#but also we love him. being a prick is part of his charm

[irkimatsu]

Anyone wanna spend Thanksgiving sprawled out in front of Overlord Husk's dinner guests while he rails you into the table?

Overlord Husk/F!Reader, Husk eats a nice Thanksgiving dinner and then helps himself to dessert while everyone else watches. Allusions to a gangbang are made but Husk isn't letting anyone else touch. Oral (both giving and receiving), ass licking (Reader receiving), vaginal sex, facial... and it's not a kink but Husk and Reader end up being pretty rude to an imp based on his species (and also based on the fact that he's an entitled fucking prick), so I may have to explore the implications of that one later. When I'm not writing nasty exhibitionist smut.

18+, obviously!

It’s your first Thanksgiving by Overlord Husk’s side, and it’s just as extravagant as you’d expected it to be.

About fifty people sit at the long table in one of the casino’s VIP lounges, each with heaping plates of food and overflowing glasses of liquor in front of them. Husk’s employees flit around the table, filling dishes before they can become entirely empty, while the crowd becomes more and more rowdy on the bottomless alcohol.

You’d normally be part of the serving staff, but Husk has decided he wants you by his side as his date tonight. He has you seated at the head of the table with him, dressed in a long, sparkling dress that shows just enough cleavage to entice curiosity, while also hiding enough to make it clear that most of tonight’s guests have no business staring.

Not that it stops anyone. As you indulge yourself with turkey, potatoes, and luxurious side dishes you’ve never imagined before, Husk’s guests can’t help but comment on you, as if you’re a doll that can neither hear nor comprehend their words.

“Husk’s still got that pretty thing on his arm, huh?”

“Longest I’ve seen him with the same one. Bet she’s amazing in the bedroom if he hasn’t gotten bored yet.”

“Lucky bastard… think he ever shares this one?”

“God, I hope so. After all this savory food, I could use some dessert! What about you guys?”

Husk initially seemed irritated at all the chatter directed at you, but he’s long since calmed down, his tail no longer lashing, his teeth no longer gritting. You know better than to believe he’s okay with it, though; more likely, he’s just letting his rowdier guests enjoy the holiday for now.

Their bodies will turn up behind the casino later tonight, surely.

One by one, Husk’s guests start denying refills on their plates and allowing the staff to take them away, although they’re more than willing to take more and more liquor into their glasses. Eventually, everyone has finished, including you and Husk, and all the platters have been cleared away, leaving nothing but the ornate table cloth and fifty glasses of drink; not one person had yet decided they’d had enough on that front. They’re already slurring their words and speaking much too loudly, but you know how much Husk’s usual crowd loves to party, so you can’t say it surprises you.

“Mmm, wonder what’s for dessert?”

“I know what I want. There’s something real sweet smellin’ right here at the table…”

“Fuck yeah, there is. Looks nice and soft, too. Can’t wait to sink my teeth in and get a taste…”

They aren’t even trying to be subtle as their predatory eyes keep flicking between you, and whichever companion they’ve chosen to gossip with about you.

“What toppings should we have with it? Some cream, maybe?”

“Should we get the girls to bring us some of the whipped stuff? Or maybe we can make some ourselves?”

“Fuck, why not both? Nothing wrong with some variety! Besides, our tasty little dessert deserves a treat of her own…”

The chatter of the crowd is interrupted by Husk lightly tapping his spoon against the side of his glass. It’s a subtle sound, but contains enough of his commanding charm to get every eye at the table turned toward him, all voices silenced.

“It sounds as though you’re all ready for dessert,” Husk says, a wicked smirk growing on his face. “Shall I get it prepared?”

The crowd begins whispering to each other, not quite ready to celebrate just yet.

“Do you think he’s really-”

“He heard us and hasn’t killed us yet, I think he’s gonna let us-”

One particularly wild-eyed guest is grabbing a staff member and desperately whispering to her to bring over some chocolate sauce and cherries this instant.

Husk’s claws lightly grab your chin, points oh-so-slightly pushing into your flesh, as he turns you to face him. “I’m going to get started on dessert. Is that okay with you, doll?”

Your eyes briefly flick to the fifty greedy faces locked onto you, before going back to your Overlord’s eyes. His pupils are wide, his gaze surprisingly soft… he wouldn’t really offer you up to this mob, would he? Not without asking you in advance? This is really something he should have prepared you for earlier this afternoon…

But deep down, you have to trust him. He’s never violated your boundaries before…

“I’m ready, sir,” you assure him.

“Very good.” He moves in to kiss your lips, so tender and loving, as he takes the zipper of your dress between his claws. “May I?” he murmurs against your mouth.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur back.

The crowd explodes in cheers as he pulls your zipper down, then slides your sleeves off your shoulders. You moan into his mouth as a warm paw engulfs one of your breasts, gently massaging it beneath a mix of fur and claw.

“You all aren’t wrong,” Husk announces to the crowd. “She’s just as sweet as you’re imagining…” He kisses from your lips to your cheek, over your jaw and down to your throat. You whimper as he nips at the front of your throat, and your voice inspires whispers of awe among the crowd. Quite a few guests have run out of their limited patience; they’ve already begun stripping down and tending to their physical needs.

You’re not interested in them. Instead, you run your hand down Husk’s chest, slowly tracing your fingers over the golden buttons of his jacket, before lightly resting your palm on his growing erection.

He lets out a growling laugh with his face still buried in your neck. “You want something sweet too, huh, baby? Don’t worry, you’ll get your fill… as long as I get mine, too…”

He leans you back far enough that you have to grip the tablecloth for balance as he latches his mouth onto your once-neglected breast. He holds you up with a palm pressed firmly between your shoulders as he feasts, suckling and nipping your breast on a determined mission to elicit the cutest little moans out of you.

The crowd is only growing more restless, talking louder and in great detail about exactly what they wish they were doing to you, exactly how they’re going to take you as soon as Husk hands you over. It’s almost flattering, the way they’re admiring your pleasure like this…

But with Husk’s mouth and paws on you, you don’t want to imagine anyone else coming near you. And with the possessive way he’s suckling on your breast, fangs leaving tiny pinpricks in your flesh, Husk doesn’t seem keen on sharing, either.

The hand holding your breast moves down so he can wrap his arm around your waist, and he lifts you with barely any effort. His mouth never leaves your chest as he lays you down on the table, glasses clattering as your back makes contact with the tablecloth. It’s a bit firmer than you’d normally like, but the cloth is surprisingly soft on your bare skin. You pull your arms out from the straps of your dress, then rest your hands on the back of Husk’s head as he feasts on you, scratching the base of his ears in the way that you know gets his chest rumbling.

Both paws start running up the outside of your legs and inside your dress, nails occasionally catching and tearing your stockings. He growls into you again as he hooks his claws into the waistband of your stockings and your panties and pulls, tearing them from your body with the slightest motion. He shoves the tattered remains off the table, and you notice two guests diving to grab the scraps.

How generous of your Overlord, to allow them that much.

He finally removes his mouth from your breast, revealing a bright red ring around your nipple to the audience, and hikes up your dress until everyone can see your nude bottom half.

“Holy fuck, she’s soaked,” you hear an observer say. “Little slut gets off this much from us watching her, huh?”

“Can’t wait to see what she does when we’re not just watching…”

Husk doesn’t say anything; any time spent talking is time spent without his face buried between your thighs, without his rough tongue drawing firm lines along your lips, without his teeth pinching possessive marks into flesh that’s already bruised from previous encounters. Your back arches against his ministrations, mouth and tongue worshipping everywhere he can reach except where you need it most.

“Sir- please-” You beg as you lightly tug his ears, your hips bucking; he’s not the type to just give you what you want right away, not before you ask nicely. “Sir- my clit-”

He pulls back just long enough to sling your legs over his shoulders, then dives back in, moaning as he buries his muzzle into your wetness. You gasp as the fur on his cheeks tickles your soaking thighs, but it’s not quite enough.

“My clit- please suck my clit, sir- please, I need it, please-”

Finally, you must have shown enough desperation. His cold nose presses against your mound as he latches his mouth onto your clit and gently bathes it with his tongue.

“Fuck, Husk-”

Scandalized “ooh”s and laughter roll through the crowd, but you’re too drunk on Husk’s mouth to notice.

“Someone’s forgetting her place…!”

“Hey, sir! Can I punish her for using your name like that? I’m good at making holes like her scream-”

Why should you care about what these idiots have to say about you? All you need is Husk suckling your clit, starting off gently but steadily going rougher, working loud, breathless gasps out of your mouth. He nuzzles into you further, moaning from your taste and from the way your public hair tickles his snout. You’re so lost in his mouth’s vibrations and the fronts of his teeth pressed into your mound that you barely notice the table creaking as someone climbs on top of it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stuff that disrespectful mouth-”

You’re vaguely aware of a thick, red cock in your face, but before you can react to it, Husk roars as he reaches out to grab the imp by his tail and lift him up to his face, leaving you gasping for breath on the table. The nude imp writhes in Husk’s grip like a captured mouse, squeaking out half-formed apologies.

“Did I say you could go anywhere near her?!” Husk growls.

The imp continues stammering, suddenly much less cocky, as the rest of the crowd falls into a stunned silence. “I’m sorry, sir, I thought we were all-”

“I’m the one who gets to eat first,” he continues to snarl. “The rest of you are only getting a show.” Husk turns his gaze from the insignificant thing squirming in his fist and to you, his eyes immediately softening at the sight of you. “Unless you want this thing’s hands on you?”

You’re sure Husk knew your answer before he even asked the question. “Of course not. I don’t care if he watches, but I only want your hands on me… Husk.” You emphasize his name, delighting in how the imp’s face twists in rage as your disrespect.

“Then that settles that.” He drops the imp onto the table with a thud, and the imp immediately scurries back to his seat and scrunches himself down, fully cowed by Husk’s threat.

You’d be surprised that Husk let him go relatively unharmed, but Lucifer knows what’ll happen to him the next time the Overlord gets him alone. Especially since imps don’t have the advantage of near-immortality on their side.

“Any other protests?” Husk asks, and no one at the table has enough of a death wish to speak up. “Good. Now…” He smiles softly as he traces his claw down the side of your face. “Shall we continue with our show?”

“Please,” you gasp. He answers your plea with another kiss to your mouth, his muzzle warm and wet and tasting just as much of you as of him, a delicious combination you’ll never tire of.

“How about you get on your hands and knees?” he asks, his dark velvet voice hypnotizing you into moving before you can think. You roll over onto your stomach beneath him, and his claws grip your waist and pull it off of the table. “Keep your chest down, that’s it…”

Your dress barely clings to your midsection, hiding nothing that this whole crowd wants to see. Instead of the raucous cheering from before, however, all you hear are whispers too hushed for you to make out any meaning from them.

They’re frightened, but still can’t stop staring and commenting… it’s a nice compliment.

“Watch and learn, boys,” Husk says with a laugh as the table creaks behind you. “I’m gonna show you exactly how to treat a pet. Maybe if you can ever figure it out, I’ll even let you touch this one… maybe. If she’ll let you.”

He presses a firm kiss to a fresh bruise on one of your thighs, then the other, then to your swollen, dripping lips. He gently suckles your lips, slurping up your wetness, before licking his way up over your taint and dipping his tongue into your ass. Your whole body shudders as his tongue dips in and out of your sensitive hole, and you can’t help but moan, your voice wordless and shaking.

You think you hear someone mutter, “whore”, but you don’t really care.

“Which hole, which hole…” Husk mutters to himself as he kisses your asshole, then kisses his way back down to your pussy. “Fuck, it all tastes so good, I can’t decide…”

You squeal happily as he suckles your clit again, bringing you closer to climax but not letting you over the edge just yet.

“What do you think, doll? I’m fuckin’ dying to be inside you, but I can’t make up my mind…”

“Fuck my pussy,” is the first thing out of your mouth. You’d love it either way, as long as you get to feel his cock inside you, but his tongue lapping at your cunt has your attention focused there.

“Hm?” He doesn’t move his mouth from you; you’re going to need to do some more convincing.

“Please fuck my pussy, Husk…” You push your waist back, moaning as you grind against his rough tongue. “Fuck me, baby…”

Husk laughs between your legs. “Trying to butter me up, doll?” he asks before kissing you one final time. He pulls away from you for a moment; and you hear fabric and metal shuffling behind you as he removes his clothes and lets them land where they please, whether on the table or on the floor. Once he’s stripped, he moves so that his chest is pressed against your back, his paws cupped around your breasts. “Or maybe you’re trying to show these assholes what they’ll never have?”

Both? You can’t think of any motive besides getting his cock inside you, now, god, now. His body is so warm against yours, his silky fur slides so beautifully against your skin, and the combination of his cologne and the natural scent of his fur is just as intoxicating as the rum you were just drinking.

You don’t need to answer to get him to grind his cock between your lips, his barbs brushing beautifully over your lips and clit.

“I know you can cum just from this, baby,” he murmurs into your ear, then laughs at the pathetic squeal you make as his cockhead catches against your clit just fucking right. “But I’m not feelin’ very patient right now, if you don’t mind…”

“Fuck me,” you gasp out as his hips press against your ass, stimulating you yet also making you feel so fucking empty. “Please… please, Husk, fuck me…”

“You’re so cute when you’re desperate…” He presses a kiss to your cheek as he pulls back and slides forward again, this time stretching you open with his head. The room grows dead quiet, allowing his kisses and the wetness of his shallow thrusts to echo through the air for everyone to hear. You groan as he pushes deeper, his soft barbs brushing wonderfully against your walls and making him feel even thicker than he already is. “Fuckin’ tight, baby…” he groans before another kiss.

He always starts you off slowly; you’ve gotten much better at taking his barbs in the months that you’ve been with him, but he always wants to be damn sure you’re okay before he takes what he really needs. While his long thrusts from head to base normally help to ease you into things, tonight, your gut burns so deeply with need that this sort of preparation only serves as torture.

“Fuck me, Husk…” you moan, voice slurring on liquor and hormones. “I can’t take it anymore…”

“Already? If you’re sure… let’s show them what you can do.” His paws tighten on your breasts as he picks up his pace. He starts out withdrawing just as slowly, before ramming his whole length into you with all the force he can muster. A few strikes to the sweet spot deep inside of you have you clawing at the tablecloth, forehead pressed to the table as muffled moans and whines pour from your mouth.

“C’mon, baby, c’mon…” Husk’s paw gently tugs at your hair, pulling your face off of the table. “Let them hear you…”

After replacing his paw on your breast, he begins fucking you again, leaving less time between each deep thrust. You still can’t keep your head up, but you manage to lay it on its side, allowing everyone to hear your moans and one side of the table to see the way your face twists every time he bottoms out. You see their own faces twist in response; some of them look like they’re about to snap already, especially the pair that are now using your torn panties and stockings as masturbatory aids.

“Harder,” you moan as you thrust your waist back against his. “Fuck me harder!”

“Needy thing,” he chuckles, his grip on your breasts tightening as he kisses over your cheek and neck. Once his mouth reaches your shoulder, he gently sinks his teeth in, his tongue lapping up tiny droplets of blood as he ruts faster and faster. His barbs grow firmer inside you, rubbing against every sensitive spot from your entrance to your core with such intensity that you almost break.

“You guys wanna see a trick?” Husk asks, near breathless from exertion. “Her hands are on the table, mine are on her tits, no one’s touching her clit… but…” He bites your shoulder again, harder this time, as he ruts even faster. Your screams are starting to hurt your throat, but you have no desire to stop letting him know the hold he has on you. Hardened barbs rub against your walls, threatening you with pain but only truly delivering pleasure, until-

“Fuck! Husk!”

He moans against your shoulder as you clench around him, your whole body shuddering with orgasm. It does nothing to stop his frenzy, each thrust extending your climax until you’re not sure how much more you can take. Just as you’re about to cry out from overstimulation and beg him to please cum inside already, he pulls out of you, releasing your shoulder with a relieved gasp.

