of, and two—their plan had gone horribly wrong. Paul was the byproduct of a story not of his own which he, or should I say his mother, has appropriated for political power.

“Abomination”

Your fathers truth sayer’s words ring through you ears. You are terrified for what is to come, you gaze out of your bedroom window at the sloshing sea lapping at the edges of the cliff.

The nightmares about your soon to be home still plagued your nights, you were getting less and less sleep and as the wedding grew nearer your exhaustion grew with it. You prayed Arrakis would kill you quick.

You and paul spent hours in the Caladan meeting room, discussing the various political forces across the galaxy, alone and with both the Atreides and Imperial advisors. the details were complex, and Paul's understanding of the universe was quickly expanding by the day.

He learned about the various noble houses, the political factions within the houses, the imperial courts and their complex bureaucracy, and the many conflicting religions and belief systems across the galaxy.

This was just the basic information. the true power came from analyzing and understanding the social complexities and hidden motivations of the various players. Paul knows he must oblige with the current way things are running before slowly putting his own reforms and systems in place.

As you taught him the complex workings of the imperium and its politics, you realized his intelligence was unmatched. It was as if he absorbed the information like a sponge, taking it all in and putting it to use. his natural abilities coupled with his hard work and dedication made him a formidable political force.

You sensed that his thirst for knowledge and a desire to understand what drove the universe was insatiable, just as yours was.

You had grown closer to Paul but your shared disinterest in the Marriage lingered. You did not care for marrying a stranger, that was bound to happen, it was the circumstances of your engagement that lit an unpleasant fire in you. Paul, on the other hand, was clearly longing for something, someone, he knew he could not obtain.

You both were children who were manipulated, selected, and bred for this. And now as adults you must face your unnerving future.

Duty is everything in this world.

———

The day of the wedding was a week away, but the planning began much earlier. The ceremony was highly anticipated by the imperial court and the noble houses. rumors were rampant, various debates and gossip spread like wildfire. It was clear that this wedding was much more than a marriage of political convenience. It was a pivotal event for the empire, one that everyone would be watching closely and analyzing under a microscope.

As you walked to the dining hall, Delia at you side making occasional small talk, you mind was racing. You had compiled a highly educated theory based on observation and the small bits of Benne Geserit secrets you sister had let you in on. You were determined to gather more data to support this.

Jessica sat at the head of the table, Paul sat to her right and you sat to his left. The three of you were discussing the political ramifications of the wedding, how they would be viewed by the various noble houses and imperial courts. Your discussion was respectful and polite, but under the surface there was a tension, a subtle underlying pressure, that nobody acknowledged but was very present. After clearing her throat and waved the guards out of the room.

Your stomach dropped as she looked to you "Now, there's one other matter we've yet to discuss." She turns her attention towards you and looks straight at you, with a serious look on her face.

Jessica continues. "I am aware you understand the political nature of this union, and you understand the political implications of the ceremony itself. But what isn't discussed enough is the reality and expectation of the marriage after the ceremony. The two of you are to consummate the marriage immediately after, and the child that results from it will have enormous political implications. Do you understand what i'm saying?"

You almost choke on your wine at her boldness. Paul glances at you, he is alert to the seriousness in her tone, the way she is careful to drive home this specific point.

Still watching your reaction, she finally resumes speaking. "The consummation is expected to immediately produce a child. The pressure will be immense, and I am asking you to treat this with the upmost seriousness. The birth of the child will create a political shift that will alter the galaxy for generations. I trust you understand the gravity of the situation at hand? Correct?”

You take a large swig from your wine glass. “May I speak freely?”

"Yes, by all means, speak freely.”

You take a deep breath. “I have not been trained by the Bene Geserit like my sister so I am not privy in the ways” you pause. “But from my observations I have compiled a theory. There is a plan, a plan greater than us all. And you, Lady Jessica, set that plan on fire by giving the late Duke Leto a male heir. Yet they allowed you to become a Reverend mother after disobeying the high order.” You pause, watching her reaction. “Now you must scramble to solidify your disobedience into the prophecy”

Jessica is frozen for a few moments, eyes locked on your own, trying to hide the surprise you've seen through. It's clear that you've struck a nerve here.

Paul leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours. "This is impressive. Very impressive." there's a glimmer of admiration in his eyes, and the slightest of smiles tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“I assume I am correct then?” You look between the two

Jessica finally nods, a hint of a proud smile on her face. "You have struck at the very heart of it. My disobedience is not my own, Paul was set to be the bridge between the Bene Geserit and Atreides... and the imperium's entire future. And because of my actions, that entire future has been brought upon us prematurely. We have a plan, it is true. I will ensure that paul's inheritance of the empire remains intact. But you are key to that plan, and you must comply with my direction on this matter."

“Tell me everything.” You demand, your temper growing short as your heart starts beating faster and faster. “This is my life and the legacy of the Imperium!”

She leans forward, her intense gaze meeting yours. there's a firmness in her eyes, and she speaks with a sense of conviction. "Listen to me; if you wish to ensure your safety and the safety of Paul and the empire, then you will need to trust me. Do you trust me?"

“No!” You yell, “You made your son a false prophet and I refuse to go along with it until I am aware of every detail of this plan.”

“Calm yourself and listen” Jessica demands, her voice is dark and distorted. You are enchanted instantly—She has used the voice.

“Mother…” Paul says, guilt pricks at his soul as he watches your face go blank, but Jessica ignores him.

"I will not tell you everything at this very moment, but trust me, you will see it all in time. Just like I have, just like Paul has. There are some things that are necessary to keep from you until that time. I will tell you what you need to know, nothing more and nothing less. does that sound acceptable to you?"

Her hold on you breaks and you look to the mother and son in disgust. Everything about this woman is fabricated so she may complete her plan, a ploy in which you are just a mere stepping stone. Rage runs through your entire body with such velocity that you feel sick. You sit in silence.

“Do. You. Understand?” Paul’s voice is stern and startles you and you nod your head.

“Good” Jessica says flatly.

You turn your head to look out the window, closing your eyes while taking a deep breath you attempt to collect yourself. Paul and Jessica are staring into you. You can feel it.

———

Next chapter

🍾 Taglist @aoi-targaryen

[wordsofwilderness]

To Touch and Argue

Day 6: Orgasm control (with begging bc I just can't stop myself <3) - Jegulus Kinktober - @jeguluskinktoberr - 708 words - EXPLICIT

Most people didn’t understand why James liked fighting with Regulus so much—how their relationship could ever be healthy when they argued over the most pointless things. They only saw it on the surface, not the fire in Regulus’ eyes, so alive with frustration and desire. They weren’t there when the bickering turned into a passionate make-out session pressed up against a wall as soon as they were in the privacy of their home. They didn’t see how neither of them cared about the subjects of their arguments, only what they led to.