“God, that was close…” he groans with a shivering voice. “You see that? Once you learn how to make a pussy cum from the inside, you’ll have dolls begging you for a ride.” He leans down again, his heavy breaths warming your ear. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

You barely have any voice left, so you answer with an affirmative hum as he chuckles and kisses your ear.

“Prove you can do that, and maybe I’ll let you show off inside her someday. Until then… how are you doing? Think you can turn toward me?”

Your muscles are heavy as lead, but knowing what’s being asked of you and why gives you the strength to turn around. You lift yourself up on shaking arms and raise your head until your mouth is relatively level with his dick, hard and throbbing and slick with your cum.

“Clean me off?” He barely has time to ask before your mouth is wrapped around his head and greedily suckling down his precum. “Fuck, I don’t even need to ask… good fucking girl…” He pushes on the back of your head, urging you to thrust him in and out of your mouth. You curl your tongue beneath his shaft, and he hisses through his teeth as you press it up against him, cursing quietly whenever it hits a barb just right.

“Babe,” he exhales as he pushes against the back of your throat, smothering you beautifully in his pubic fur and musk. You’re gagging and drooling, but you know he’d let you pull back if you wanted. It’s just that he can tell you’re not even trying to escape. “Fuck, baby, I’m not gonna last-” He groans loudly as he ruts into your throat, urging out a few more wet-sounding gags. “Haaah… you guys like that sound, don’t you…” He thrusts again, and swears again. “I know I fucking do…”

He pulls out of your mouth in one fluid motion, leaving you coughing drool and precum onto the lower half of your face. You nuzzle the side of your face against his soaked cock and moan, visibly delirious with lust. “I wanna suck you more… please…”

“I know you do, baby, but I’ve got another idea,” he says as he lightly strokes your head. “You want my cum?”

“Please, I need your cum-” you beg. “In my throat, in my cunt, wherever you want- please-”

“Wherever I want, huh?” he asks. “Then how about you look up at me, stick your tongue out? There you go, so fucking pretty… both hands on my dick, squeeze me real nice…”

You follow his commands by reflex, barely thinking about anything other than how badly you need his cum inside you. You don’t care where; as long as you have that proof that you’ve satisfied your master, your Husk.

“I heard them talking earlier about how they wanted dessert topped with cream,” he says with a laugh. “What do you say, baby? Wanna give the crowd what they want?”

Your breathing hitches as what he wants dawns on you. “Please,” you urge as you jerk his cock with both hands. “Cum on me-”

“No talking, tongue out,” he says curtly, his voice tight; he’s not going to last long, and he needs you back in position as soon as possible. It feels like only an instant before Husk howls, his hot seed spurting all over your face and tits. It’s so hard for you to sit still when you want to catch every drop on your tongue, but even without you trying, he makes sure to give your mouth as healthy a load as he’s given your skin. His knees buckle as the last of his cum dribbles down his shaft, and he moans in what almost sounds like pain as you lick it off of him.

“C’mon, baby, I’m sensitive…” he chuckles as his knees finally give way. He’s able to lower himself onto the table slowly enough to not crush it, and as soon as he’s kneeling at your level, he’s holding your chin and smiling. “Such a good job… that’s my girl.” He kisses you deeper than he has all night, his tongue apparently searching for any drop of his own seed you may have remaining in your mouth. The two of you swap the remains back and forth, lips parted just enough to let the crowd see the glob of white on your entwined tongues. After the kiss breaks, he moves down to your breasts to lick up some of the cum he left there, then moves back up for another heated kiss. “So? How was dessert?”

“Amazing,” you assure him as you kiss his mouth yet again. “You know, I wouldn’t mind seconds…”

“Greedy little thing… the others haven’t had theirs yet.” He kisses you again, then slides off the table and holds out his paw to help you down as well. “I’ll have the staff change the tablecloth and bring out the rest of the desserts. We’ve got cakes, pies, puddings, and of course a selection of sweet liquors. Eat and drink to your fill! We’ve also got cigars, if you’d like to relax after your dessert. God knows I fucking need one right now…”

Already you’re comforting yourself with thoughts of being curled up in Husk’s lap, breathing in his cigar smoke as you drift off to sleep in the haze of your afterglow, his arm holding you close, his wing hiding you from prying eyes who have seen enough and don’t need any more…

Husk turns to help you zip your dress back up; thankfully, it’s long enough to hide the fact that your panties are long gone, and after seeing what they were used for, you don’t particularly want them back.

You’ll be nice and let those two keep their souvenirs.

“When everyone heads home, I’ll get you a few more helpings,” he promises with another kiss.

[arsenicflame]

hes a bit of a prick (affectionate)

[a-hazbin-reader]

All the Dad Alastor talk! How will Al react trying to cheer up his grumpy children. Alastor seeing his kids sad or frown. Or angy kids in general. Hangry.

HNNNNNNG

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

✅️Parental

TW: Crying babies, Angry babies, Desperate dad!alastor

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor is a firm believer in keeping a smile on one's face no matter what is happening

Your husband lives by it and is always smiling no matter what, it's part of why you love him so much

It used to annoy you when you were upset or fighting with him, but you've learned to read him through other ways

Like with his eyes, his ears, the different smiles he gives, his body language and tones

His smile happens to be contagious and whenever you're with him, you can't help but smile too

"My dear, your smile is one of the most beautiful things I have ever laid my eyes on~"

It helps that he's so damn charming...

You always try to smile for him even when you're crying, in pain, or scared... something that breaks his heart and also makes him proud of you

The twins seem to take after their father and smile every day, laughing in the face of chaos and cooing at the deadliest of demons

Even when they just wake up, the first thing they do is smile at you and Alastor which is a great way to start the day

But they still have their bad days and sometimes they lose their happy smiles, much to the dismay of your husband

He can handle it if his babies are flustered or angry, usually able to problem solve and fix it for them

"Now now~ There's no need for such a face, put that smile back on and papa will make things right~"

Lots of placating pats and little nuzzles along their cheeks until the babies finally start smiling again

Grumpy? That's even easier because papa knows a few funny tricks to get them laughing again

"Now just what is that behind your ear~? Hm~? Oh my! You're quite a lucky one to have a chocolate hiding behind your ears!"

Or if they get hurt and start to cry? He can handle that to, cleaning and bandaging up his babies up before giving the wound a kiss to make it better

"Mwah~! Now that boo-boo has no choice but to go away~ How's about we go inside now, hm?"

Adores his children's laughter and squeals, loves being the reason their faces light up with happiness

But when they're sad? It's so much harder for Alastor to handle because he hates knowing his children are feeling that emotion

Because sadness is something that lingers even after problems have been solved and things have gone back to normal

He just holds them tight and hopes that with enough love and affection that things will be made better

The poor man almost looks ready to cry himself, bouncing the baby in his arms while rubbing their back in a desperate attempt to soothe them

"There there...it's okay, everything is okay...papa is here now...please be happy again..."

If that doesn't work, then he'll come find you, hoping that the two of you can stop the tears

Sits the babies between the two of you and looks to you for help because he doesn't know what to do to make it better

He can't treat them the same way he treats everyone else, his kids are special

He loves his children so much, and it hurts him to see such a raw emotion on their little faces

His smile is wobbly and his eyes are worried, leaning into the feeling of your hand on his cheek

"We can do this, darling, don't doubt the power you have to make our children happy."

Watches as you pick up one baby and hold them to your chest, humming softly to them while pressing a small kiss on their head

He copies you, and immediately, his heart breaks at how tightly his baby is clinging to him, watery eyes staring up at him

He brushes a hand over trembling ears and makes sure to give his baby the most reassuring smile

"My my...aren't you a little underdressed right now?"

Now his baby looks confused, ears pricking up as a clawed finger wipes away a few tears

"You know, you're never fully dressed without a smile~"

He rubs noses with his baby and feels his heart soar when he hears a little giggle, followed by the feeling of tiny hands on his face

Alastor is so relieved that his baby isn't sad anymore, squeezing them tightly and peppering kisses all over their face

And he's definitely not blushing or a little flustered when he notices you're watching him with a warm smile

"Why don't you give them a show? They love listening to their papa sing..."

He can't refuse that, getting both babies settled in your lap before dramatically taking stage, music erupting from a radio

You're looking at him like he's the most wonderful man in the world, like he's not some vicious evil demon who terrorizes people

And his babies are gazing at him like he hung each star in the sky for them, like he can do anything

But most importantly, you're all smiling

🎶 "Hey! Hobo man! Hey Dapper Dan!"🎶

🎶 YOU BOTH GOT YOUR STYLE

BUT BROTHER YOU'RE NEVER FULLY DRESSED

WITHOUT A SMILEEEEE 🎶

[sepublic]

I remember hearing that Dana was inspired by True Crime, amongst other things and people IRL, when writing Belos. And it seems that contrary to the notoriety of True Crime fans, she actually understood the assignment.

Because she opted to demystify the serial killer as this dark, unusual psychology that operates outside of societal borders and rules, disturbed by some secret reason, and instead literally pull off the mask to reveal he’s just some white manchild who hates women and minorities to a violent degree, because he feels threatened by them and their ability to say No in his entitlement. There’s nothing special or unique about his motives.

He’s no exception to the status quo, he is it unmasked of the veneer of civility, he’s the lynch mob and the cop (all of whom inherit the violence of white supremacy and colonialism) and fittingly a lot of serial killers were clocked by women and PoC as dangerous, but cops —largely white men— dismissed their claims because look at this dude, he seems like an upstanding citizen! And that’s really how he got away.

And because his victims were people the system was less likely to believe because they both operated on the same biases, you see why a lot of cops who commit brutality are drawn to an institution where they’re given violent power over brown and/or queer communities who are labeled as ‘suspicious’, because they enjoy easy targets they know the system doesn’t care about, and are enraged by body cams and accountability.

It doesn’t matter if they’re intentionally bigoted, their support of an inherently bigoted institution makes them the same; Internalized biases and “I don’t see race” and all that. You see how Philip wanted to be a witch hunter —the prototypical cop who is not exclusively violent towards women but still has a clear slant— or colonial savior so bad, because his violence could be legitimized by the authority of the state.

He leans into it hardcore when he feels threatened by the presence of an outside girl who challenges the Christian narrative of Gravesfield, to the point of violence; It’s a position that validates killing anyone who doesn’t agree with him in general, hence Caleb and the Grimwalkers, but of course his and society’s biases slant towards women and PoC. And while it ultimately doesn’t matter whether he’s intentionally racist/misogynistic, it’s worth addressing that he very much does have the intention due to his blatant Conservative backdrop.

And seeing how charming Philip is and the portrayal of him as a little kid playing games in his youth, a perception Caleb might’ve still had which led to his death, I can see the direct line to families who find out their sons are school shooters and are in disbelief because he was such a nice kid! While ignoring the obvious Red Flags because white men are allowed to express these without being immediately scrutinized by the community, by having it brushed off. On some level cops don’t suspect him because he’s the same type of guy as them.

Part of that denial comes from the fact that he’s not an “unfeeling sociopath” who’s wired differently. Philip can feel empathy and guilt like anyone else, but he’s still a hateful prick and these aren’t mutually exclusive; Not when people can be perfectly selective about who they extend these feelings towards, or even do things in spite of these feelings, because other ones —anger and pride and hatred— exist and they choose to prioritize those. There’s an assumption that empathy and guilt inherently make you a good person, but they don’t; That ultimately comes from what you do about it, not how you feel.

You could even say Dana and the other writers wrote him too well, because true to life, we have a similar issue but on a micro-scale via the abstraction of fiction regarding a very dedicated fan base who loves to romanticize him and his actions, attributing his issues to some secret trauma in childhood, a young man failed by society! While also scrubbing him of his racism and misogyny and reliance on the status quo, to make him ‘apolitical’ and you can see the same not just with fans but also in society.

Because society doesn’t want to acknowledge serial killers as just the truth behind their white sons and the system that absolved and encourages them, because that would require them to admit their guilt in how they’re structured. Rather, they’ll say these men reflect some dark truth inherent to humanity, and don’t exist within a certain sociopolitical framework.

And so he was a ‘loner’ whose problems can be pathologized via mental illness, his trauma can be traced back to a specific incident in his youth he just couldn’t get over. So you see how school shooters are made into victims, how serial killers are also made apolitical and even alien to distance them from the status quo.

And then you can lean into how unusual they are by writing characters like Dexter or Hannibal Lecter, you can not just defend the system but feed into it via the commodification of their violence as entertainment and consumption, and thus fuel the white supremacy train by letting their violence towards women and minorities be praised as something fascinating and interesting and conveniently clean of bigotry. This is the dichotomy of the hypothetical, romanticized Fantasy Serial Killer, and the banal IRL Serial Killer.

Thus we have the same cycle of white men’s violence being praised and validated by the system, and white men feeling entitled to this fame as a delusional fantasy. Because you’ve never heard of a black serial killer; Because black people are violent, that’s just the way they are, right? But if white men are violent, this is sensationalized as somehow unusual and fascinating and worth dedicating countless books and shows and movies towards. Obviously.

And even going back to witch hunters, sometimes I wonder about the constant consideration of, What if witches did exist? What if they were evil? Things like The VVitch or The Conjuring series, which have some framing of the Salem Witch Trials’ IRL violence towards women as legitimate in another universe, because of Satanism’s genuine predatory threat towards women, and how evil women sacrifice theirs or others’ God-given gift of a child, and now threaten another white Christian family.

And again there’s the the demystifying of the real life witch hunter too when we have a historical reenactment declare verbatim that IRL witch hunters were motivated by economics and other banal factors, not by any genuine belief in the dangers of demons; And even in a setting where the demons were real, they were not the predatory threat IRL witch hunters made them out to be, and so their very real biases and ulterior motives still apply in cumulative insincerity.

Hence, the Titan correcting Luz by explaining Belos as someone who only cares about being the hero in his own delusion; The fascist wet dream of a hidden invader here to corrupt even young white men, an outside monster to vanquish and whose destruction justifies the state, when in reality the monster IS the state, and before he was even presented as a witch (much less the human truth), his system’s destruction was called for.

Ultimately, a lot of True Crime and similar narratives are criticized for focusing more on this apparently inevitable mystique behind the perpetrators, who warrant far more attention than their victims. So when the villain is an example of True Crime, it’s worth noting how the show is so much more focused on the ‘weirdoes’ he targets, on women and/or PoC. The lives of Luz Noceda and her friends, them getting along and their psychologies, are just so much more important, and it really isn’t about that guy, who is informed as much as he needs to be.

But again, the True Crime fans dilemma; People genuinely salty at the show for not focusing on their favorite serial killer and his troubled backstory, his tragic motives and Puritan repression. The framing of his murders and motives isolated through the lens of his violence on undeserving white men, and not on the out-group he is specifically targeting and has committed much more violence on, esp if you look at the narrative’s actual framing of his impact on our protagonists, but also other victims who are witches or demons, and even his own self-professed motives; Hence, ‘Fratricide Georg’ as a joke depoliticized of his colonial violence, a violence that is not just adjacent to but fulfilling racism.

Because he hallucinated only those white men out of guilt, but that’s his biased perspective and priorities; And so you see how this is contrasted with a refusal to empathize with people like the Collector or Luz, who are put into the same situations as his white male victims via shared cinematography, yet are just as rejected. Luz is only put into this situation as convenient to Belos’ narrative, the closest replacement to a white male human he can get, but again if this girl of color says No, he tries to murder her and even does.

Yet again, people take genuine, personal insult at the creator for finding Belos to be her least favorite character to write, while ignoring that she still found him necessary to the story she was trying to tell; She just found the framing and focus should’ve been shifted to his actual victims’ deep and meaningful lives, how they matter. So people hate that S3 cares more about Luz Noceda’s relationship with her parents of color, as well as her female mentor and demonic brother, or her queer relationship with her girlfriend, etc.

And even when they get a bone of white boy Hunter, it’s still not enough; Fans inevitably gather themselves into an almost frenzied state of personal victimization, rallying into harassment of PoC who criticize their portrayal and discussion around their colonial serial killer fave, organizing dedicated trends and months to giving their white men the focus they ‘deserved’, because this is just White fandom in general.

Look at the entitlement campaigns regarding Ben Solo or Billy Hargroves deserving better, these young white men violent to women and minorities. It’s just the same thing but on a micro-scale, at least filtered via fictional characters. But Jesus you see how internalized biases bleed into everything. You’ve never heard of a black serial killer and fandom doesn’t fight for characters of color.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

On The Hunt: You Broke and I Shattered

Summary- 3.9k Alpha Steve x Little One. You and Steve find where Ulysses is storing his stolen goods; vibranium from Wakanda. Scouting the building, you and Steve separate and Steve struggles with this lone wolf mentality.

Warnings- Steve being upset and lashing out about your relationship with Pan. Reader goes into her heat finally and confronts Steve during it.

A/N- Okay I know it's been a while, LONG WHILE since I have posted these two. Part of me is still apprehensive about your Steve feelings. Be mad and hate him if that is the vibe! I get it, honestly, I do. I can't help but love him as strongly as I always have because I love a broken character that I created. Thank you so much @yenzys-lucky-charm for walking through this and holding my hand with them. For always giving me reassurance to continue this story. You, my dear friend, are a saint for all you do behind the scenes. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics Enjoy, and if you did, please share and reblog. I also love hearing your thoughts and rants about them.

Chapter Seven / Masterlist

It smelled bad. 

The Little Wolf’s nose wrinkled as she scouted the side of the large warehouse. You lost track of Steve after he shifted, the Alpha whisking his muzzle against the Little Wolf’s and then leapt away along the edge of the warehouse. As large as the Alpha was, he was easily able to meld into nothing when he didn’t want to be seen. A skill from many years of hunting. 

The Little Wolf weaved through the large piles of garbage and pallets, using them to keep her hidden from the multitude of cameras outside of the building. The installers had attempted to keep them hidden, but your time working with T’Challa had taught you where to look. 

The Little Wolf was also good at getting by unnoticed, the smaller stature and slinking nature could make her easily pass for a street dog that ran wild. 

The scents assaulting her were so foul and strong. The heavy acidic scent of fear permeates the stone and steel walls, making the Little Wolf’s ears lay flat against her skull, her nose wrinkling in discomfort. 

A scuffle of footsteps caught her attention, sending her into hiding with her radar-sharp ears swiveling towards the footsteps scuttling down the alleyway towards where you were hiding. 

“The shipment’s ready, just need the boss's sign-off.” You heard the man say into a phone and the Little Wolf pricked her ears to catch the last of the conversation. “Yeah, Klaue is expected in a couple days.”

He is not here yet. You mentally sighed, frustrated that there would be a period of waiting around for you and Steve.

<But he will be here soon for us. The Alpha should be coming around any moment, maybe we can get inside.> She was quiet in her movements, easing away from the rambling man whose conversation turned elsewhere, giving them no more vital information. Catching sight of the unlatched door, the Little Wolf paused, glancing around to see that no one was nearby. <Should we wait?> 

We could lose our chance. You urged her, unwilling to wait now that the opportunity of getting inside was just so available to you. 

<The Alpha…> The Little Wolf hesitated, glancing back at the direction Steve should be coming around. 

Will catch up. He can follow our trail and we might lose this entrance if that man comes back to lock this door. This is our chance to see the inside and be prepared for Ulysses. 

She finally relented, using her muzzle to ease the door open further and sneak into the dark interior of the warehouse, a sliver of light the only source into the belly of the beast. 

It was easy remaining out of sight on the main floor, various containers of weapons that all smelled tinged with vibranium littered haphazardly around and in the center of the building were cages, all emptied but you could see that they had been recently used. All providing cover even as a silent snarl flirted across Little One’s muzzle, anger simmering in your chest as well as sadness that you had been too late to save those souls from whomever they were sold too. 

Flashes of your old life, the sales floor clouding your memories while you wandered between them. The fear and pain at being dragged in front of buyers, their hands running all over your naked body and the false promises of giving you a better life if you just bonded with them. 

The vileness of it made the Little Wolf shiver and a soft barely there whine escape. <Never again.> She assured you, the fur along her back bristling in agitation. 

Never again. You agreed with her, calming once more. You escaped, you had known love and safety with your pack and with Steve. Even now with you two separated, you knew Steve still wouldn’t ever allow anyone to use you like that again. 

The Little Wolf eased closer, edging along the last line of containers holding vibranium and weapons, trying to map the building. 

There was a huff nearby and you caught sight of silver fur rows back. Steve found us. The Little Wolf stopped, the tip of her tail wagging in a greeting but the Alpha stalked nearby, his eyes blazing furiously at the Little Wolf. 

She lowered further, feeling the anger roll from him while he slid up next to her, pressing in against her for a moment just to feel her before he silently let his nose wander along the edge of the containers. 

Loud shouts just out of sight called out directions to load pallets onto the truck, making you and the Alpha both freeze for a second. The Alpha turned away and returned to the Little Wolf’s side, rumbling enough so you felt the vibrations rising off him. Not an order from the Alpha but a suggestion that it was time to go. 

You pulled back, leading the way out, and once back outside, no one the wiser, you both bolted away from the warehouse. 

It had been a while since you had returned to the apartment, Steve had been silent most of the time, both of you sketching out the warehouse's interior and tensley comparing notes with one another. But you could feel the tension crackling between you and Steve. All his responses clipped in a tone that you were just not used to from him. 

It was making your Little Wolf uneasy in your mind, pacing back and forth in a skittish way, making you feel like you were about to snap. 

You finally pushed away the notes and sketches of the warehouse, making Steve’s gaze snap to you curiously. “What’s wrong Steve?” 

His brows furrowed together and his mouth thinned with whatever he wanted to say being held back. “Nothing is wrong Y/N. We should contact T’Challa to let him know what we found.” He pulled away, going to grab his phone when you grabbed his forearm to keep him from avoiding the question. Steve stiffened, a shiver going through him and you saw his nostrils flare a bit, dragging in a breath of you. 

“Stop the bullshit Steve, you’re pissed and I don’t know why.” Your Little Wolf yipped anxiously, making you tense up all that much more. 

Clear blue eyes snapped, flaring slightly in a glowing color as the Alpha in him rose to challenge him before he turned to you with a slight bare of his teeth. “You didn’t wait for me Y/N. You charged into that warehouse alone.” 

Your hand dropped from his arm and you immediately snapped back, if you had hackles, they would be raised at the tension finally breaking. “This is what you are pissed about Steve? I was doing the mission. I don’t need your permission to do that.” A snarl emitted from you, daring Steve to bite back. “Not anymore.” 

He rose to the challenge, rounding onto you, his size a sheer force but you held tight, refusing to step back from him. “That’s right Little One, I gave you up and set you free from me.” 

A warning growl escaped you as a bit of tears threatening to well up hearing him. “That you did.”

“You have no regard for your safety, we are supposed to be hunting together and you just go into that building without me and that wasn’t the plan, I don’t care that you went in, but I didn’t know where you were, I just happened to catch your scent in the open door. What if they found you and caught you, what if I couldn’t follow you in?” He pulled away with a yank of his hand through his hair. 

You squared your shoulders, anger making your tone bite in your words. “It’s not your fucking job Steven to keep me safe. Why are you always trying to shield me?” 

“Cause Little One! It still feels like you’re fucking mine, even now while we are unbonded all I feel…” His hand slapped against his chest, where you knew his heart pounded its rhythm. 

“Well that sounds like your problem that you need to figure out. I’m not your Little One.” You tossed out, the pain searing into anger at the Alpha in front of you. “You ‘set me free’ which is utter bullshit, you don’t get to dictate how I work now.” 

It was like whiplash, his brow wrinkling as his sadness seeped through before anger masked his features once again. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. You remind me, you had moved on right… to him?” 

You knew exactly who he was talking about and that made those tears finally fall, your hand lifting and slapping sharply across Steve’s face hard, enough that his head turned with the impact. 

“How dare you, Steve, Pan was my friend when I was broken. My friend Steve, he was exactly who I needed when I was alone. You did this to us. You and that fucking drive to keep me safe. Newsflash Steve, my whole life I fought and I’m never going to stop. Now I’m doing it alone without you. You just thought of how you hurt me while being collared, it was NOTHING compared to what you did in that hospital room. I lost you that day and had to learn how to live without my mate because he didn’t want me anymore.” 

“Fuck Y/N, I never said I didn’t want you.” Steve’s jaw clenched tightly, but the anger from his features was gone, disbelief crowning his features now. His hand reached out to draw you in, but you stepped away, unable to handle the contact.

“You broke me that day Steve and now you don’t like this version I turned into? You have no right to be mad about that.” Your voice cracked, a shiver wracking up your body while the Little Wolf started singing in the back of your mind, her own pain breaking in the song. “I survived being used, I survived beatings in attempts to make me submissive, I survived other Alpha’s scarring me with their bites, I survived all the times they tried purposely to break me into bowing for them and being this meek little pup. But you, Steve I barely survived you.”  

You let out a breath, feeling your chest lighten as Steve stood before you like he was at a loss for words for a moment. Before you would let him say anything, you turned away to your room and let the door shut him out. Exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks and as you crawled into your bed to sink into that dark place you yet again were hovering in, your Little Wolf crooning to you, you curled into a ball in your bed and let yourself go. 

Steve sat on the edge of the uncomfortable bed in the apartment. It had been hours since you just dropped it all on him, which he knew but hearing it come from you, how your voice became so vulnerable like you were laid open and left to pick up the pieces. To top it off, he knew he was an utter asshole for what he said to you, wishing he could take it back. But it was out there now and he knew he couldn’t take back what he said in a moment of frustration. 

There was no way to take any of the last year back, he knew he acted on instinct back then and he was wrong. All of it was wrong, but he had to live with his actions. Actions had consequences and all he could do now was live with those choices, and give you that freedom. You were right, he couldn’t be mad at what you turned into because he was a part of it all. Something in him shattered that day, hard broken shards that fed all his fears and he was still struggling to not give in to them.

It still didn’t make it easier for him, or the Alpha. The Alpha was furious with him once more. A snarling beast who lashed out to make Steve wince at the rage. But he felt he deserved it, he took each one without a snap back. 

To top the whole fuck up of a day there was a soft wail through the wall of disbelief and it hit every one of Steve’s senses.

Your heat finally arrived and right now you two were stuck together, with no way to give one another space during this vulnerable intimate time. 

And it was almost torture to Steve as his muscles cramped with restraint, resisting the urge to go to you. 

The Wolf simmered somewhere, Steve sensed him close, but he was still staying away from the conscious side. Your scent was heavy with need and that made a ping of guilt well up in him that your heat was going to be worse for you because he was there. 

If you were back in Wakanda he would slip away, leave you in peace to choose the partner you would want to help you through this. But not in the middle of a mission like this.  

<Coward> The Wolf snarled at him, his ears laid flat against his skull and showing his fangs with a snap of his jaw, jolting Steve back to his awareness of his beast. <You would run away instead of staying to take care of her.> 

His head hung from his shoulders, gritting his eyes and clenching his jaw as his own beast tried to take over, howling your song to call for you. His rut was going to be rough, more of his wolfish side coming through, the overbearing need to fuck and take care of his mate would be a whole other torture. 

“Fuck off.” He snarled loudly, aiming at the Alpha but your soft voice cut through his snarl, making his head snap up, his hair disheveled and eyes flashing a brighter color as his nose tilted up to catch your warm honeysuckle scent. 

“Steve.” Your voice was soft in tone and loud in every other way as it broke his inner battle, your hands clutching at a blanket around you, miserable looking. “She won’t stop…” 

Steve guessed, as much as his wolf was trying to take over, the Little Wolf would be too. You were so distressed-looking, shaking in the blanket even though it wasn’t cold. He straightened up, holding out a hand to you. “Come here Y/N.” He growled, unable to contain more of the Wolf coming through. 

It was all it took, the blanket fell from around you, your body to sensitive for anything on you, as you streaked to Steve, his arms circling around your waist and made you straddle his lap. Getting as close as you could be without pinning you underneath him in the bed. His clothes felt so constricting as you settled in close, tears starting to race down your cheeks while your hands slid up his chest, pulling his shirt over his head so you could get skin to skin, which he was thankful for. “I tried Alpha, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You leaned into him, your breasts pressing against his chest as your face tucked into his neck, hiding away. 

“For what Y/N?” he let his nose press against the back of your neck, inhaling deeply. That alone made the wolf ease back, and let him regain control. Heavy calloused hands went up and down your back as you started sobbing in his neck, your thighs squeezing against him as you rocked your hips slightly to rub against him. 

“For being here with you.” You pushed against him and stared at him with sorrow and pain that Steve couldn’t stop the kisses he flushed over your eyes as more of your tears escaped, tears that he caused. Salty on his lips as they escaped into his beard. His gentleness at the moment, although both of your bodies were screaming to mate with one another, seemed to break you. 

“I’m so mad at you for doing this to me.” You dug your nails into his shoulders, rocking again as he matched your movement, pushing up to give you some relief in your grinding. “I did what you said, I left you alone and you followed me here. I couldn’t escape you with the pack and I still can’t Steve. Why do you make this impossible for me?” You hissed as your mouth sought his, while his kiss stayed gentle, you bit at him, gasping against him as your nails clawed into the muscles of his back. “You left me Steve and it broke me more than anything else that has happened.” If this was your punishment, Steve would take it. Every sharp claw and hissing bite you lashed at him. 

Steve clenched his jaw, unwilling to defend himself and his choices. He did this to you and it was the least he could do was listen. Instead, he pressed you in closer to him, touching you in all the ways he knew made you feel safe and cared for, his lips pressing against yours while you broke because of him. Your pain you lashed onto his back with your nails sharply dragging up to grasp his shoulder and rock yourself in against him once again, he welcomed the pain as he would any of your touches. 

You shook in his hold, pushing away from him enough to look at him, your anger melding into sheer pain. “Was I too weak to be an Alpha’s mate, your mate? Do you regret taking a broken and used Omega? I need to know Steve.”

This he couldn’t stand, not from you of all people. With a sweep of his hold, he twisted you to the bed, on your back while he hovered over you with a bare of his teeth at you, all the long hair falling forward around his face, making Steve look wild above you. Your hands went to cup his face, studying the man you and your little wolf still fiercely loved, your fingers pushing up to weave into his hair. “Is that what you actually believe Little One?” Steve’s tone was graveled, a mix of his voice and the Alpha growling at the same time. “Do you?” He said sharper, making you roll your body up into his solid one, giving a nod when you couldn't say anything. 

His hands caught your wrists and let his nose trace the inside on each one, you went pliant against him finally and he let his whirlwind of emotions settle. He had you and wasn’t planning on letting you go till you knew in your soul that he never would have left you because of those reasons. 

Your hands were pinned swiftly, slamming them into the pillows scattered around his bed. “Little One.” He growled when his lips descended to the soft warmth of your neck column. Kissing behind your ear with much more gentleness than how his hand caged yours over your head. “You really don’t know do you, how much power you have.” His growls were edging on violent, wracking through your body while his touch remained loving, each glide of his hand tracing your side passionate while the other encircled your wrists above your head with controlled strength, the flick of his tongue gliding on your skin and light pressure of sharpened fangs all affection in worshipping you. “How I would do anything for you. You think me walking away didn’t destroy my sanity, made the beast try to claw from his cage?” 

You whined under Steve, your heat simmering on unbearable but his words were making you want to scream. All this time he felt this way and he still managed to walk away, leaving you shattered, your fingers curled, digging into his palm keeping you pinned down. He hissed at the pain but never loosened or pulled away from you. “You still did it, you claim to protect me from you.” 