James moaned low into Regulus’ ear, his arms clinging to him and his back pressed against the wall in their entryway. They hadn’t even made it to the bedroom this time around. His trousers and boxers were pushed down to his thighs, Regulus’ hand wrapped around his length. The quick and calculated storks were fuelling the pressure growing rapidly in his lower abdomen.

“Are you going to admit you’re wrong?” Regulus asked as he twisted his hand over the sensitive tip of James’ dick.

“I’m not,” James barely got out as his body tensed up.

Regulus stopped in an instant, his hand at the base of James’ dick holding tight. What had felt like an inevitable tumble towards pleasure came to a screeching halt.

“Oh, fuck you,” James groaned, head banging against the wall behind him.

“No, Jamie, that will not be happening,” Regulus smirked, “Unless you admit you’re wrong, of course.”

“Well, I won’t.”

“We’ll see,” Regulus hummed, starting up again with slow strokes.

Regulus knew his body too well, just the right rhythm, the right flick of the wrist, the right pressure. With the burning behind his eyes and a wicked grin etched on his face, it didn’t take long before James was nearing his orgasm again.

“Changed your mind yet?” Regulus asked, his voice laced with false sweetness.

“You know I haven’t,” James barely got out between his grunts and moans.

Predictably, Regulus stopped the moment before James tumbled over his edge. It was so close, just a second longer, one single stroke. “Please, Regulus, please just let me come.”

Regulus scoffed, “You think begging will save you?” His thumb traced a vein on the underside of James’ dick as he stroked it again—pulling James right back to the path he was desperately trying to stay on.

“Let me come, please?” James continued to beg, his hands digging into Regulus’ back through his shirt.

“You know what I want.”

James’ entire body was shaking with need, crying out for release. “Just please.”

“Not yet,” Regulus murmured, before demanding, “Tell me, who is right?”

Summoning up his last scraps of defiance, James choked out, “Me.”

Regulus’ hand stilled yet again, a laugh escaping from Regulus at how James futilely tried to fuck up into it.

“Fine! Yes, you’re right, and I’m wrong,” James groaned, “Just please let me come. Please, just let me…”

A triumphant smile played on Regulus’ lips as he cooed “There you go, see that wasn’t hard now was it, Jamie?” Regulus fell to his knees, his hand guiding James’ dick to him as he said, “Come on, Jamie, all yours. Come for me.” Taking it fully inside the wet heat of his mouth, he tugged at James’ hip in signal.

James stared down with wide eyes, the sight itself nearly enough at this point. Burying his hand in Regulus’ curls, he fucked into Regulus’ mouth with a loud moan. It took an embarrassingly few thrusts before he came. His body trembled with the onslaught of pleasure, his legs nearly buckling under him. Regulus swallowed his load, but still, James’ hips twitched—like all those other would-be orgasms caught up to him all at once.

His breathing ragged, he let his head fall back against the wall, leaning on it for support. Regulus let James’ dick fall out of his mouth. Careful not to touch any oversensitive parts too much, he tugged it back into James’ boxers before fixing up his trousers as well.

“How do you feel?” he asked, with a caress of James’ cheek.

“Floaty,” James grinned, a bit caught in Regulus’ eyes, “What were we even arguing about this time?”

Regulus smiled, “I have no clue.”

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 30

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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: A Vow Of Devotion

Notes: !!!!Extra warnings for this chapter added !!!!

Trigger warning for this chapter: !!!!This chapter very briefly mentions the memory of a child abuse attempt. It also mentions the memory of a SA attempt. Neither of them involve y/n and neither of them are descriptive. !!!!

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  30/47

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The warmth inside the cave had successfully dried most of your jacket, the warm sun would do the rest as you rode a little behind Gawain and Lancelot. Percival was seated in front of Lancelot and had not said much since leaving the cave and neither had Lancelot. It was Gawain who kept the conversation going by trying to inform the three of you how things were among the Fey these days. Lancelot sometimes replied to him and it showed that he knew more of Fey customs than anyone had expected. There had to be things he remembered of his past and things he had learned after having hunted the Fey for so long, it was not unusual for one to become quite knowledgeable on the subject of that which they spend most of their time on. You had not said much in the past hours, the afternoon sun was warming your back as you just listened to Gawain talk about Nimue.

“She would not want you to weep for her.” Gawain said to Percival.

Percival snapped his eyes away, clearly not happy to hear that. “The paladins made her fall and drown! Why can I not weep?!”

Gawain tried to explain that it was only meant to comfort him, “Percival, I did not mean that-”

“I hate them! I hate them all!” The boy snapped.

Lancelot tensed up behind him but tried to mask the reaction by readjusting how he was seated. Then Percival threatened to dismount, but he prevented it. “Percival.”

Percival hated that others would see the tears that threatened to blur his vision again, hearing about Nimue and how she had died was too much for him.

Lancelot held the boy seated securely in front of him, lowering his voice to calm him, “No one here will mock you for weeping. Mourn your friend without reservation.”

Gawain gave a reassuring nod towards Percival when the boy looked at him again. “My words were meant to offer comfort, they were not meant to upset you.”

“Fine.” Percival sighed, shaking the outburst from his shoulders.

Relief washed through all, Gawain chose a different topic to speak about. This time he spoke of the time where Lancelot had tried to burn him alive in a mill, and when you looked at the Ash Man for an explanation he kept his eyes straight ahead.

“He never told me that.” you bitterly said.

Gawain looked at you. “He does not appear to be a man of many words.”

There was still no eye-contact from the culprit. “And certainly not when it could bring him trouble.”

Lancelot scoffed, finally breaking the silence, “I had my orders. They wanted you, Green Knight, because you had killed many of the paladins. The Church was pressuring Father into capturing those with the strongest influence among the Fey.”

Gawain smiled, finding it amusing. “I suppose I could take it as a compliment.”

“I did capture you.” Lancelot still sounded proud of that achievement.

Gawain tried to temper that pride. “Yes. After a lot of effort.”

Percival found it the perfect timing to speak up on the fight he had witnessed between them, telling Gawain, “He fights faster than you.”

Lancelot turned his head the other side, hiding the victorious smile from the knight upon hearing the child sound so impressed.

Gawain send Percival a look, “Who’s side are you on, boy?”