Steve rose above you, his touch on your waist going to your face, turning your head till you couldn't look away from him. So much filled his gaze locking with yours and your unshed tears of anger, frustration, and pain were mirrored in his. “Because I am weak, scared, and broken. All I could see in that moment was you dead at my feet, that I had destroyed my mate, half of my soul. Alpha’s might seem powerful, but actually, we are empty without our other halves, made to serve our packs but never finding anything beyond that. That day I almost killed mine and I was powerless to stop it." His throat bobbed, swallowing past the emotion that almost seemed to overtake him. "I made a mistake and I see that now Little One, I let fear control me, and look what it did to us. I can’t take it back and will always live with what I did. You are right, I can’t be mad about who you are now because of it, you became stronger. You don’t need me, not really. You, my mate, you have all the power. Fuck, that day I was breaking down thinking I was powerless to control myself...”  His shoulders sagged like admitting this out loud to you took everything out of him. “I should have talked to you about what I was going through instead of running.” 

You eased up the grasp of your fingers digging into his palm, allowing yourself to soften slightly under him. Pulling a hand from his hold, your touch drifted up, sliding around the curve of his neck while you silently counted every little ragged scar circling his throat. Every little barb that dug into him and controlled him. This shattered your Alpha and he was struggling to be better. "I see you Steve." You whispered up at him while letting your thumb wipe under his eyes, clearing away the moisture welling up in those sharp blue eyes.

He reached up to take your palm, curling it against his jaw while he tilted into it, pressing his lips to the center. "I see you too Y/N, I'm so sorry I pushed you away."

Your Little Wolf called out his song again while his eyes scanned over your face, feeling the change in you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, holding him closer. “I could throttle you.” You chirped with a crack in your voice and Steve gave a soft sad chuckle as his head dropped to lean his forehead against yours, giving a little sniffle.

“I know I deserve it.” 

“And what do you want now Steve?” You asked softly, almost a whisper between you two. 

The Alpha was silent, his inhales drawing you in to smother all his other senses, if he could drown in you, he would so happily. “A chance for us, to be the Alpha and your mate you deserve from me.” He pulled away to catch your eyes, such a sharp blue with tinges of yellow melding to give hints of green, the Alpha bleeding through, showing while Steve gave you the answers you sought. “To give you all of me, even the broken parts that need fixing Little One.” 

“If I said I need you to talk to me Steve, you need to let me in instead of just trying to keep me safe from the world.” Your hand twisted in his hold, sliding your fingers through his above your head. “That you won’t shut me out because you are trying to keep me safe.” 

“I will spend my life showing you I can be your partner.” This next kiss was gentle, a brush of his lips to yours as you pulled him back into your hold, his heavy weight on you making you finally feel like you were where you belonged. “And I will wait, as long as you need to be ready for us again, if that is what you want.” 

Ready to be us again… You repeated to yourself, letting his words really take hold. The Little Wolf was a calming presence now, the heat sated enough in just this rebonding moment for you two. You pushed up your hips enough to push against Steve and he instinctively released his hold on you to fall back and take you with him, letting you straddle him while he laid underneath you now, his hands caressing down till they settled on your waist, content to let you decide what you wanted from him next. “I missed you, Steve, we missed you.” 

Your touch slipped up his chest while you moved to settle in against him, ease relaxing through you as his arms slipped around you, hugging you to lay against him and nothing more in the moment. You let your cheek lay against his chest, your head tucked under his bristled chin. You could feel his words as he spoke them out loud. “We were wanderers without our home Little One, we missed you too.” 

[hibiscusfairys]

image !!

⭐️ draco malfoy ; unrequited love, part 4 (hufflepuff fem reader)

♪ twilight : bôa

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5

♡ warnings: angst

tagged: @miawastakens @watercolorskyy @pinkynecktie

☆

It was 9pm, on a windy autumn night.

The Yule Ball was close to ending, as many attendees one by one poured out of the ballroom for the night.

You were extremely overwhelmed, the clunking of your shoes sounded louder as you paced across the stone floor of the darkened corridors. Your face was wetter than the dampened leaves outside, and the echoes of laughter from happy couples reverberated in the distance, displeasing your ears, filling you with more unbearable jealousy.

“Wait..”

A breathy voice was heard from behind you. You slipped your heels around to notice the blonde boy stood in front of you, recovering from what looked like a desperate run.

With his hands on his knees, he spoke while taking breaths. “Why do you keep….” He trailed off, regaining his composure as he re-adjusted his tie. “Why do you keep confusing me?”

Your eyes widened, looking at him with confusion. “I could ask the same to you.” You said, your tone quivering between bewilderment and bitterness.

He stepped towards you, looking down at your hardened expression. “You should stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You sure are!” He spat, his face growing with more anger. “You’ve put this spell on me that I can’t shake off. I wanted to enjoy my night without you ruining it.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t put some weird charm on you, Malfoy! Even I’m confused as to what’s wrong with you!”

“Now you listen to me…” He said, sighing deeply, his voice wavering with anger. “Don’t come near me. Or I won’t be able to resist myself from feeling more for you. You know we can’t work. We are too different.”

“What about Astoria? Have you even considered her?” You asked, your eyes pricked up with tears. “You’re just gonna leave her in the dust like you did with me?”

“Nevermind her. I’m thinking about what to do with you. I’m still going to pursue Greengrass, if it takes my mind off of you for each passing second I think.”

“So…” You swallowed, nervous. “You still feel the same way… about her.”

“… Yes.” He replied. “But… I can’t seem to rid you from the picture. You’re always there. And it’s beginning to bother me. I can’t go to sleep without thinking about you. You frustrate me, yes, but you also pull me in, you reel me in like a fish on a hook. I’m trying my hardest to avoid you, you know… but I can’t. I can’t help but run back to you. Why?” He paused to sigh. “I don’t know the exact time when I had first felt like this. I don’t know if I had buried them so deep that when you had brought it up.. they had uncovered.. or if I’ve just been provoked suddenly by what you’ve told me. But I don’t want you near me.”

“Draco…” You whispered, looking at hin sympathetically, unsure of how to work around this. You didn’t want Astoria being hurt either.

“I’ll talk to her.” He stepped closer towards you. “But I’ll get to the bottom of this. And I’ll know if you’ve done something.. like slip an amortentia in my drink.”

“You know I would never do that!” You yelled. “I’m not… looking to ruin you.”

“It doesn’t matter if you have or not… you already are.”

He hastily walked away from you, once again, leaving you stood alone in the corridor, waiting for an answer that will never reveal. Was this a love confession, or was it a friendship he intended to destroy? You couldn’t tell, the endless possibilities whirled around in your head as you shuffled sadly back to your dorm room.

You missed it, what you had.

Admittedly, he wasn’t the greatest friend. But if you didn’t decide to love him, or maybe just didn’t tell him you loved him, you both wouldn’t be coiled in such a distressing situation. And the fact that Astoria doesn’t know, made the snakes in your stomach worse. She didn’t deserve this, you knew that. So maybe it was time to let go.

It will take a lot of pain for you to finally accept it. And despite him confessing that he felt a connection, you knew where his heart had to belong. It wasn’t anything the boy could change himself. He didn’t want to face any consequences from his family, nor did you want to put yourself at risk.

Letting it go would be a huge relief in itself, anyway.

☆

part 5 is in the works!!

[muzaktomyears]

Of the many attractive girls who hung around the Casbah, one in particular caught John's eye. She was an elfin blonde with a tense, wounded look, whom he nicknamed Bubbles, for lack of a proper introduction and because it so unsuited her. In fact, all the guys had noticed her watching them. While not a beautiful girl, she was catlike and intense, in a mysterious kind of way. She also was eager to meet them. "It must have been all over my face that I fancied John," recalls Bubbles, whose real name is Dot Rhone, "but once it became clear he had a girlfriend, I lost interest." Instead, she approached Paul with game determination, pretending to be faint in order to get him outside, where they could be by themselves.

Once alone, an "immediate attraction" developed between them. Paul discovered in Dot a person who hardly fit the profile of the other girls at the Casbah. She had grown up in a better section of Liverpool called Childwell, around the corner from Brian Epstein, the Beatles' future manager. But "it might have been two different worlds," Dot says, her humble situation being anything unlike Epstein's glaringly "posh" circumstances. "I didn't have a normal childhood. My dad was an alcoholic; he never hung on to any money. And the only reason we lived in that neighborhood was because a sickly aunt left the house to my mother." A year younger than Paul, Dot had gone to Liverpool Institute High School, "the girls' school across the road from the Inny", but had left in June, taking a clerk's job at the Dale Street branch of District Bank in order to support her family. Paul, she believes, was attracted by how needy and impressionable she was, which put her under his sway; she found him "adorably handsome, opinionated," and loaded with confidence. "He came from the first family I'd ever known that cared about each other so much," Dot says. "Everyone would gather around the piano, while Jim played songs like 'You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby', and sometimes [he] would sing with Paul and Mike." At a deeper level, they undoubtedly recognized the loneliness in each other's lives, each absent a parent - in her case because of addiction. [...]

As 1959 drew to a close, the boys spent more time with girlfriends than with one another. John and Cynthia, according to friends closest to the couple, were "besotted with each other". For his part, Paul stopped playing the field and settled down with Dot Rhone. As a couple, they had an appealingly unthreatening air. They discovered each other to be solicitous and sensual, gentle and clumsy, with Paul at times taking on a paternal and sympathetic role. Once, at a friend's house, Dot happened to mention that she'd been standing all day and he began to massage her feet, stroking them as though they were precious pets. And yet, at the time the gesture felt almost preposterous.

Eventually Paul's attention grew relentless, almost disparaging. His simple gregariousness turned uncompromising and willful. Paul was immensely charming, but there was a darker side. He had a need - Dot believes a compulsion - to control every situation. As John had done with Cynthia, he began to pick out her clothes, redesign her makeup. Dot remembers how much it pleased Paul to stand beside her and study her appearance, then, in a roundabout way, critique the way she looked - and suggest how to improve upon it. On one occasion, he insisted that she have her hair done and produced money to pay for it. Not wanting to displease him, Dot went off to the beauty parlor. "Unfortunately, they did [my hair] in a terrible-looking beehive", she says. "Paul was furious when he saw it. He told me to go home and not to call him until it grew out again."

She detected other changes in Paul that proved equally disagreeable. He had an almost stuffy, explosive air of self-importance, with his simple superiority, cool poise, and weatherproof rightness. He scorned any sign of self-confidence in her. And Dot, pricked by love, submitted. As a rule, she did not impose her will on him, certainly never when they were among friends. She would sit quietly and smile tensely for entire evening at the Jacaranda while Paul and John discussed music. If Paul glared, she would freeze like a rabbit. "We weren't allowed to open our mouths", Dot says of her and Cynthia's attendance at these nightly discussions. "They'd talk all night, and we just listened."

The Beatles: The Biography, Bob Spitz (2005)

[canyouiimagine]

Showed Me | CS55 x Black!Reader (draft)

A/N: This is just a draft but I wanted to know if you guys like the use of I or You better 👩🏾‍💻 👉🏾👈🏾

I'm also planning on making this a series so, yeah 💖

Warnings: cursing, mean reader, mentions of cheating. (idk how to do this 😭)

Carlos Sainz was an asshole. 

I knew it, she knew it, everybody knew it. 

It wasn’t even like the man looked like an angel. Carlos looked the part and his actions told it all. He was selfish and narcissistic, but he was also charming, and that’s how he got away with everything.

Y/BF/N had met him at a party a year ago in Ibiza. It was love at first sight she told me. He had saved her from a guy who was harassing her and stayed with her afterward to make sure she was okay. He eventually drove her home not expecting anything in return and gave her his number in case she needed anything. Shortly after, they started dating. 

To her, was sweet and caring. He flew her out places, bought her expecting gifts, and gave her his time whenever he could. But being an F1 driver, they were apart a lot. Sure, he would fly her out but it was different. They were in a secret relationship, something that he had managed to convince her she wanted, and so even when in the same city, the time they could spend together was limited. 

To me, he was a prick who had convinced my friend that it would be better to keep their relationship a secret so he could feed her crumbs and use it as an excuse.

Carlos being an F1 driver, they were apart a lot. Sure she would sometimes attend the races - she was a software engineer and worked remotely so she could accommodate - but they couldn't even interact in public. They spent their time loving each other in secret. It was hard but worth it. Or so she thought. 

After a year of dating that’s when she saw it. A girl had posted a picture at his house. She didn’t tag him or add the location but she didn’t need to for my friend to know. Of course she would recognize the house she spent half of her time in anywhere! Though she tried to reassure herself at first, after scrolling through the pictures she resigned herself. He had been cheating on her the entire time. There were pictures upon pictures of her at the same places she had been flown to, to meet up with her boyfriend. Hotels and homes they stayed at. And all with a week or sometimes even just hours she presumed of difference!

She didn’t even know who was the side chick, was it her or the other girl? Had he met the both of them at the same time? Were there other girls? 

She cried on the phone explaining everything to me and I couldn’t resist the urge to say -

“I told you so.”

“Y/N! You’re supposed to be supportive! I gave him one year of my life. One year!” She cried out to me. 

“I’m sorry…” And I really was. Y/BF/N was emotional. She was the type to wear her heart on her sleeve. She wouldn’t think ill of somebody until they did something bad to her, that’s why all of our warnings fell silent to her ears. 

“He wasn’t a bad boyfriend. There was no way I could have suspected this.” She lamented. What she said was half true. He was a good boyfriend, always treated her very well but his actions were suspicious on more than one occasion. 

For instance, they had this “ritual” if you will. They would call each other every night to talk about their day and whatnot. But sometimes he wouldn’t answer the phone and tell her he was busy with work but could be seen partying with girls later in the media. She would ask him about and he would say it was for business and he couldn’t say no because then they would suspect something and he wanted to protect her. 

That was always his excuse.

“We can’t let him get away with this! We-” She said, all sadness gone from her face. 

“We?” I asked, cutting her off. I didn’t remember this being a ‘we’ problem. 

She glared at me and resumed what she was saying. “We -" she emphasized, "- have to make him pay!”. 

She looked at me expectingly and I sighed.“What do you have in mind?”

Hearing that, she grinned, looking at me with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Like I said, Y/BF/N was emotional. She wanted revenge and revenge was what I did best. 

[delta-pavonis]

July Kinkfest Day 2

The Sandman || Dreamling (Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling) || Rated E || 893 words

Prompts: Edging | Comeslut | “Show me what’s in your bedside drawer.”

Warnings: edging, face-fucking, sex in the Dreaming, Dreaming sex is different than Waking World sex, copious amounts of cum, Dream is a little shit and Hob loves him for it

Author's Notes: If I can keep all of these under 1000 words it will be a godsend.

Dream clamps down his hand around the base of Hob’s cock once more, just to hear what new obscenities he comes up with this time. He has been reading more in Latin recently, looking at some original religious texts that Lucienne pointed him to in the Dreaming’s library, and what pours out of his mouth now probably has made even Lucifer’s ears burn. 

“What do they say?” The Dreamlord hums with an exaggerated tap to his chin. “Fourteenth time is the charm?”

Hob sags against his chest, head lolling back onto Dream’s shoulder. “You fucking well know no one says that.” He manages to speak between trembling breaths. “You are also fucking lucky that I cannot get blue balls in the Dreaming. Christ, how long have we been at it?”

“Time is not your concern, pet.” Dream licks at the new beads of sweat rolling down Hob’s neck. “And we won’t have to do this once you learn how to better control your body in the Dreaming.” He considers biting along the same path.

Hob laughs as he bares his neck to his lover’s questing teeth. “Oh, blame this on me, do you, King of the Cumsluts? As if I am the one who wants me to blast into your face with enough volume and velocity to give you a sinus headache? To bruise your uvula?”

“Hob,” Dream tries to keep a scolding tone to his voice but he is pretty sure his smirk pushes its way through. “I do not have sinuses. Nor a uvula.”