That cheeky child grinned at the knight, knowing exactly how to get on his nerves.

Gawain shook his head, not giving either of them anymore attention. “We should stop at Crowgrove and acquire supplies, unless we wish to starve on our way to Gramaire.”

“Very well.” Lancelot agreed on that plan, he looked back at you, “Do you still have the pouch I gave you?”

A bad feeling sank itself into your stomach, quickly you searched your satchel. The pouch was no longer in there. “I don’t… I’m sorry. My father must have taken it.”

“It is not your fault.” he quickly said, then looked at Gawain. “We could trade?”

“Trade what?” Gawain asked.

“I still have my daggers.” Lancelot suggested.

Gawain pointed out a problem, “If we offer a merchant there one of those daggers, it will get us unwanted attention. They have the symbol of the Church on them, do they not?”

Lancelot nodded disappointed. “Then what can we trade?”

“We’ll see what we can do once we are there.” The knight sighed, not having an answer to that problem yet.

A loud scream coming from the left of you startled all, Lancelot by reflex held up a hand to signal the rest of you to stop. More screams traveled through the forest fast, you could hear people run.

Gawain spotted the origin of the sound. “Paladins. They are chasing two Fey women into the woods.”

The knight began to ride towards the sound, Lancelot called out to him, “Green Knight, we shouldn’t. If they see us alive-”

“You should not, but I do. I will not ignore their call for help.” Gawain was firm on that and gave the Ash Man a disappointed look. “My people need me. Ride ahead, I will find you.” The knight left no room for debate and rode towards the danger.

Lancelot sighed, swallowing down the curse he wished to emit. “Percival, dismount and ride with her until I return.”

“But-” Percival did not want to miss out on the action.

“Now.” he told him.

He helped the boy slide down from Goliath, and whilst you helped Percival up on your horse Lancelot put his bow into his lap then spurred Goliath on into a gallop. What you didn’t understand was why he wasn’t riding in the same direction Gawain had gone in.

“Do we have to just wait here?” Percival sounded appalled.

You didn’t plan to wait and see if they came back alive or not, even though they had clearly thought you would. But there was a child with you. “It’s dangerous…”

Percival looked back at you, reading the truth right out of your eyes.

“Fine. But we don’t get too close and we stay hidden, understood?” you knew that it was a risk with the boy’s unpredictable character.

When Percival promised not to take risks, you rode in the direction that the sound came from. By the time you were almost close, you could hear a fight going on. You halted the horse, dismounted and hid with Percival among the bushes and trees. Gawain was at a distance, fighting a group of paladins while two young Fey women and him were cornered by a rock formation. It was not a fair fight, five against one, Gawain was defending more than he could attack.

“Percival, I need to help him. Swear to me that you will stay hidden!” you held him by the shoulder. When he did not answer right away, you gave him a little shake. “Percival?”

The boy nodded. “I’ll stay out of sight.”

“Good lad.” you cupped his cheek for a moment, then quickly moved through the bushes towards the Green Knight.

Gawain noticed you approaching and looked both relieved by the incoming help, and annoyed that you had chosen to engage in battle.

You drew your sword and stepped into the sight of the paladins, one turned to look your way. Another was charging at the knight, that paladin’s plan was ruined when an arrow landed into the side of his neck and the force of it send him to the ground. Gawain looked around for a second, then continued to fight the other paladins who were clearly confused by the fatal arrow. You warded off the attack of the paladin who had noticed you by holding your sword vertically and swung your sword at him next, he evaded your sword but an arrow pierced itself into his chest and you stumbled back away from him. That had been too close for comfort, you looked where the arrow must have traveled from and spotted Lancelot up on the rock formation as he took aim again at the remaining paladins. He would not have a drop of blood on him whilst killing his former red brothers up from that advantage point. With the low supplies in mind, you grabbed hold of the arrow lodged into the paladin’s chest and pulled it free. Another had taken advantage of your brief moment of distraction to try and grab you from behind.

“I remember you!” he loudly exclaimed. “The Weeping Monk’s whore!”

You turned the arrow in your hand and with a quick backwards motion you stabbed the arrowhead into his cheek and pulled it free right away, blood splattered onto your shoulder and neck. It was nauseating but you did not falter, by turning into his hold you broke free and stabbed him with the arrowhead in the neck. Blood gushed out of his neck and you backed away to avoid getting it on yourself but you still felt the blood splatters land on your face. When you looked up, Gawain was delivering the death blow to the last paladin. The knight then noticed you and the state of your appearance, and what he saw must have startled him.

He called out to you, “Are you alright?”

It took you a few seconds to answer, “Yes.”

He turned to the frightened Fey women to talk to them and you approached them. They had been on their way home with their family when they encountered the paladins, they got seperated from the rest of them when they had run.

“They are not far.” Lancelot came from between the trees, having overheard the conversation. Percival was at his side.

The women cowered away in terror at the sight of him and it took Gawain some effort to assure them that Lancelot was no threat to them. You noticed the hurt in Lancelot’s eyes at witnessing their reaction to his presence.

Still, the Ash Man tried to help. “I can lead you to them.”

The women had their arms hooked together, seeking support and comfort with each other. They looked at you and Percival, and how you both had no fear of the one they so feared.

You saw it as a quiet request for your opinion. “We can help you. Lancelot can bring you to your family.”

“He’ll kill them.” The auburn haired woman said.

At that, Lancelot send his gaze to the grass, he had wanted to walk away but Percival took hold of his sleeve and wouldn’t let him. Someone needed to be his voice, for he would not be it for himself now you realized. You turned to the women.

“He saved my life, he saved Percival’s life. He just helped the Green Knight save you. Trust him to help you when he says he will, I promise it is worth it.” you spoke with fervor, then walked away to collect the arrows that had been used.

The women looked between the two men and the boy who had not expected you to speak so strongly for the former Weeping Monk. You heard a few sentences being spoken between them all, then Lancelot came to you just as you took out the arrow lodged into a paladin’s stomach.

“I am going to retrieve the horses, I will be back in a moment.” he informed. “We’ll lead them to their family and resume our journey afterwards.”

You were glad to hear it. “They are just frightened, they don’t know you like we do.”

He fidgeted with the bow, stealing the bloodied arrows from your hand. “I saw you fight. You are getting better.”

You picked up on that nervous note in his voice. “Truly?”

“Yes.” he liked to see that smile on your face. “We shall stop by a river so you can wash the blood off.”

Almost had you forgotten about the blood that had splattered onto your face. “That would be lovely. Oh, and uhm… that was impressive archery you displayed.”

“Thank you.” His eyes darted over your face, then he shook his head as if he wished to erase his thoughts and walked off.

The reaction was so odd that it left you a bit dumbfounded, Gawain began to walk towards you with Percival and the Faun Folk women and gave you a curious look. You shrugged your shoulders a little, acting like it was nothing important. Mere minutes later, Lancelot returned riding Goliath, the reins of the other horses in his hand. Gawain let the two women mount Gringolet and decided to walk beside them whilst Lancelot led the way. You rode beside Lancelot with Percival seated in front of you, watching how easily the Ash Man could find the rest of the Faun family. You wondered if your sense of smell would ever be that strong. He halted before he’d get too close and risk scaring away the Fey up ahead.

“They are over there.” he pointed to a spot further away with a lot of birch trees that had grown closely together.

Gawain helped the women dismount and walked the distance with them towards the spot that Lancelot had pointed out. Lancelot kept a watchful eye and saw the women reunite with their family, they all spoke to the knight for a little while. In the meantime Percival switched horses to ride with Lancelot again.

When Gawain returned, he walked past Goliath to mount his horse. “They asked me to thank you for helping them.”

Lancelot only nodded, still thinking about how they had reacted just by the sight of him and what they had said.

Gawain was grateful for the help. “And I am glad to see that you came to aid me, I did not know for certain if you would.”

“I swore to Percival that I would help the Fey where I could.” he said.

Gawain saw it differently. “I think you decided to help not because of a promise, but because you knew it was the right choice to do so.”

They shared a look amongst each other, and you knew the knight had made the right assumption.

Gawain leaned forward a little to look past Lancelot at you. “We’ll travel along the river to Crowgrove, so your dear friend can get that blood off of her. We do not want to alarm the villagers.”

“That bad, huh?” you winced.

Lancelot looked at you, a smirk formed on his lips when he decided how to answer. “It could be worse.”

Gawain rolled his eyes and straightened his back. “You would tell her she looks beautiful even if she would be drenched in mud from her head to her feet.”

The smirk vanished from Lancelot’s face and he looked ahead instead. Percival frowned for a second, then looked at the Ash Man from the corner of his eyes with suspicion. You knew what the knight was insinuating but ignored it just as you had done so when the paladins would share their opinions on the connection between you and Lancelot. Until last night he had not crossed that line, and he had only done so because he was consumed by grief. Gawain began to ride again, leading you back on the road to Crowgrove.

        About an hour had past before reaching the river. The plan was to stop for a moment, then continue along the river to reach Crowgrove. The chance to wash the blood off was not one you would pass up on. After tying the reins of the grey mare to a tree, you went to the riverbank and knelt down to splash water up in your face. Gawain and Percival took seat on the grass to enjoy the sun. Lancelot strolled over to you, watching the river’s stream as he stood a few steps away. Because of the warm sun, the temperature of the water was just right and a contented hum sounded from deep within your chest.

He had forgotten all he had come to say, the moment he saw that water drip along your neck his thoughts were diluted by invasive ones he could not stop. The warm river water mixed with your scent was pleasing his senses greatly.

You were in the midst of trying to wash the blood out of your sleeve when noticing that he was trying not to stare. The jest fell, “Here to make sure I clean myself well?”

Immediately he forced his eyes to the river. “Did Lord Leoric do so?” he blurted out.

It made you go quiet for a few seconds. Now you were the one staring at him.

“I am concerned.” he admitted. “You were locked in that room, told to bathe against your will… were there other matters forced on you?”

You shook your head. “Not the sort that you think may have happened. Lord Leoric saw me as an oddity for him to study, he wanted me to be perfect like a statue for display.”

He was relieved to hear it. “Forgive me for pressing the matter. When I was with the Red Paladins, I bore witness to the atrocities they tried to commit when they thought I was not there to see it.”

You looked up at him in shock.

He swallowed hard, jaw tense as he spoke. “Not all kept to the vow. I caught three of them, all on separate occasions, attempting to force themselves on women.”

He was not comfortable to speak of it, the memory visibly unsettled him to recall. You were very quiet while listening.

He looked behind him to make certain Percival was nowhere close enough to hear. “I did warn them that I would be unforgiving if I learned of such behavior. And I was.”

“You killed them?” you asked.

He gave a sharp nod. “A benefit of making them fear me was that no one dared to cross me. And even if they had told Father, I would have been forgiven.”

“Because you were his greatest weapon.” you concluded.

He hummed in agreement. When a silence fell, you could just sense that there was something he was holding back on saying.

It felt like it was a personal matter he had not spoken off. “Lancelot… not many would have reacted the way you did. The way you defended those women…”

He knew what you were trying to gently inquire about. “When I was around Percival’s age, I was made directly aware of how some abused their authority and strength.”

Your heart sank. “Did they…”

“One tried. I sensed his intent when he lured me into the woods where he then voiced it to me.” he quietly said. “My sword was quicker. I did not give him the chance to get closer to me. He was one of the first that met their end at my blade.”

Slowly you rose from the grass and got closer to him, not really knowing what to say to the memory he just entrusted you with.

He continued, very careful that no one else could hear. “I grew to know that I had to keep them in their place, and when I was put in command I let my opinion on it be known.”

You placed a hand on his arm softly. “Thank you for telling me, it can’t have been easy to do. Now I understand why you are so concerned that something of the sort happened to me.”

He placed a hand over the one you had on his arm. “Can we keep this between us?”

“I won’t tell another soul.” you vowed.

His thumb brushed along yours. “It was many years ago, but I will never forget the fear that went through me. I was fortunate to have my sword with me that day.” A sigh. “This is why I feared I had done an unforgivable thing last night.”

You put his worries to rest, “It was never your intent to hurt me and you haven’t. I’ve always known that you have morals, and I have no doubt that you would never do or allow such a thing.”

He was so relieved to hear you speak of your faith in his character. “Thank you, for saying that.”

You withdrew your hand slowly. “And if I have ever made you uncomfortable, by embracing you for example, I apologize. I will be considerate of -”

He was quick to assure that it had not been the case, catching your hand before it could fully leave him. “I trust you. Do not let what I just spoke of stop you from showing your warmth towards me.” He feared it would make you hold back on showing such familiarity again. “I have gone without it until I met you, now I fear I would mourn it’s absence greatly.”

It was such a sweet thing to hear, so surprisingly lovely that you were a bit stunned, a shy smile danced on your lips. “It’s uhm… I am very glad to hear you say that.”