“Oh for fuck’s…” Hob gets up and turns so that he is sitting on Dream’s thighs, arms resting on his shoulders “Give me that smart mouth.” He pulls Dream into a sloppy wet kiss, sucking on that silver tongue. When they pull apart with a pop Hob is grinning. “Let’s do this.”

Dream lets Hob push him back on the bed, until he is lying down, and watches Hob crawl up to sit on his marble-smooth chest. Looking up at Hob like this is dizzying, his lover towering over him like a lust-addled sun-god. For a moment the Lord of Dreams imagines he is a vampire, his entire body igniting from being in the solar brightness of Hob’s presence. 

Being on top of Dream is always a heady feeling for Hob, feeding on the power that Dream is willingly giving up for a short time. And, further, knowing that the reason that the King of Nightmares does this is because he absolutely cannot get enough of Hob fucking his face… well. Sometimes a man’s dreams do come true.

Dream starts pawing at Hob’s hips and Hob lets himself be pulled down into his lover’s mouth with a swiftness that makes his eagerness glaringly obvious. Watching Dream’s eyes go blurry while he moans around a cock buried deep into his throat might be Hob’s favorite single activity in the entire universe. 

Hob rocks his hips once, a slow roll, and gets a sharp smack to his ass for his efforts.

“My god you are such a brat.” He pushes up on his arms and pulls all the way out, until the head of his cock is painting pre on Dream’s lips. “Lucky you look so good gagging on my cock…”

“Hob.”

He feels more than hears Dream’s growl, which only serves to make him chuckle. “Alright, dove. Alright. I get it.” Dream laps at the liquid beading rapidly at the tip of Hob’s prick and Hob shivers. “I’ll take care of you.”

Dream parts his lips and finally, finally, Hob’s hips snap down, ramming his dick into Dream’s throat so hard that it chokes off the ecstatic scream. 

Hob has been brought close to and then held back from orgasm too many times to make this last, but that isn’t exactly the point. What Dream really wants is to basically drown in Hob’s cum, pretending for a moment that such a thing is possible. He has found through trial and error that by edging Hob enough in the Dreaming, he can trick Hob’s subconscious into producing an extreme amount of fluid. 

The bed shakes beneath them as Hob slams home harder once, twice, and comes on the third, with a roar that probably rattles the lamp on Lucienne’s desk. 

Cum, scalding and bitter, floods into Dream’s body, down into both stomach and lungs and up into sinuses that he only moments earlier decided would be there. It burns and it overflows around his lips and it is blissfully perfect because every one of his senses are, for one moment, painted over with an overwhelming feeling of Hob.

When Hob’s cock is gone Dream starts coughing, so Hob moves fast to wrap a hand around Dream’s dick. It only takes two pumps before the coughing turns into wet garbled moans and Dream is staining the black sheets with long stripes of white. 

Hob curls around Dream’s back and brushes his inky hair back from his face until his body settles and he has the wherewithal to roll over to face Hob. 

“You spoil me, my pet, my heart.” He croons, voice roughened a touch because he likes the way it makes Hob’s pupils dilate. “That was lovely.” 

Hob hums in agreement, already feeling the tug of wakefulness and therefore drifting away from this moment. “See you soon, my Dream.”

[danidfordangercreativestuff]

gtafest valentine's day gift 2024

hiya, @hanajoyishere (i can't tag your blog for some reason)! here's your valentine's day gift for @gtafest. glad to see i'm not the only one who enjoys what tommy and lance had going on in vice city lol. that back stab hurt badly oml. i hope you enjoy this short piece i wrote. fair warning, it includes some homophobia since even though i like the idea of tommy having a thing for lance, i also think he would struggle with denial and internalized homophobia in general.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. One of the first people I met when I came into town, one of the first guys who I considered a true friend, stabbed me in the back. The prick had taken the sharpest knife he could find, brandished it, and shoved it right through my back, spurting blood everywhere.

As I stand there listening to Lance speaking belligerently and even with some cockiness, I can’t help but take note of his appearance. Ever since I’d met him in that alleyway, I did actually think he was a good dresser. Even though I prefer dressing casual, even I can recognize a good suit when I see one. Not that that makes me a queer or anything. But…I also can’t deny that Lance is a good looking guy, and the way he carries himself, although annoying at times, is kind of charming in its own weird way. Too bad that was all bullshit at the end of the day. Earlier he looked playful and laid back, but now he’s just frowning and looking at me like this is his way of getting revenge on me. But why? Sure, I gave him a hard time here and there, but that was only because he needed to get off his lazy and ungrateful ass for crying out loud.

And then it hits me. He probably felt like he was being treated like crap under my shoes, like he was nothing compared to me. That’s not true, but he doesn’t know that. How could he? I’d be pissed too if someone talked to me like that. I’d string them up by their neck and watch them hang. But it’s not like I’m in love with the guy. Far from it. Being with Mercedes is all the proof needed to show that I’m straight. Who cares that I feel more connected to Lance and would charge into a fight with him no matter what. I ain’t no damn fag. Still, this hurts. More memories of us hanging out and talking come back to my mind: him laughing and me laughing along with him, us having each other’s backs when we took down that idiot Diaz, and me literally saving his life. Not to mention, why did he have to make that joke about us locking lips? Is he a fruit or something? 

Goddamn it, Lance…

Remorse for both what I did to him and what I know I have to do now washes over me. A part of me doesn’t want to do it, but another part is demanding that it must be done and that there's no other way, at least when it comes to being able to keep my sense of dignity and pride intact. I load my gun with a heavy heart.

I didn’t see this coming, but I should have, and now I have to deal with the consequences.

[avelera]

Can I just say - the entirety of GS chapter 15 was spectacular and I loved every word of it, but above all my favourite line was Dream saying “my eldest brother does very little”

I just - love all the sibling pettiness that single line contains. I’m very much with Hob in thinking that Dream’s exasperation is charming. Like Dream just eyerolling 🙄 and telling Hob - “yeah yeah my big brother’s destiny or whatever but don’t be fooled - he’s not that important and he’s not cool and maybe I love him but he’s also kind of a prick.”

Also… Dream rejecting Destiny’s offer of dinner by saying “I have better uses for my time” and squeezing Hob’s hand?? Why do I feel like he’s planning something?? Maybe it’s just me but I’m side-eyeing Dream (and you by proxy lol). I feel like some sneaky courting may be afoot (or maybe that’s just wishful thinking).

Whatever happens I know it will be wonderful because it’s you writing it!! Thank you so much again for the delight you give through your stories!!

:D :D :D Thank you!

I mean, I admit, I did some due diligence, and as far as I can tell Destiny... reads. But he is the workaholic of the family, which is saying something in a family that also contains Dream and Death. But I like to think of Destiny as that older brother who is at the office 24/7. You know he's always at work but... why? What is he doing there? What's his day to day? No one knows. He just lives there so he has to be working all the time... right?

(Oh great, now I'm imagining Destiny as completely obsessed with Farmville or some other game you can totally get away with playing at an office job, lol.)

Now, I will say because it's not really a spoiler: Dream is not planning anything new with Hob. There's no grand courting plan coming out of nowhere to anticipate, though more plot-y stuff is coming down the pipe soon.

If we were to be in Dream's head in that moment, we would see that he's thinking about the initial bargain to look after one another. He's thinking about Hob's panic attack on the beach in Naxos, and how one of the nightmares (aka, PTSD but the term hasn't been invented yet) that haunts Hob's waking hours was caused by Dream abandoning him and leaving him alone at his lowest moments in the 1600s, when the reason Hob was immortal at all to go through all of that was Dream's fault (as Dream sees it) and he didn't help this person he's now in love with out at all. And he feels immense guilt for that now that he's realized he's in love with Hob! (Bro fell fast and hard at the meeting in Ch. 1.) He's thinking about how he feels he owes Hob his undivided attention for at least a little while, and we're talking cosmic scale here with the Endless! Dream is like "Maybe in a century I'll have cuddled Hob enough to feel ok with leaving him home alone for a night if he wants me here, ok, Destiny? You can wait until then, I've got better things to do and people I'd rather be spending time with if this isn't urgent."

Not that this is a burden for Dream! He just genuinely means he's busy right now looking after Hob as part of the agreement where Hob looks out for him and he sees that as higher priority, especially after Hob's very recent panic attack about Dream abandoning him, than a dinner that isn't even a formal Endless conclave and where Destiny won't tell him what it's for. So yeah, Dream is being a bit of a salty younger sibling about it. (As the oldest in my family, I am looking forward to writing some high-handed oldest sibling shenanigans for Destiny lol)

[rosanna-writer]

this love is difficult but it's real (2/2)

Ch. 1 is here. Read on AO3 or under the readmore

Summary: Rhysand allows one hand to turn into a claw, a display of that Spring Court shifting ability Feyre's never seen up close. "Even roses have their thorns, Feyre darling."

Feyre runs a mental talon down his shields and watches him shiver ever so slightly. She snarls, baring her teeth. "I'm not your darling."

"Not yet."

A tiny part of Feyre hopes that's a promise. But mostly, she's irritated he's being an absolute prick when she's wearing a dress she can't properly fight in. She reaches for her foot, grabs the only projectile she has, and hurls her shoe at him.

Or:

Rhys is the son of the High Lord of the Spring Court and an Illyrian seamstress. Feyre is the half-wild youngest daughter of the High Lord of the Night Court. After making eyes at each other across a bonfire in Illyria, they meet for trysts in the woods that turn into something more. War with Hybern and an inter-court feud might tear them apart, but they always find their way back to each other.

Pairing: Feysand

A/N: Time for the "Hello Rhysand darling" wedding crashing chapter I built this fic around! Please note this chapter does have discussions of forced marriage.

Feyre's only been in the mountains long enough to destroy a few trees when Cassian and Azriel land in front of her. They give her a wide berth, but she's too upset to realize it's because they're worried her grip on her magic might slip completely.

"This is for you," Azriel says, tossing her a set of leathers.

Feyre catches it between her palms to avoid shredding it with her talons. She looks down at the leathers, confused. "What for?" she says.

"We saw a dark spot in the forest and figured you might need to hit something," Cassian says with a shrug.

Feyre uses her magic to shift herself into the leathers. Gods, she must be producing quite the cloud of darkness if it was visible from the air. "Thanks," she says.

Cass and Az take turns sparring with her until she gets her head on straight. The darkness fades. In between punches, she tells them all about how quickly relations between Spring and Night have gone to shit. They're also furious at being separated from their brother, and the fighting does them some good, too.

Eventually, Feyre's exhausted, out of breath, and covered in smears of mud and pine needles from all the times the Illyrians have knocked her down. But she's thinking clearly now.

There's sweat beading on her brow despite the chill wind. As she wipes it away, she says, "We're going to get him back. We're going to fix this." She's not sure if it's directed at Cass and Az, or if she's just musing aloud about the plan forming in her head. She says goodbye and winnows back to the city.

The next day, Feyre swallows her fury. She tells her father she feels she's coming into her own as an emissary and asks for a bigger role as Night's representative in other courts. He agrees.

It's her best shot at seeing Rhys again.

If she throws herself into enough diplomatic work, there's almost certainly a chance they'll be invited to the same inter-court event. And if not, anywhere else she could go in Prythian is closer to Spring, so she might be able to maintain a better mental connection there. And if they can coordinate, they can fix this.

She gets her first break on a trip to Winter to discuss a trade agreement with Viviane, who's been left to run the court while Kallias is negotiating the treaty. After a full day of discussions, Feyre sits by the fire in her room, wrapped in furs, and strokes Rhys's mind with an affectionate talon. Even though he's still faint, it's less taxing on her daemati abilities to reach him from here.

RHYS! she says, breaking into a grin even though he can't see her.

You sound closer. Where are you? he says.

Winter.

Another trip? You're well on your way to charming all of Prythian.

Feyre can't help but shake her head. She certainly doesn't feel charming. Striking a balance between coming off as intimidating enough not to mess with but friendly enough to strike a deal with isn't simple. Kallias, Viviane, and their advisors, at least, have been the easiest to understand—Winter is harsh, a bit like Illyria.

I'd find a way to charm a rabid naga if it meant getting closer to you. She can sense laughter from him, but it has a strained quality to it. Has something happened?

The Spring Court is rosy as ever.

More of that strained-sounding humor. Feyre hesitates for a moment, then says, Are you safe?

Yes. But my father has been more unpleasant than usual. He's forbid my mother from leaving the manor.

Feyre expected that—from what Rhys has said before, his father has been even more paranoid and quick to anger since the start of negotiations. But still, it's awful to hear it confirmed.

And Rhiannon?

Still lucky our father considers her beneath his notice.

As a female, Rhiannon hadn't been allowed to train in Illyria, and their father had written off the possibility that she could ever inherit. In some ways, it's for the best. Feyre now understands that it's what gave Rhiannon enough freedom to send her those letters without much fear of them being intercepted. No one treats her as a threat, even if they should.

I miss you, Rhys. I'm sorry I haven't been able to fix this.

I miss you, too. It's not your responsibility. We may be able to get my father to see reason.

Feyre doubts they'll ever be able to, only potentially strong-arm the High Lord of Spring into doing what they want. But she's not about to tell Rhys that, not when he's doing his best to hold things together.

I'll see you soon. I promise.

Her magic reserves are getting depleted, so Feyre just stays in his mind long enough to hear him say, Get some rest.

---

There's another month of feeling empty before things start to change. Feyre spends it doing everything she can to get closer to Spring and reminding herself none of this can be fixed in a day. Scraps of communication with Rhys aren't enough, but she makes do.

Treaty negotiations pause to give the High Lords a chance to handle their courts' domestic affairs before meeting again, and Feyre's sent on a diplomatic trip to Day to discuss rebuilding efforts at their shared border.

When she arrives, Helion greets her and says, "Apologies for the late notice, but this morning, Spring's emissary decided to extend his visit. Am I correct in assuming that won't be a problem?" His smile makes it obvious he thinks it's the exact opposite of a problem.

Feyre blinks. She can't understand why Helion's looking at her like she should be pleased. 

"Lucien is here?" she says uncertainly. Lucien is a friend of Rhys's, exiled to Spring after leaving Autumn, but Feyre has only met him a few times.

"No," Helion says. "Rhysand will be here another week."

Feyre stills. A week is exactly the length of her trip. There's no way this was an accident. "Thank you," she says. Too stunned to ask in a way that's more subtle, she adds, "Why did you do this for us?"

"With our territories between both of yours, friendly relations between Night and Spring are a boon for everyone. Most of Prythian is rooting for you two." Helion's eyes go sad for a moment, and he continues, "And it's always a tragedy when squabbling between courts strangles young love."

Feyre understands he's speaking from experience, and it makes her heart squeeze. She also didn't realize she and Rhys had made such an impression, either—they'd really only been together outside of Illyria once. Perhaps they hadn't been nearly as subtle as they thought.

She recovers enough to act the part of the courtier again and says, "Then I hope this will be a fruitful visit."

Helion shows her the way to her rooms and leaves her to freshen up before dinner. Feyre pushes open the door to the suite and finds Rhys on the bed, arms crossed behind his head and his long legs stretched out in front of him. "Miss me, Feyre darling?" he says.

"Not when you're putting your shoes on the bed. I thought even Illyrian brutes knew better than that," Feyre says, but there's absolutely no venom in it.

Rhys laughs as he stands up and crosses the room to meet her. "Don't tell me all this diplomatic work has finally domesticated feral Feyre."

Feyre hurries towards him, and then they're all over each other before she can get any more words out. They're both desperate to touch in any way they can. If showing up to dinner reeking of sex and each other weren't overstepping Helion's hospitality, they'd make full use of the bed.

When they break their kiss, they each pull back just enough to examine the other.

Rhys's wings are still hidden, and he's wearing another green and gold tunic. He looks filled out, healthier.

"You look like less of a ghost," Feyre says.

"I'm fully recovered and flying again," Rhys says, unfurling his wings and encircling her with them. He gives her that cocky smile she missed so much. "And because I know you were wondering, there's been no reduction in my wingspan, either."

Feyre didn't think she could smile any brighter, but she does. "And no reduction in your ego, I see."

"It's not egotistical when it's just fact that they're the largest."

That coaxes out Feyre's first real laugh in months. After all the time she spent in Illyria, she's heard more than enough bickering about wingspans to last a lifetime. She drew the line at helping Rhys, Cass, and Az hold the measuring tape.

Rhys's eyes go soft. "There were some days I didn't think I'd hear that laugh again."

If he'd said that a few months ago, she might have burst into tears, but now she feels as if they've all been wrung out of her. Being separated once was enough. Twice has burned away almost everything but her determination.

"Then let's use this week to bring you back again."

Feyre might not be the most skilled negotiator, but even she can recognize that Helion's aid is a gift they can't squander. It will be delicate work—for the two of them to be together, it will take more than just getting the High Lords of Spring and Night on the same side of this issue. There can be no lingering bitterness between their fathers.

She curls up in Rhys's lap as they debate their approach. It's unclear how much they can ask of Helion, and they're hesitant to push things too far. They consider concessions to propose or alternatives to try, but they end up talking in circles. Both of their fathers are stubborn. By the time they need to leave, they haven't made much progress.

As on edge as they both are, it still makes Feyre feel a little giddy to take Rhys's arm and walk to dinner together. He hides his wings again before leaving her room, and it warms her to know he'd unfurled them just for her today. It hurts a bit to let go of him to take her seat.

It's only the second time she's seen Rhys act solely as the elegant, suave Spring prince, and it's endlessly fascinating to her. Daemati abilities make her inherently difficult to trust, and with the image the Night Court projects to the world, fae from other courts keep her at arm's length, even allies. As a shapeshifter with a beast form, it would be easy for Rhys to fall into the same pattern. But he hides the warrior in him under petal-soft new beginnings, and it feels like she's watching him win friends in real time. No wonder Helion agreed to help them.

The inroads Rhys made before she arrived, plus his obvious high opinion of her, make Helion's advisors warm up to her. It's not even a conscious thing, but she and Rhys are working together as a team already; he's set up favorable conditions for her, and she'll use that to finish the job and ensure they get the support they need from Day—for the rebuilding efforts and all the rest.

It makes her feel like the two of them could accomplish anything together.

Rhys comes to her room shortly after everyone retires for the night, and they fall into bed together. Making love somewhere other than directly on the ground outside feels impossibly luxurious, almost like a dream.

Feyre could do without the mud, and she isn't eager to repeat the time it had started storming halfway through (even if Rhys shielding her from the rain with a wing had made her melt). But still, a part of her misses being under the stars with him.

When it's over and she curls up with her head on his chest, she can almost believe that there's nothing wrong in the world. She drifts off to sleep feeling more at peace than she has in months.

---

It only lasts a few hours, until a tidal wave of power pouring into her wakes her up. The room is full of an unnatural darkness that blots out everything, even the faelights she turns on. She gets out of bed in a panic.

"Feyre?" Rhys says, going from asleep to alert instantly. Feyre struggles to put the damper back on her power, but there's just so much of it, so much more than there's ever been. She doesn't answer Rhys, just tries her hardest to pull the darkness back. "Feyre, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Feyre braces a hand on the bedside table, nearly shaking with the effort it takes to rein the power back in. When the darkness clears enough for the faelights to cut through it, she sees Rhys look afraid for the first time.

She takes a breath to steady herself, then forces herself to say out loud what she thinks just happened, as awful as it is. "I think my father just died," she says, voice trembling. "And the magic didn't choose Nesta. It chose me. I'm now High Lady of the Night Court."

Before Rhys can respond, there's a knock at the door. Feyre can sense it's Helion, so she grabs a dressing gown and pulls it on before opening the door. She's past caring that anyone knows what she and Rhys were just up to.

Helion's grim expression is enough to confirm her suspicions. "Apologies for disturbing you so late at night, but there's been news," he says. Feyre ushers him inside, and Helion pretends not to notice that Rhys is still halfway through slipping on his shirt. "There's been a fight between your fathers. Feyre, I'm sorry to deliver the news that yours has passed, and Rhys, yours is gravely injured. My condolences."

For a half second, Feyre thinks she might vomit on Helion's feet. Her father, dead at the hand's of Rhys's—it's unthinkable. Everything is spiraling out of control, just when she thought it might actually get better. But now she has a court to run, and she can't afford to panic.

"Thank you. I need to get back to Night," she says, surprising even herself at how steady her voice sounds.

"And I'll be needed in Spring," Rhys says.

They lock eyes, and an understanding thrums between them: this might be their last night together, if not forever, at least for a very, very long time. They kiss each other desperately, then winnow back to their respective courts.

---

Feyre's numb, in a daze during the time just before and after her swearing-in as High Lady. She can barely think, barely function enough to take care of herself, and Mor blessedly steps up and arranges most of it for her. Her sisters are equally shellshocked.

Feyre had expected Nesta to be outraged at being passed over, but she's not. When Feyre finally works up the courage to ask her sister about it, Nesta just gives her a harsh, humorless laugh and says, "I never wanted it in the first place. I should be thanking you."

Officially, treaty negotiations are postponed out of respect for the Night Court's mourning. But really, Prythian is waiting to see if Rhys's father will pull through or not. Feyre can't decide if seeing her father's killer or a grief-stricken Rhys at the bargaining table would be worse.

---

Rhys's father lives. Feyre hardly has time to sort through her feelings about it because there's just so much to do. Night still has an army to be kept on standby in case peace talks fall through, and the war has has ravaged every corner of Prythian, including Night. It will take a long time to get her people back on their feet.

And of course it's no small matter that killing a High Lord is an act of war.

When negotiations resume and it's time to take her father's place, she wishes she could be wearing armor instead of the black gown she has on. The High Lords will be watching a young, untested, grieving High Lady—who never thought she'd be the one to rule— like vultures. She can't afford to appear weak, but she has no desire to drag her people into another war.

Feyre reminds herself she's been going to the Court of Nightmare since she was a girl. She can do this.

All eyes fall on Feyre as she arrives in the meeting room just late enough to command attention. The room goes quiet as she stares down the High Lord of Spring. Rhys has his father's violet eyes, and seeing something of him in his father makes her gut twist.

"Before we begin today, let me make one thing clear," she says quietly, with the authority of someone who doesn't need to raise her voice to be heard. "I will not allow you to make a warmonger out of me. But my father's death cannot go ignored. The Night Court will cease trade and diplomatic relations with any court that maintains ties to Spring. Is that clear?"

She braces herself for threats or worse—taunts about Rhys. But no one speaks, not even the Lord of Spring. Feyre sits down in the last empty chair and laces her fingers together. "Then don't let me hold us up any longer," she says.

It's the hardest thing Feyre's ever done, but she holds it together until they break for lunch. Then she finds an empty bathroom and has a good cry.

She's tempted to reach out to Rhys's mind, but he's far and she's hesitant to deplete her power when there's still the possibility things could go to shit. So after a few minutes, she picks herself up, washes her face, and goes back to the meeting.

She's never felt more alone in her life.

---

To Feyre's surprise, the sanctions actually work. Rhys's father crossed enough of a line that he has no supporters. With Spring left friendless, they make progress negotiating the finer points of the Wall that will separate Prythian from the mortal lands. It actually seems like it will only be a short while before they have a final treaty to sign.

But a week after that, she's eating dinner in Velaris when she suddenly feels a wave of overwhelming dread. She doesn't know why—or at least, she won't admit to herself why—but Feyre has a bone-deep certainty that something has happened to Rhys.

Pushing down her panic, Feyre reaches out with her mind to Cassian, Azriel, and Mor to summon them to her. She briefly considers including her sisters too, but they're not coping with their grief much better than she is. It seems unfair to drag them into this when her Inner Circle can handle it.

It's too dangerous to winnow into enemy territory without knowing what's happening, so Cassian and Azriel fly her and Mor in. If Rhys, Rhiannon, or their mother needs asylum in Night, Mor will have to get them out. As High Lady, Feyre will be breaking all kinds of ancient rules if she does it herself.

None of them ask how she knows something's wrong or how she finds Rhys. Perhaps they know better than to ask her about something she can't even admit to herself.

Feyre's never seen Rhys in his beast form before, but she knows it's him as soon as she sees him. He looks like a massive jungle cat with inky black fur, but the antlers and Illyrian wings make it clear he's no mere animal. He's beautiful in a fearsome sort of way.

She strokes his mind with a gentle talon, not sure what to expect.

His hackles raise, and his tail twitches. He looks directly at her and growls . The sight of it, plus the feel of his mind so close, makes Feyre's heart flip. But there's a crack open for her, so she takes that as a sign she's not unwelcome.

Rhys, what's wrong?

You can come down here, and we'll talk. This should be face-to-face.

Feyre doesn't like the sound of that, but she doesn't think he's a danger to her. She lets the others know what she's doing, then winnows out of Azriel's arm before anyone can voice their objections to seeing their High Lady launch herself into an enemy court.

She lands a careful distance away from Rhys as he shifts out of his beast form. He's wearing the same expression as the night he told her he was leaving to fight in Summer. Feyre doesn't know if she should approach him or not.

"I'm sorry for reacting like that," he says. "I can't talk when I've shifted, and you caught me off-guard."

Feyre hadn't realized it until then, but as a daemati, she must be one of the only people who can communicate with him when he's in his beast form. She doesn't allow herself to think about what that means.

"It's fine. Just tell me what happened," she says.

"I was going to try and see you, but you came. I have bad news," he says, his voice dull. Feyre says nothing, just waits for him to continue. "Amarantha has come to Spring as Hybern's emissary. My father's quite charmed, and there's been talks of an alliance, of opening up trade between his court and Hybern."

Amarantha. The general who captured Rhys. Feyre presses both hands to her face in horror—if she hadn't worked to cut Spring off, there would have been no opening for Hybern to send an emissary to slide into. But for it to be her of all people…

"I'm so sorry," Feyre whispers.

And then it gets worse.

"I'm to marry her to solidify the alliance."

Feyre stumbles backwards into a tree, then steadies herself on it. She repeats his words in her mind again, certain she misheard. 

"You can't do that.” She’s crying now, and she wipes the tears away with the back of her hand. "We'd offer you asylum in Night. Even if you don't still want me—"

Rhys makes a strangled-sounding noise then says, "Of course I still want you.”

That just makes Feyre cry harder. She thought he might hate her now, after her actions opened up an opportunity for Hybern. If he did, she wouldn't blame him.

He closes the distance between them and pulls her close, so her head is against his chest. In between pressing kisses to her hair, Rhys says, "There will never come a time I don't want you."

Feyre pulls back so she can look him in the eye. "And I'll always be yours. Stay strong and let me get you out of this.”

“I don’t see a way out. He’ll start a war if he thinks you’re interfering with how he runs his court.”

Feyre knows he’s right. If Rhys runs to Night, most of the other High Lords will see it as insubordination. They’ll likely let Rhys’s father march soldiers through their territory to get to Night.

"Then focus on your head above water."

Feyre can't imagine how it must be to have the bitch who tortured him in his house. It makes her blood boil, and the idea of Amarantha touching Rhys is too much to contemplate without risking her power coming loose taking out half the forest.

Rhys nods and swallows hard, clearly trying to compose himself. "I will. I just thought you should hear it from me and see you one last—"

"Don't," Feyre snarls. She grabs his face in both her hands and kisses him, claiming and fierce. "I got you into this mess. I will get you out."

"If anyone can, it's you." Rhys's gaze drifts up to where Cass, Az, and Mor are circling overhead. "Do you mind telling them to land? We'll never hear the end of it if they flew here and only saw me from a distance."

Feyre does, and once the other three have landed, Rhys relays the news to them. A group of five is hardly inconspicuous, so they keep their conversation brief. But before they go, they squeeze together for a group hug.

---

None of them object when Feyre calls an emergency meeting at the House of Wind on the way home. There's no time to waste.

Azriel's top priority is now finding any information on Amarantha, ideally something damning in her background that will make Rhys's father reconsider. Mor has diplomatic trips planned, so she'll gather intelligence regarding what the other courts are doing in reaction to the news. Cassian will ready the Illyrians in case the balance of power is disrupted and fighting breaks out again.

Feyre's tempted to ask Cassian to march Night's armies straight to Spring and demand Rhys's father hand him over. But that would only cause a thousand other disasters to take the place of their current one.

Feyre can't waste reserves of her power, so she leaves Rhys's mind alone. She needs a secure channel of communication to coordinate the next step of the plan, and her daemati abilities are all she trusts.

So she reaches out a mental talon to Rhiannon, who’s all too willing to scheme with her.

It takes work from her entire Inner Circle, but the day of Rhys's wedding, Feyre is ready. Armed with intelligence reports and a stolen Veritas orb, she leaves for Spring.

---

There's a clap of thunder as Feyre winnows to Rhys, right into the spot where Amarantha is to join him at the altar. There are a few screams from the assembled guests as Feyre's power darkens the sky.

Amarantha freezes halfway down the aisle. Some of the guests winnow away. Others—including some High Lords—draw their swords.

Feyre wills herself to focus on Rhys so the sight of another female as his bride doesn't send her rage into overdrive. 

"Hello, Rhysand darling," Feyre purrs, caressing his mind with a talon.

His shields go down immediately, and she says, Just trust me. She needs to focus, so she's out of his head before he can reply.

She smirks—the Court of Nightmares mask is on firmly now. "You know, I really would have expected better flower arrangements for a Spring Court wedding," she says to the crowd.

Amarantha's shock dissipates, and her face contorts with rage as she stalks forward. "I will kill you," she says, dropping her bouquet.

Feyre just rolls her eyes and puts up a shield around her and Rhys with a wave of her hand. Two bands of pure darkness wind around Amarantha's ankles, holding her in place.

As if she hadn't been interrupted, Feyre continues, "I have information that might be of interest to the High Lords in attendance. I suggest you hear me out."

"And you decided my wedding was he place to share it?" Rhys says. He sounds irritated, but Feyre knows him well enough to spot the smile he's trying to hide.

"Considering your wedding was the first phase of a plan, yes. My spymaster procured letters Amarantha sent back to Hybern, detailing her progress with an attempt to steal power from Prythian's High Lords. And in case you don't believe me, I brought the Veritas orb for good measure," Feyre says. She pulls both the letters and the orb out of a pocket dimension with a flourish and holds them up.

Using the orb, Feyre projects a vision of Amarantha's last conversation with the King of Hybern and images of their letters. As she gives everyone time to look it all over, Rhys lets her into his mind again.

What the hell is happening? he says. Not angry, just bewildered.

I told you I'd get you out, didn't I? Feyre says.

Any other tricks up your sleeve I should know about?

Not up mine but your sister certainly has a few.

Enough time has passed for the crowd to take it all in. Feyre continues, "I hope that was illuminating. Are there any objections to me killing her now? Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

No one does. Feyre takes it as an affirmative answer.

Tempted as she is to tear Amarantha to shreds with her talons, Feyre wants this to be clean. It's a chance for a show of power as High Lady of the Night Court, so she uses her daemati abilities instead.

As she loosens her grip on her power just a bit more, the world goes pitch-black. She pries apart Amarantha's mental shields and makes quick work of them. Once she's in, Feyre crushes her mind completely. Amarantha might be a powerful fae, but she's no match for a High Lady.

It's over before it even starts.

Feyre pulls her power back, and everyone in attendance blinks at the sudden return of sunlight. Amarantha's lifeless eyes stare upwards.

Feyre turns her attention to the High Lord of Spring next, and she says, "I just handled a potential threat to your court. I believe you're in my debt."

Through clenched teeth, Rhys's father says, "What do you want?"

Feyre smiles, and there's no warmth behind it at all. "Give me Rhysand's hand in marriage, and we'll call it even," she says coolly, as much as it pains her to trade Rhys as if he's livestock.