He let go of your hand, suddenly becoming aware of how he had been absentmindedly playing with your fingers a little. Deeply he inhaled, exhaling an unsteady breath. “I should go and speak to Gawain, hear what plan he has for once we reach Crowgrove.”

Before he walked away, he picked up your jacket from the ground to hand it over and you gave him your sweetest smile while plucking it from his hands. Three full seconds passed before he walked to where Gawain and Percival where seated. You put your jacket back on and walked a bit further along the river with a plan in mind. By practicing on using your heightened sense of smell, you picked up on the sweet scent of flowers. There was just one problem, it came from across the river and you would have to walk over a fallen tree that laid across it. Carefully you climbed up on the thick tree trunk and tried to find the right way to balance your feet on it.

“What are you doing?” Lancelot stopped a few feet away, looking very, very confused. Gawain and Percival stopped beside him, looking rather curious to see what you would do or maybe even waiting to see you fall in the river and ruin your attire.

“Nothing, just let me do this. I’ll come back to this side in a moment.” you waved him away.

He brow arched daringly, you sensed what he would do and quickly moved over the tree before he could try to stop you, he was not fast enough to grab your arm.

“Dammit-” the curse fell out of him and he grimaced at his inability to prevent it, especially around Percival. “Get back here!”

You shouted back whilst slowly walking over the trunk. “Gods! I’m not going to drown in this river, Lancelot! Just wait there, it’s alright.”

“I like her.” Gawain had his arms crossed in front of his chest, highly entertained by the shenanigans.

A frown formed on the Ash Man’s forehead as he looked at the knight, but Percival moved and before the boy could take another step towards that tree trunk he had caught him by the back of his jacket. “Stay.”

With small effort, you reached the other side of the river and turned around with a victorious expression. Gawain looked proud, Percival looked envious and Lancelot was looking at you in a scolding manner. You turned in the direction of that sweet scent and found it’s origin in the form of purple flowers growing onto a rock on the ground. You plucked some, just enough for your purpose, then headed back to the tree trunk to cross the river again.

As expected Lancelot scolded you once reaching the other side of it. “We should not wander off. Must I remind you that the Church is looking for us?”

You ended his lecture by putting one of the flowers into his hand. “I am aware. Now have this.”

He blinked twice, then looked down at the flower in his hand. You did not wait for him to start scolding you again and went over to Percival to give him a flower too.

You hoped it would bring them some happiness in their grief. “A sweet smelling flower for a sweet boy.”

A pink hue came over Percival’s cheeks as he accepted the flower and brought it to his nose.

Lastly, you gave one to Gawain. “For helping us.”

The knight gave a polite bow of the head and took the flower from your hand. “I do not believe I have ever received a flower before. What a sweet lady you are.”

You grinned. “I am honored to be the first.”

Gawain went to his horse and put the flower in the saddlebag for safe-keeping. Percival was still smelling the flower, then stuffed it in the pocket of his jacket. By the time you looked at Lancelot, the flower you had given him was nowhere to be seen. Had he tossed it away for ignoring his scolding? Or did the flower smell bad to his more attuned heightened sense of smell? You walked up to him, reaching him just as he stopped by Goliath.

He was inspecting the saddle. “Gawain believes we will reach Crowgrove by evening. He knows the innkeeper there so we will have a place to sleep for a night.”

You failed to keep the disappointment hidden in your voice, “Did you not like the flower?”

A frown creased his forehead, he moved his cloak a little to the side and there sat the flower safely in the sheath of his short sword. He took it between his fingers.

“I thought-…” you stopped yourself.

He grew curious. “Did you fear I had disposed of it already?”

You had the most guilty expression. “Did you smell it? It has such an intensely sweet scent.”

He could smell them from across the river, but this endearing gesture made him withhold that information this time.

He carefully put the flower in Goliath’s saddle bag. “I have. You were able to detect the scent from across the river? Well done.”

The praise was nice to hear. “It’s still hard to separate all the scents and focus on the ones I wish to focus on.”

“With time, it will grow easier. I promise.” he said. “And to answer your question, yes, I do like the flower.”

He said it with such intonation, as if he just knew that you were waiting to hear his approval of the flower, or at least the gesture of it. You smiled timidly, happy that it had given him some joy during his grieving.

“It’s scent is as sweet as the heart of the one who gave it.” he complimented.

Your eyes slightly widened, did your ears trick you into believing that it was said in a flirtatious manner? A second passed before you regained control over your thoughts.

Gawain called out, “We should get going if we want to reach Crowgrove before the night.”

You stepped away from Lancelot and headed to your horse, unable to shake the feeling that something more than friendship had grown between you. When still living among the paladins, you had once truly believed that your presence around him had made him tempted to sin, he had that look in his eyes even just for the briefest second. Then everything went to shambles and it had been a whirlwind of events since then. His presence was definitely… titillating. But was it worth risking the loss of a friendship? For what? Lust? Curiosity? It was a fragile thing, friendship and trust, so strong yet so easily broken. He was a monk…he was a monk… he was a monk… and you couldn’t forget that. It was a large part of how he became who he was now.

Maybe there was attraction. And maybe you were afraid to expect more, for more was complicated, more could break your heart and it had been broken one too many a times already. To be greedy was to risk it all. Time would tell where this would lead to, all you wished for was that it would not lead you both on separate paths.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  It was not a moment too soon when you reached the village. The sun had gone down and it felt terribly tempting to shut your eyes by the gentle swaying of the horse’s walk. That tempting feeling was smacked away by Gawain who swatted against your leg to keep you awake, it startled you so much that the small surge of adrenaline kept you awake enough to ride into the village. Percival, who sat with Lancelot on Goliath, had spend a few minutes talking to you to keep you awake. The boy had a way to visually describe how your limbs could look if you fell off of the horse if you fell asleep on it, it was helpful to keep you awake.

Gawain rode closer to Lancelot. “Lancelot, it would be wise to keep your head down and in that hood. I have heard them speak of you here, let us not risk being found.”

He gave a nod. “I’ve been here before. I will remain discreet.”

“Shouldn’t you hide those?” Percival turned a little and pointed right at the markings of the Ash Folk.

“It’s dark now.” Gawain said. “The shadows are our friend and we should leave at dawn to avoid drawing attention.”

“Are you certain it will be safe for him here?” you asked.

“We will keep him safe.” The knight jested, until he saw the serious look on your face. “He will be safe. I promise.”

It had better be true. “Good.”