"Only if he renounces his claim to my throne."

Feyre expected this, but it still makes her pause. Rhiannon had said that their father would take any opportunity to be rid of the son he worries will kill him to become High Lord himself.

She enters Rhys's mind again, but before she has a chance to say anything, he says, Is this the trick up my sister's sleeve?

There's a horrible half-second where Feyre worries that she miscalculated and Rhys wants to be High Lord more than he wants her. If his father's stipulation is enough to make Rhys refuse her proposal, she’ll find a way to live with it, no matter how much it hurts.

Yes. She plans to depose your father, and I offered her Night's assistance.

This must be the "best wedding gift ever" she mentioned this morning. She'll make an excellent High Lady.

No one but Rhys and Feyre notices Rhiannon's subtle nod at her brother as she mouths "do it" at him.

Rhys says, "I'll renounce my claim to the Spring Court throne if you marry me, Feyre. Consider it a bargain."

Feyre lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Her Court of Nightmares mask slips as she breaks into a real smile and says, "I agree."

A bargain tattoo appears for both of them, a vine of flowers that winds from the elbow to the ring finger of their left arm.

Feyre holds out a hand to Rhys, ready to winnow them home, and says, "Shall we?"

Rhys steps towards her, but something makes him stumble before he can take her hand. Feyre puts an arm out to catch him.

"Are you hurt?" she says, steadying him. Her gut twists with the fear that they aren't actually about to escape this ordeal unscathed.

Rhys just shakes his head and laughs. "We're mates," he says.

It's true, something Feyre's suspected for a long time but was never strong enough to admit to herself, let alone voice aloud. It still feels impossible she could be lucky enough to have Rhys as a mate.

"Mates?" is all she can manage to say.

"The mating bond snapped just now. A little late don't you think?" Rhys says, draping his arm across her shoulders.

It's the one thing that could have gotten them out of this situation sooner—even Rhys's father wouldn't have tried to force the marriage to Amarantha if the mating bond had snapped then. But of course it had to happen just after it could have saved them frustration. Feyre shakes her head in disbelief and smiles.

"Better late than never," she says.

Rhys gives Rhiannon a wink just before Feyre winnows them both to the bedroom of the townhouse she bought after staying at the House of Wind stirred up too many memories of her father. She's hardly decorated yet, but the sword lily Rhys gave her the night they met is framed on the wall.

"Directly to the bedroom?" Rhys says, his cocky smile returning. "I should have known you'd only want one thing—"

Feyre shuts him up with a kiss.

It's a good while before she pulls away, both of them a little breathless. She almost considered pushing it farther than that, but she knows her Inner Circle will be anxious until they see their High Lady back from behind enemy lines.

"Kitchen. Now. I need to make you food," Feyre says.

Rhys knows better than to object. He lets his wings out and sits in one of the chairs made to accommodate them while Feyre grabs a can of soup, the first thing she sees in a cabinet. As she heats it up, she speaks mind-to-mind with her sisters and friends and tells them to come to the house.

She lets Rhys have his reunions and fill them all in as she stirs the soup. With every movement of the spoon, she feels as if her heart comes another stitch closer to being repaired. Her mate is home.

She wishes she had a speech prepared, but no words feel sufficient. She ladles a serving into a bowl, places it in front of him, and says, "I love you."

She hands him a spoon next; Rhys takes it from her and kisses the knuckles of her outstretched hand. "I love you, too."

Surrounded by some of their birth and chosen family, Rhys eats every drop of the soup. After that, everyone knows to leave them alone for at least a few days.

---

During the mating frenzy, Feyre and Rhys manage to keep their hands off each other just long enough for a quick wedding ceremony. Plans can't be set in motion until the bargain is fulfilled.

With Rhys out of the line of succession, his father's guard drops faster than anyone expected. Rhiannon becomes High Lady within days.

They return to the Spring Court for Rhiannon's swearing-in, the end of so much suffering and death. In another time, Feyre might have rolled her eyes at all the mentions of new life blooming. But the new alliance between Night and Spring is the strongest in Prythian's history, and both High Ladies want nothing more than peace.

---

Rhys and Feyre stay the night after the swearing-in, partially to send a message that Spring trusts Night enough to allow its High Lady to stay for a longer visit, partially just to spend time with Rhys's family. After dark, they sneak out to the woods just like they used to.

Rhys is tucking a moonflower behind Feyre's ear when a beast with inky black fur, Illyrian wings, and antlers emerges from the forest. Rhiannon shifts out of her beast form, fresh as a daisy despite the long day. She's changed out of her formal gown, and now that her flower crown is gone, Rhys musses her hair, greeting her like a brother.

“Rhysie!” Rhiannon exclaims, batting his hand away. Then she says, “Cauldron Feyre, I can’t believe you put up with him.”

"You can keep him in line by throwing shoes at his head," Feyre says.

Rhys gives Feyre an indignant look, but she just wraps an arm around his waist and kisses his cheek.

"And I suppose you're still making my brother happy?" Rhiannon says with a soft smile.

Rhys pulls Feyre closer and presses a kiss to her hair. "Incredibly happy," he says.

Feyre leans into Rhys's touch, thinking that there's no better gift than a peaceful spring night with him.

[littlefreya]

Vanilla Milkshake

Summer: Henry and a long time friend hangout at their usual spot when things turn chaotic because of an innocent misunderstanding...

Prompted by:  

 Oooh Freyaaaa I just *need* some scene featuring Henry and ofc drinking milkshake. 

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Unamed OFC (no description of ethnicity or body type).

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: RPF, major fluff, friends to lovers, sexual innuendo, mild seduction, sex talk, an unwanted boner, Henry being a boomer, Henry having a meltdown. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own.*

A/N: So, first thing first, thanks @agniavateira for quickly beta’ing my work! And of course thanks @the-soot-sprite for bouncing ideas with me and being an emotional support. Decided to go with friends for lovers because I live for that stuff. Also, I am aware that “Milkshake” can be interpreted in several ways but for the sake of the story I went with that particular reference. Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed.  🖤

Title: Vanilla Milkshake

“I swear, this diner looks like Barbie had an orgasm all over the place.” A whimsical grin sliced between Henry’s marble cheeks. Eyeing the pastel-esque surroundings, he huffed scornfully and adjusted the cap over his nest of unruly curls. 

“Remind me again why we always meet here, young lady?”

Staring at the beastly man who barely managed to squeeze into the plastic-pink faux leather booth, she couldn’t help but chuckle. Henry carried himself with something that was both eloquent yet unmistakably feral, reminding her of a burly forest creature. Sturdy tree trunks stood for limbs, torso, and shoulders—the widths of icy mountains and a blanket of thick fur coated the entirety of his body, deeming him a dangerous bear. 

No wonder he preferred himself clean-shaven. The sharpened edge of a razor kept him a cut away from becoming ‘Henry the Barbarian’. 

Seeing him surrounded by pastel and sparkly fairy dust brought far more joy than she could ever imagine. The utter look of contempt gleamed on the surface of his shifty eyes. 

Oh, by God, how much he hated glitter!

“And what would you know about Barbie’s orgasms?” she teased with a crooked eyebrow and a comical suspicious glare. 

Readjusting his cap over the messy mane of chocolate curls, Henry offered a terrible wink and shrugged, “a gentleman never tells.”

Her fingers rapped on her thigh while she contemplated whether to allow this naughty joke slide, but then the urge to provoke him was far too great. After briefly chewing on the inside of her cheek, she broke into a wicked grin.

“Is that… like a role play you have with the missus? She’s Barbie, and you’re G.I.Joe? Because I kinda don’t want to hear about it, but then I kinda do.”

Henry’s smile gradually faded along with the playful glee in his eyes, his melancholic gaze dropping to the sparkly table. He slumped into a heavy sigh, “If by missus, you mean ‘Miss Hand’, then no… not really.”

Dumbfounded, she frowned at Henry with confusion when then it struck her; a sense of incredible embarrassment drained the blood from her head to her gut.

“Oh…”

“Yep.” Henry blurted and grabbed the menu, pretending to be incredibly interested in the kids’ meal options. 

Just in time to rescue them from a prolonged awkward silence, the waitress arrived with their order, serving Henry a hot cup of double espresso while she received a tall glass of a luscious vanilla milkshake. 

“Enjoy your drinks, guys!” the waitress smiled sweetly and kept her eyes glued to Henry as she walked away. But the gloss of the waitress’ flirtatious excitement was lost on him; drenched with greed, Henry’s blue sapphires were fixated on the generous scoops of ice cream and the dark chocolate swirls that decorated his companion’s dessert. 

“Henry, my eyes are up here!” she provoked and grabbed the straw between two fingers while throwing an amused glance at his simple cup of coffee. Henry followed her gaze and scoffed before raising the cup to his mouth and blowing to cool his drink.

The way his lips pursed together and his finger stroked the ceramic surface did not escape her observation. A sudden tingle swam down the length of her spine once it resonated in her mind that kind, charming, and beastly Henry was now single. Here they were, long time buddies, but now sitting together felt less comfortable than before. Her limbs felt like pins and needles while staring directly at his eyes was as risky as staring at the sun.  

“Cheers,” Henry mumbled and took a sip from his cup. 

Almost jolting in her seat, she stiffened and then grabbed her straw.

“Cheers.”

Giggles came from the other side of the diner. Among the retro gumball machines and rounded plastic bar stools, the waitress and a colleague leaned against the counter and stared at Henry, who turned his head for a brief moment and tipped his head.

Their giggles turned even louder.

She frowned. 

“So, have you been single for a while?” she heard herself asking with a rather urgent tone. Right away, a look of contrition crept on her face as she regretted her verbal onslaught and lack of sensitivity. 

Henry directed his gaze back to her and watched as she slowly sipped from the milkshake and then suckled the cream off her mouth. 

Absentmindedly, he licked his lips. “Since May. How about you, weren’t you with…?”

“No, ended, dodged a bullet.” she spat and pumped the straw up and down the thick beverage. “My milkshake brings all the boys… except it doesn't.” she sighed.

Henry frowned and shook his head with confusion. “What? You never told me you make your own milkshake. How come I never had some?” 

Her face abruptly froze, her eyes rounded with surprise before she snorted so loudly the waitresses stopped their whispering.

“Umm… Hen?” she called out, trying to hold herself from bursting into chuckles as her friend accidentally asked for a very sexual favour, “you honestly don’t know what ‘milkshake’ is slang for...?”

“Uh…”

“Omg, you’re such a boomer.” 

“No, I was born in ‘83! I’m a millennial. But please, indulge me.” he begged and crossed his arms together.

Clearing her throat loudly, she did her best to fight the wicked grin that stretched on her already painful cheeks and wrapped her fist around the straw. “So you know... how… certain male bodily fluids are sometimes white and creamy...? And when you perform a certain motion it’s like you’re shaking it…?”

Henry blinked and became silent. An unbidden rush of blood pooled at his groin as he watched her thumb graze over the tip of the straw and her fist pumping it into the smooth liquid in a slow, gentle motion. Wickedness glazed her eyes, but he tried to dismiss it as nothing but their usual playful banter; yet his adam’s apple bobbed up and down while his shoulder tensed at the oddly arousing sight of her performing a sinful act on a milkshake. 

There was an unmistakable stir in his cock and for once, he was thankful for narrow spaces as it hid his predicament.

Leaning forward, she opened her mouth and swirled her tongue around the straw. She went deliberately slow, making him watch while she playfully licked and suckled the tip until finally wrapping her lips around it and taking a generous sip.

Henry gawked utterly smitten, unaware that his jaw was nearly at the floor.

And to make things worse, she moaned—not too loud—but definitely enough to make his shaft harden more.

She wasn’t sure what stirred this whimsical boost of confidence, only that seeing the large, handsome man pale at her provocations made her feel like the most powerful woman on earth. She also gathered she’d regret it forever and a day once they’ll part ways, but it was too late for that now.

Gingerly she pulled back, though not before allowing a single drop of cream to trickle down the corner of her lips.

“Oops,” she smirked casually, wiping the cream with her fingertip and sucking it clean. 

“Please stop…” 

It was then when she noticed that Henry’s playful mien was all but gone. Far from amused, he glowered with a clenched jaw. “If you’re going to keep doing that, I’ll have to leave,” he stated matter-of-factly. 

A rush of panic made her freeze in her spot, the same needles that pricked her skin were now setting jolts of electric bursts. “I’m so sorry, I crossed the line,” she said and covered her mouth with shame, “did I offend you? Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No, no, not at all.” Henry’s voice softened right away, and he reached a hand in the air, as if trying to stop her from leaving. The last thing he wanted now is for her to think he is angry with her. If anything, he wished they could spend more time together, not because of his obvious arousal, but because for the first time in a long while, he was having fun.

Still, she looked at him so utterly distraught.  

“Then…?” 

Henry scanned the diner as if trying to make sure no one was staring or taking any photo and then shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His eyes altered between his spread thighs and her several times, trying to signal toward his… trouble.

“Oh...” she gaped. 

An odd sense of pride began to permeate her chest, battling over the burning embarrassment that flamed up her neck and cheeks. At this point, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel, only that it was definitely the most awkward hangout they had to date. 

Problem was, she never knew when to shut up. 

“Is little Henry hungry?”

Hearing those words, his brows dropped to an irritated sulk. “There is nothing little about it.”

“Ha! Prove it!”

It was as if the entire diner and perhaps the world fell into silence. Had the clatter of the dishes being washed in the back kitchen not rung their ears, she would have thought she grew suddenly deaf. 

“I didn’t mean it… sorry, I’ll stop,” she mumbled slowly and pressed her fingers to her mouth while shaking her head at her stupid behaviour. That was it, this was to be the last afternoon she would ever hang out with Henry and right now, she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.

Henry chewed onto the inside of his cheeks, trying to stop the words that came faster than his thoughts.

“You didn’t?... Because I’ll definitely be up for proving...”

She blinked at his words and tilted her head, hoping that he won’t notice the wild tremors that shook her limbs, “What was that?” 

“I... yes? No?...I… fuck!” 

Henry lowered his head and slapped his palms across his face, rubbing back and forth with an utter meltdown while mumbling, “Forgive me,” a couple of times. He couldn’t care less of what the waitresses or whoever was watching would think of him; all he cared about was to make her feel comfortable around him again and maybe… even make her like him?

“Henry?”

Soft and warm her voice called to him, slowly pulling him from his anguish like a sailor being rescued from a sunken ship. His blue sapphires shone, an ocean of confusion and anxiety still pooling within while he peered back at her face that was now smiling at him a mixture of comfort and exhilaration. 

“Would you like some of my milkshake?”

[likeitloveitblogit]

Just Hold Me

I had a dream that got stuck in my brain, so I decided to turn it into a Loki x fem!reader fanfic. Here it is. Please be gentle this is the first but of my writing I've shared.

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Summary: After a rough battle fighting with the Avengers you skip the party to recover in your room at the Avengers tower. There you're visited by a drunk Thor and a comforting Loki.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warning: non consensual kissing, mention of assault, pain, mention of death, they all need therapy

What to expect: Me turning a dream into a Loki fluff therapy session.

From your room in the Avengers tower you could still hear the sounds of the party. Another victory for the team meant another raging party to celebrate. You loved a good party, but you had taken a few too many hits during the mission and had chosen to head back to your room.

A knock sounded at your door, "Y/N, are you there?" You heard the gruff voice of Thor.

The god of thunder and his brother Loki had become members of the team after defeating the Dark Elves in London. There had been a drunken night when Loki confessed to you he had considered faking his own death and stealing the throne of Asgard. But Loki had chosen to help fight, winning the battle and the approval of the Avengers. Not everyone had accepted them completely, but you understand that people were capable of change and had become friends with the pair.

"Y/N?!?" Thor called again, pounding a little harder on the door.

You rise from your bed and walk to the door, opening it you find a very clearly drunk Thor. It took a great deal of drinking to get the god drunk. You chuckle thinking about how much he must have consumed, but then notice that his eyes are full of tears.