The knight spoke to Lancelot in a hushed tone. “She is as protective of you, as you are of her.”

Lancelot hid the smile underneath the shadow of his hood. “Ash Folk are rare. We should look after each other.”

Gawain gave a pensive hum and leaded the way to the inn, there weren’t many people still walking around most had gone to bed. The inn was quite large, and beside it was a large stable as well. At Gawain’s request, the horses were brought into the stable.

“Wait here. I’ll go and speak to my friend Samuel, the innkeeper, first.” The knight had said before heading into the inn alone.

A few minutes past before he returned, Gawain stopped beside Percival. “Two rooms, one night and we can have a meal. How do we divide the rooms between us?”

Lancelot was quick to answer. “Percival and her will share a room.”

“Good solution.” Gawain mumbled to him under his breath, sending him a knowing look.

“How so?” you said before putting much thought into it.

Gawain did not hold back on speaking his opinion. “I’ve known Percival for quite some time, Lancelot knows that the boy is safe with me. But he is not sure if he can trust me with you. And neither will he choose to share a room with you alone, it would be bordering on a sin.”

You saw Lancelot grow uncomfortable, especially when the boy looked up at him inquisitively. “The three of us could share a room again. We’ve done so before.”

Gawain pointed out the issue with that. “Somebody would have to sleep on the floor then, the rooms only have two beds each. And I believe we all need our rest.”

“Fine. Percival and I will take the other room for ourselves.” you gave in.

Gawain beckoned for all to follow. “Come. There are not many people in the inn still awake, we can have our meal.”

Lancelot did not seem too happy with what the knight had told you, but you saw no reason for him to be embarrassed. It was thoughtful that he would share a room with someone who was still somewhat of a stranger to you, so you wouldn’t have to.

“Thank you.” you quickly whispered to him as you walked into the inn, and saw Lancelot acknowledge it with a nod.

Gawain wisely chose a table in the corner for all to sit at. The barmaid was at his side almost instantly to ask what he’d like to have, and from the looks of it she was hoping he would choose her. But no, the oblivious knight chose the broth that had been freshly prepared that day. The barmaid turned to leave.

“Could I have some water?” Percival whispered to you, because he didn’t want to let the others find out he was to shy to ask the barmaid himself.

“I’ll ask.” you whispered back, then called out for her, “Ameli-”

Your voice faltered, you dropped your eyes to the table. Amelia… the memory of her dying in your arms in the dark, murdered by those who were send by Aldith. The barmaid had turned to see why someone was calling out the name, Gawain looked at you confused.

Lancelot stepped in, asking Percival, “Was there something you wanted?”

“Water.” the boy admitted after seeing the saddened look in your eyes.

“Some water for the boy.” Lancelot let it be known to Gawain.

The knight called the barmaid, Cecilia, over again and put in his request for water to be brought to the table. She smiled at him and Percival, assuring them she would be right back with some water for all. The moment she returned with the jug of water and tankards, you poured one full for Percival and then for yourself. To wash down that lump that had formed in your throat.

“You alright?” Gawain looked over at you.

You feigned a smile and gave a nod, hoping that was a good enough answer. But alas, the knight was perceptive.

“The eyes never lie, Ash Woman.” the knight said.

You kept the explanation short. “Amelia was the innkeeper that my father’s men killed when they came to capture me in her inn.”

“I am sorry.” He gave a sympathetic look.

“Yeah…” you avoided eye-contact with all and began to eat your broth the second Cecilia placed it on the table.

Gawain fixed his attention on the other two Fey at the table. “Samuel has promised to give me some necessities for the rest of the way to Gramaire.”

“Would he have some ointment for her arm?” Percival suddenly asked.

All looked at the boy, not expecting the considerate question at all. Your spoon had stopped midway to your mouth.

“I will ask.” Gawain said, patting Percival on the shoulder.

You managed to give a genuine small smile to the sweet boy next to you, musing, “What would I do without you?”

Percival looked so happy to be acknowledged in such a way, you took note of it to remind him of his accomplishments more often. You continued to eat your broth and the rest of the table ate mostly in silence. It was palpable that all were tired after traveling all day, and the days had not been easy.

Cecilia brought two bowls with sliced apples to the table, placing one next to Gawain and Lancelot. Gawain put it between Percival and him, while Lancelot put the bowl beside you. You took a slice of apple and took a careful bite, the juice dripped down your mouth a little by biting it and you wiped it away with your finger.

“These are good.” you told Percival and it made the boy taste the apple slices too.

Lancelot had his elbows on the table and you felt his eyes on you, you had nearly finished the slice of apple when he was still looking.

You picked up the bowl with apple slices and offered them to him. “Do you want to taste?”

Taste… his thoughts had wandered too far. He had to reel them in.

He blinked twice rapidly, cleared his throat, his answer came quite delayed. “No, thank you.”

Gawain was watching the interaction with curiosity. Lancelot was not aware of it, but you were. You fixed your eyes on the bowl of apples, trying to ignore the feeling it caused in your chest to have the attention of the heavens in Lancelot’s eyes.

The knight tried not to smile when he took a sip of water, he directed himself to Lancelot. “How did the Abbot come to know of your secret? You were obviously careful to not let it come to light.”

Lancelot tilted his head in your direction, answering in silence. Gawain frowned in confusion.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What do I have to do with it? I never told the Abbot of what you were.”

Lancelot took a sip of water. “Are you aware that your markings glowed crimson in the forest when you used the Fey Fire to ward me off?”

“I-” you touched your cheek were your mark would be if it was visible.

“And you were sat atop of a horse, where the paladins could see.” he pointed out. “I did tell you once that there were rotten apples among the lot. I believe they told the Abbot.”

You got very quiet. They could have killed him, and it was because they had seen your markings and made the connection.

Gawain shook his head. “Loyalty is a word the paladins do not know of.”

Lancelot noticed your silence, his hand came to rest on your lower arm. “What is it?”

“They could have killed you.” you quietly said. “Because they saw my marks…”

He brushed his hand over your arm, then took a light hold. “You fear I blame you for how the Abbot learned the truth?”

It just didn’t sit well with you, things could have played out very differently. “If you hadn’t left when you did-”

“No.” he shook his head, giving your arm a squeeze. “Everything you did in the forest that day, was justified. If I had not left, if I had not helped Percival, we would not be here like this and my death would have been deserved for what I did.”

Percival was looking at Lancelot’s hand on your arm. You pulled your arm back and put your hands into your lap. Only then did Lancelot’s eyes dart to Gawain very quickly and away again.

Gawain cleared his throat. “Shall I ask for another serving of broth?”

“Yes.” you quickly said.

The knight proceeded to beckon for Cecilia and surprisingly enough charmed her into bringing another serving of broth for all. You were grateful for the distraction it brought.

        After the peaceful meal, a modest sack of needed matters was gifted to the knight by the barmaid, Samuel had kept his word. Then Gawain led the way to the rooms that had been offered. They were a decent size, not small, just right. A small table stood against the wall with a chair, some supplies to write and read. Two comfortable looking small beds and a wardrobe to store some clothing. It was enough to accommodate you for the night. Percival followed you into the room after you both wished the others a good night. The boy chose the bed closest to the wall and let himself drop down on it, arms splayed open like a bird in flight. The bed by the window would be yours for the night, you draped your jacket over the foot of it.

“Percival, no shoes in the beds.” you told him.

The boy got out of the bed. “I’m hungry.”

You swiftly turned. “You just ate…”

He shrugged his shoulders meekly. “Sorry…”

“You could ask Gawain?” you suggested.

“Could you ask?” he winced a little.

It was clear he feared being denied. You gave a nod and steered him with you to the room where Gawain and Lancelot were, knocking on their door twice.

Gawain opened the door, you could see that Lancelot was sitting on one of the beds in the room. “Problems?”

“Yes. Big ones.” you jested. “Our young knight is still hungry.”

Gawain sighed a little, but was understanding. “Still growing. And the war has been the hardest on our young ones. Come, Percival. I will ask Samuel for something to eat.”

The knight stepped outside, closing the door behind him and beckoned for Percival to follow. You returned to your room and took place at the table, putting your satchel down on it and taking out your journal. Carefully you dipped the quill in the ink, then began to write down the events that had transpired again. It felt freeing to write it all down, and you felt a bit more comfortable sharing details at the discretion of the pages. After only a few sentences, you heard the door creak open and abruptly turned to see who it was.

Lancelot slowly wandered into the room, noticing the journal on the table right away. He put down a small bowl, with the top covered in a piece of linen, on the bed, “A salve for your arm, it was in the sack. The barmaid must have overheard Percival speak of it.”

“Oh, that is a welcome help.” It would help with the burning sensation in your arm from the cut. “Are you sure you do not need it for yourself?”

He watched you sit on the chair. “I have some as well. And Gawain spoke of visiting the village’s healer before we leave in the morrow, the knight has many friends it seems.”

It had sounded a bit envious, which you understood. “Well, he is a knight. I do not think he was given that title without helping many people.”

He hummed in agreement. “Sharing your thoughts with the journal I see.” He nodded in it’s direction. “Am I mentioned again?”

“Maybe.” You bit your cheek. “Afraid of what I’ll write?”

“Not afraid, no. Just curious.” He came closer, stopping at your side, watching how you closed the journal a little so he would not see. But when he reached over and slowly moved his fingers along the binding of it, you let him open the journal. He stood so close that his lower arm was a little against you.

“It would be so much simpler, to read your thoughts from these pages instead of your eyes.” he said.

“What’s wrong with my eyes?” you bit back a cheeky smile.

“They are fathomless.” his fingers traced over the page he had laid open.

You tapped on a corner of the journal. “What are you searching for in there?”

He was purposely vague. “Written evidence of a truth I seek.”

“A truth?” your brow arched high.

His voice deepened slightly, “You wrote of me before. Have you done so again?”

Right then it clicked why he was so interested in your journal. The last thing he had previously found that you had written about him was from before you had learned about Father Carden’s order for him to gain your trust. This was what he was referring to.

“Not in the same manner.” you kept your eyes on the page.

He was quiet for a few seconds, his fingers were at the corner of the page. Finally he turned it, still not saying a word. The sudden tension was causing you to be on edge, you felt like you should say something but didn’t know what. His fingers grazed over yours, very much on purpose, and you stood up so quickly from the chair that it had knocked into him a little. That chair was the only thing left standing between you and him, a futile barrier that offered no aid. He proved how pointless the chair’s barrier was by pushing it calmly out of the way and under the table. He held the back of the chair for a moment, needing time to think. Your eyes traveled to the door, he caught it happening.

“Am I making you want to run out?” he kept holding on to the chair, as if it kept him grounded.

“No.” Your heartbeat was in your throat.

He stepped away from the chair and took small steps in your direction, his feet did not stop until they reached you. “I think about last night constantly.”

He could not stop thinking of how you had weathered the storm he had been that night. That gentle tone of your voice had been a layer of salve on the wound that his heart had obtained. How you told him you’d rather bleed before seeing him bleed again. No, it had not left his mind since, and neither had that feeling of having your lips against his own. Every time you spoke to him, he had to focus on keeping his eyes from straying to the curve of your mouth. One taste was all it took for him to be willing to forsake the vow he took. Why would he still uphold a vow to a god who would never accept him? Why not make another vow, of a different sort, one he would uphold and live by, one that did not reward him with absolution in heaven but with meaning in life instead?

You feared he was still worried. “I told you, I forgive you. And I mean that.”

“You have shown your gentle heart to me again today.” he got quieter. “I pray you may forgive me once more.”

“I-…” The power to speak was stolen from you.

He had cradled your head in his hands and stolen a kiss so fast that you had no time to react. For just a moment, you were frozen, it was the warmth of him that thawed you. He was gingerly tasting your lips, letting your breaths turn into one. After a few seconds he leaned back, very little, to see your eyes. You caught the front of his jerkin between your fingers and pulled him into you, claiming his mouth with a certain greed you could not hide. You reciprocated fiercely, it had taken him off-guard how eager your response was. When you could sense that it may have been a bit too much for him, you stopped. His gaze washed over you and with an urgency his lips came to yours once more, this time they were unwilling to let them free again. He was practicing, that was obvious, and gods it was a blessing to be the person who he had decided to do so with. Not a spot of your lips was left unattended to by his. It was so… innocent? So careful and precise that you smiled against him. How could it be that his inexperience only made it more intriguing and alluring? If this was practise, he proved a quick learner. The only thing you did was let out a content hum, that was it, and at the sound of it he deepened the kiss. It just felt incredible and the longing for it was evidently mutual, you did not question it, you feared to question it. He brought an arm around your back, holding you so close that you could feel his chest rise and fall.

Once, he had tasted them, and now he could not stop longing for them. He didn’t know what caused his senses to be so overwhelmed more, the feeling of your lips against his, or the sound of your quiet gasps for air that he greedily stole away to hear it again. His body warmed, the sensation as if he felt every drop of blood move through his veins. Now that he knew what it felt like to kiss you, he knew he would loath the days without it.

You fought yourself constantly, fought the urge to hold him so strongly that he might believe you’d never let him go again, fought the desire to let your tongue meet his, fearing to do something that may be a step too far for him still. But he appeared to throw caution to the wind and took all he could have. The intensity of him increased, his hold on you got stronger and demanding, with his hand on the back of your neck he put you at his mercy. The gasp that forced it’s way out of you made him lock his mouth around your bottom lip. Your hand snaked into his hood, fingertips slowly weaving themselves into his hair.

He always wondered what it would be like to kiss, yet being kissed back so fierce was beyond what his imagination could come up with. If this was what damned his soul, then he would face the gates of hell with a smile. But sharing a kiss with his wife was not a sin, is what he told himself. But in that moment he cared little if the gods would approve of it or not.

It was as if the world had stopped to exist and there was only him. But the world had not truly stopped, it continued around you and time went on, that became clear when you suddenly became aware of the Sky Folk scent present in the room again. You broke free from Lancelot, leaving him in confusion that lasted only seconds. Neither of you had heard the door being opened again.

Percival stood there, scrunching his nose in an expression of disgust. He send an accusing look Lancelot’s way. “What are you doing?”

It was ridiculous how slow your brain worked after that, and Lancelot seemed to struggle with his own as well.

“Did he hurt you?” The boy stepped forward, not certain what he had just witnessed.

“No.” you quickly said.

Percival’s eyes narrowed, suddenly he bolted out of the room. And right away both knew where the boy was heading to. You touched Lancelot’s arm, but he already knew what to do and went after the boy right away. As you stood there, not really knowing what to do, your mind processed what had just transpired. Gawain’s voice could be heard not far away, the rest was mumbling that you weren’t able to understand. Carefully you went and peeked around the corner of the doorway, seeing the three of them talk. Gawain shot you an inquiring look and you looked back with a guilty expression. It put the knight’s mind to rest and he was able to diffuse the situation between Lancelot and Percival. The boy had been worried by what he had seen and went to the knight to see if this was an alarming matter or not. You had to understand that Percival had not known Lancelot for so long, and that before this he was the Weeping Monk. The boy simply thought he could have been hurting you. With feet that felt like lead, you approached them.

“Nothing bad happened. All is well.” you reassured them, not brave enough to make true eye-contact with any of them.

Percival was looking Lancelot up and down, the poor Ash Man looked like he was expecting to be reprimanded and so were you.

“Well then. We should return to our rooms before we wake half the inn from their slumber.” Gawain said sternly.

Lancelot touched Percival’s shoulder, trying to stay calm and collected under the boy’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Come, Percival.” you told the boy, and to your relief he followed you back into the room.

The moment the door fell shut behind you and Percival, the knight turned to Lancelot.

“Should I be concerned?” Gawain asked him as they walked to their shared room.

“No.” Lancelot said.

The knight gave a short hum, biting his tongue to not press for more information, for he believed that even the Ash Man seemed rather lost in thought about the matter.

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[xoxostiles]

Bellamy Blake <3

“Just Breathe, Y/N.”

The fire burned low, casting golden light against the thick fabric of the tent. Outside, the camp was quiet, but inside, the world felt impossibly small—just Bellamy and Y/N, caught in something that had been building for far too long.

Neither of them had meant for it to happen like this.

For weeks now, things between them had been shifting, stretching the boundaries of their friendship into something neither of them dared name. It was in the way Bellamy looked at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice, in the way his touches lingered—too long to be accidental, too short to be satisfying. It was in the stolen glances, the way his jaw would clench when someone else got too close, the way her stomach flipped every time he so much as brushed past her.

And now?

Now, here they were—alone, the air between them thick with something neither of them could ignore anymore.

It had started with an argument. A stupid one. She’d been reckless—went off on her own when she knew the dangers outside camp. Bellamy had been furious, his voice sharp, his hands gripping her arms just a little too tightly when she got back. But beneath the anger was something else. Something raw.

“You can’t just do shit like that, Y/N.” His voice had been rough, strained, like he wasn’t just mad—like he was scared.

She had snapped back at him, of course. She always did. But then he’d stepped closer—too close—and suddenly, the fight had bled into something else entirely.

That’s how they ended up here.

Now, lying beneath him, Y/N felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her body was tense, every nerve ending buzzing from the weight of his stare, the way his hands rested—firm, grounding—on her hips. He was warm, impossibly so, his breath fanning across her skin as he leaned over her.

She wasn’t sure what they were, but right now, that didn’t seem to matter.

“Relax, Y/N.”

His voice was low, steady, but there was something deeper beneath it—something restrained.

She swallowed hard, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, as if letting go would send her spiraling. “I am relaxed,” she said, but even she could hear the lie in it.

Bellamy let out a soft, knowing chuckle.

“No, you’re not.”

He wasn’t teasing her—not really. His hands traced slow, careful circles against her skin, grounding her, giving her something to focus on that wasn’t the overwhelming intensity of this moment.

She was overthinking. He could tell.

“You don’t have to think so much,” he murmured, voice dipping lower. His fingers brushed against her thigh, lazy, patient. “Just let me take care of you.”

God. The way he said it—firm, like a promise—sent a shiver down her spine.

She trusted him. She always had.

But trusting him like this? Letting herself fall? That was different.

Still, when his lips brushed over the curve of her jaw—just barely—she felt herself melt. Her fingers tightened against his shoulders, her breath catching.

“You’re holding your breath again.”

The words were barely a whisper, his forehead pressing against hers, his fingers tightening slightly—reassuring, patient.

“Breathe, baby.”

She exhaled, long and shaky, and Bellamy smirked—like he was pleased, like he was proud of her for listening. His grip on her hips tightened just slightly, a silent reward.

“That’s my girl.”

Heat curled low in her stomach, her body sinking into him without hesitation. Bellamy felt it—felt the way she finally relaxed into his touch, finally let herself stop thinking.

“That’s it,” he praised, voice softer now, his lips ghosting over her collarbone. He was taking his time, like he wanted to memorize everything—every breath, every shift, every quiet reaction.

“Just let go for me, Y/N.”

His voice was a whisper against her skin, deep and certain.

“I’ve got you.”

And this time, she didn’t fight it. Didn’t argue.

She just let herself fall.

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Xoxo Alexa <3 I’m taking requests for any Dylan obrien characters, Bob morley, Dystopian, Anything.