"Thor, what's wrong?"

"Can I come in?"

Normally you didn't let anyone into your room. You were a fairly open person, happy to share, but your room was your safe place to get away and recharge. Standing there, leaning slightly against your door frame Thor looked completely broken, so you open the door and gesture for him to enter. Leaving the door open you follow Thor into the room.

You weren't sure how to handle having a guest in your room. But Thor walked over and sat on your bed, like he owned the place. "I'm sorry to bother you, I just, I was at that party and everything was good. You know we had that Asgardian wine brought in, so much better than anything here on Midgard. But then I saw a woman in the crowd that looked just like her. And I thought, I don't know, I thought maybe she had only faked it, maybe she'd just been lost and now she'd come to find me. I ran over to her, but the woman was just some stranger."

From your spot learning against the wall you asked, "Who do you mean? Jane?"

"Ha, I've lost her too. I seem to lose everyone I care about. But no. I thought I saw my mother"

That broke your heart. That same drunken night when Loki had confessed thinking of faking his own death, you two had also talked about Frigga's death. Unsure how to comfort the god then you had sat with Loki, holding his hand while he cried. Loki had been so close with Frigga, a part of Loki had changed when the guard had delivered the news of her death. Being in prison unable to even attend the funeral had stirred a desire to be a better person in Loki.

Even though you had seen Loki's grief, somehow Thor had seemed stronger, less affected, but Frigga was his mother, too. The loss of a parent is a terrible thing to deal with no matter how strong of a person you might appear to be. And clearly alcohol made the Asgardians emotional wrecks, because here now was the god of thunder sitting on your bed, body racking with sobs.

You sat down next to Thor, reaching to take his hand. Instead Thor pulled you into a crushing hug. Your first instinct was to pull away from the pain, you had really taken a beating in that fight. But Thor was your friend and he was hurting inside, so you relaxed. Rubbing circles on his back, you whispered "it's ok, you're ok" while you let him cry on your shoulder. The two of you sat like that for a long while before Thor released his hold on you.

You were about to ask Thor if he was feeling better, when he looked down at you and leaned in to kiss you. A million thoughts ran through your brain all at once. Fear struck you the strongest, and you scrambled away, backing up until your back was against the headboard. "What are you doing?"

"Um, kissing you," Thor said as he crawled toward you, hovering over you he leaned to try and kiss you.

"Well, stop it" you put your arms in front of your face trying to push him away. "Stop it, stop it, stop it"

Thor's strong arms easily push your own hands out of the way. But just as Thor leaned in towards you, he was ripped from on top of you.

Frightened, you look up to see Loki shoving Thor away, placing himself between you and Thor. "The lady told you to stop. What has gotten into you brother?"

"You don't know anything stupid brother, just leave us alone" Thor lunges for Loki, but Thor is still far too intoxicated to stand a chance in a fight. Loki easily pushes back and Thor nearly crashes into the wall.

Before Thor can lunge again Loki summons a pair of daggers and points then at Thor. "Brother you're drunk. You need to calm down. I don't want to hurt you, but if you try to hurt Y/N, I'll have no choice."

"Brother you wouldn't dare."

Loki points the daggers more directly at Thor "I don't know what is happening here but you know that I will do anything to defend a lady's honor."

"Oh, so you're just such a hero now? A perfect little prince charming? You're not defending anything. You're just jealous because Y/N invited me into her room and not you."

You stand up, careful to stay behind Loki. "Thor, nothing was going to happen between us. You came to me, crying and I offered you a hand to hold because I knew you missed your mother. You hugged me and I let you because you are my friend. But that's it. You are my friend and I don't want any more than that. You should thank Loki for keeping you from doing something you'd have regretted."

"You think I'd regret kissing you?"

"No, I think you'd regret kissing someone who didn't want to be kissed. You'd regret taking advantage of someone you cared about."

"I, I thought you'd want to kiss me"

"You buffoon, not everyone wants to have their face crushed in by your giant head."

"Hush Loki," you walk toward Thor, Loki tries to pull you back behind him but you touch his arm gently, and step forward. "Thor you know I do care about you, but I don't feel that way about you. Look, I know you have had a lot to drink tonight. And you have a lot of emotions running through you. I mean you thought you saw your mother, that has to be really hard to deal with. But you made a mistake."

"I thought, I just. Uh, I'm sorry"

"I know. Right now I think it is best if you go back to your room, get some sleep, and we can talk more in the morning, once you're sober."

"But,"

"You heard her brother. She is giving you a very generous offer. If you don't accept and leave now, I will make you. And I won't be nice about it."

With a final look at you, Thor leaves your room.

Once Loki is sure that Thor is gone, he sets his daggers down and turns to you. You register that he chose to set them down rather than magic then away, but chart it away as a question for later.

Approaching you, hands raised like you are an animal he is afraid to spook Loki asks, "Y/N, are you ok?"

"Yes, yes. I'm fine." Which is a lie, you're anything but ok. Unsteady on your feet, you nearly collapse.

Loki reaches to catch you and leads you to sit on the bed, "oh Y/N, what did he do to you? I'll kill him if he has hurt you."

"Thank you, but I'm actually just a little worse off than I thought from that fight today. All this has just made me extra aware of how tired I am."

"I'll go get Banner or Strange, or one of the others."

"No," you reach and grab onto his arm.

He looks down at the way your hands tremble as they hold onto his arm. "But, Y/N, you are unwell."

"I'm not sick. I'm not injured, well not more than normal after a fight. I'm just tired. Honest."

"Well then I'll leave you to rest"

But you only hold more tightly, "please don't"

"Don't what?" His breath catches as he looks down into your eyes.

"Please don't leave me. I don't, I don't want to be alone right now."

"Ok, I'll stay." Loki sits next to you, shifting his arm to take your hand. You rest your head on his shoulder and look at the interlocking of your fingers with his.

"Thank you."

"Thor is a buffoon, but I don't think he meant to harm you. He's not used to anyone not wanting him. Not that what he did was ok. I'm not trying to say it was ok."

"Loki, I know. I understand that he was hurting. And I guess I'm a beacon of comfort and he mistook that for romantic attraction. Honestly I think he would have stopped once he realized what he was doing. But I'm still so glad you were there."

Despite Loki's comforting hold, and the circles he was tracing with his long thumb, your hands still shook. "Y/N is there something more bothering you?"

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. "When I saw your brother crawling towards me, I got so scared. I didn't see Thor, my friend. I saw that crazy guy from the factory today."

You could feel the moment the switch clicked and rage burned in Loki, "Wait did something happen? I don't remember a guy. Did this guy…, did he …, do something to you? I will end him."

"Oh Loki, my sweet murderous Loki. You actually already did."

"What?"

"You probably don't even remember, it was the heat of the battle. I'd gone in to clear the next room when I got knocked down and bumped my head. When I woke up, one of the baddies was dragging me by my ankle into the office, muttering about a sweet reward. How much fun he was going to have with me. He was reaching for me when you stormed in. I don't think you even saw me behind the desk, but you grabbed the guy before he could touch me. I didn't see what you did to him, but I heard it and it sounded very bloody."

"Oh gods, Y/N, I had no idea you were there in the back office. That guy looked deranged, even if we hadn't all been given orders to kill on sight I would have killed that man. If I'd known you were there I'd have made sure you were ok."

"I hid under the desk until you'd left and then I ran straight back to the jet. I felt so bad for not helping more with the fight, but…"

"Y/N, no one would ever blame you for running. That's not something anyone should have to face. Oh gods, and then my stupid brother had to come in and loom over you."

"He didn't know."

"No but that doesn't mean it wasn't terrifying, just the same."

You can't find the right words, and simply give a small nod. After a second of silence the question pops back into your brain. "Why did you leave your daggers on my nightstand? Why didn't you magic then away like you normally do?"

"Oh, uh, I was going to offer to let you borrow them. Just in case Thor tried to come back and visit."

"That's really sweet, but I've never been good with knives. I don't know if I'd even know what to do with them."

"Hmm well is there anything I can do to make you feel safer?"

There was a moment when you thought about saying, no. Telling Loki you'd be safe with his daggers, and sending him back to his room. But you couldn't do it. You could not send Loki away. Not when he felt like the only safe thing in the world. A breath of air after you'd been drowning all night. So you asked what you really wanted, not caring that it made you feel vulnerable.

"Can you hold me?"

"Are you sure you want that?"

"Yes I'm sure. I mean if you don't want to, I won't make you."

Loki gingerly wraps his arms around you, until you squeeze him half to death and he returns with a proper hug. Still holding you he says "I just didn't know if you'd want to be touched after… today and then my brother"

"You are not a brutish villain and you are not your brother. Do not take this as anything but a compliment, but right now the fact that you're not a big oversized muscle man is really comforting. And well neither men got the chance to do anything because of you."

"Y/N, I am so sorry you had to go through all of this. But I'm really happy that you find me comforting. I have done some terrible things that I deeply regret. And I've been afraid for so long that I'd never be able to find someone who felt safe around me."

"Everyone in this tower has done things that they can't take back. Things they regret. Including myself." You breathe in the scent of Loki, winter frost mixed with leather and metal, wondering when that scent had become so comforting to you. "But for right now, your arms feel like home and I don't want to ever leave."

"I will be here to hold you as long as you need."

"I'm going to take you up on that offer, because I might have a concussion, so you're going to have to watch me to make sure I don't die while I sleep."

"Humans are far too fragile."

"That we are. But that's an issue to deal with another day. Right now I just need you to hold me." You whisper as you lie yourself down, pulling Loki down with you. Carefully he wraps his arms around you pulling your little spoon body against his own big spoon body. Listening intently to your breathing as you drift asleep, Loki decides that he never wants to stop holding you.

[sunflowerdaisybee]

What about a merchant reader who’s a fae/fawn hybrid… lowkey adopting fundy?

I’d imagine the reader’s personality being a little more on the charming, cool-headed, logical, calmer side of things. They also have a strong parental instinct-

They’re incredibly distrustful & cynical of everyone in the SMP, even if they make it not as immediately obvious, and plaster on a jolly façade.

They’re fairly focused on business & always wary of deceptive behaviors… like someone lying to get a cheaper deal… or a troubled person hiding their sadness, or concealing distrust.

So when Fundy just stumbles into their cart/stall to buy something, clearly upset about something, the merchant notices & talks to him about it…

Just… a cynical-yet-professional merchant unintentionally (& unknowingly) adopting Fundy.

And like actually treating him like he matters to them, instead on just recruiting him as a soldier in a revolution at 14. (Glares at Wilbur)

I got a little carried away with this and am going to make a part two once I get through my other requests because I didn't want this to be too long but I seriously love this so much <3 I love Fundy's character, cute lil fox boy :]

Summary: Who knew an unlucky situation would lead to such a bond

Pairing: P! Fundy X Reader

Pronouns: they/them

[A/n]: Requests are open <3

With a gentle wave you bid farewell to the customer, a kind lady who was unaffected by the passing of time. Your ears flicked gently with the breeze that came from the door movement, the bell atop it ringing gently.

Now that your shop was empty you would have a moment to fix a few things here and there. You were in the midst of restocking a shelf when a young fox fellow walked in. His eyes looked around in wonder, taking in all the small details of the shop. You were quick to stand and take your place behind the counter, greeting the boy with a smile.

“Hello there, haven’t seen you around before. Anything I can help you with?” The fox seemed surprised at your kindness, his posture straightening up.

“Uh yeah, I’m looking for something specific and I was told that you have it.”

“I have lots of things here, you’re going to have to be more specific.” You chuckled lightly as you motioned around the store. True to your word, you did sell lots of things, though not typically things. You had seeds for different plants, books, a few basic tool types, and a handful of other things.

“Right, I’m looking for name tags. I’ve tried a few other places but they didn’t have any.” You just nodded and pointed off to your left.

“Over there by the book and quills, just under the ink bottles.” The fox nodded before shuffling over to the shelf, his position being perfect to block him from your view momentarily.

He wasn’t there long though as he soon scuttled over to the counter with a few name tags in hand. You looked at the items a moment before looking at him.

“Is that going to be all for today?” The fox only nodded, looking nervously at the item.

“Ok, and how would you like to pay?”

“Oh I have–” He cut himself off as he reached into his pocket, it was empty. Panicking, he began checking all his other pockets, only to find the same result.

“Fuck, I must’ve dropped my money somewhere. Quackity is gonna kill me.” The fox boy began to panic, his ears pressing down against his head.

“Hey.” His eyes shot up to meet yours as a warm and relaxing feeling washed over him.

“There’s no need to get upset or use impolite language. If you’d like we can make a deal, you can have the tags if you come and work with me everyday for a week straight. Only a couple hours as I don’t need you here for long.” The fox boy brightened up a bit, he wouldn’t mind doing work as long as he got the nametags. With a nod of agreement the boy shook your outstretched hand, feeling a prick run up his arm.

“What was that?” The fox checked his palm before running his other hand over his arm, feeling for anything unusual.

“Just a bit of magic. We made a deal and if either of us fail to uphold our ends then we will be punished.” You gave the fox a gentle smile before handing him the tags and ushering him out of the store.

True to his word the boy returned tomorrow, bright and early. You let him into the shop and handed him an apron to put on.

“What’s this for?”

“Simply to keep your clothes clean and so that people recognize you as a worker here.”

“Oh ok, uh by the way. What’s your name?”

“You can call me (Y/n). And your name is?”

“Fundy!” The boy smiled before slipping the apron over his head, he seemed to have difficulty tying it behind his back though.

“Like this.” You untied the back of yours before slowly walking him through the steps of tying him, praising him for getting it right. The way he brightened up at your praise didn’t go unnoticed but you didn’t acknowledge it either.

The two of you worked well together, Fundy would stock shelves or do simple cleaning while you helped customers and did the more difficult work. Things went well the first two days, it wasn’t until the third day that Fundy came to work for you that you noticed something about him.

It wasn’t extremely noticeable, most would’ve missed it, but with your skillful eyes you were able to pick up on it. The way he carried himself was different, typically he was happy and chiper, excited to be there, but today he seemed more on the saddened side.

“Hello Fundy, how have you been? You’re a tad late this morning.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I woke up late. I’ve been good though.” You knew he was lying but decided not to press further, at least not now.

“Alright, well if you ever need anything just let me know, my ears were made for listening.”

“Actually, have you ever heard of a man named Wilbur?”

“I know of him but not him. I don’t wish to associate with anyone from that place. Why do you ask?” Fundy seemed to hesitate for a moment before answering, animal features reflecting his saddened mood.

“Well he’s my dad and he was resurrected recently, he’s completely different though. I don’t recognize him anymore.” Your eyes widened and ears stood straight before you returned to your calm look.

“Well then I suppose that wouldn’t make him your father anymore, would it?”

“I guess. He wasn’t the best dad but he was still my dad. I don’t know, I guess I’m just butthurt about it.”

“You have every right to be, he sounds like an unpleasant man from what I’ve heard of him.” Fundy just nodded, still a bit saddened but feeling slightly better about the situation.

Thankfully by the time the day was done Fundy was back to his brighter self, having enjoyed his time spent here.

“Hey uh (Y/n), could I still continue to work here even after our deal is done? I really enjoy my time here.” Fundy was smiling bright as he hung up his apron, pulling his jacket back on.

“I’m afraid not. After this week I must close the shop for good.”

“What, why?” Fundy seemed frantic, he didn’t want you to have to close your shop and he didn’t want to lose his only reason to see you. Your hooves clicked on the ground as you came to stand near the fox, your hand reaching up to gently pet him.

“The town is kicking me out, I don’t know where I’m going to go. I won’t be able to bring all this stuff with me either, I’ll have to sell what I can and give away anything I can’t carry.” Fundy was extremely saddened to hear that, he was quick to wrack his brain for ideas, for anyway to save your shop and see you again.

“What if, what if you moved to Las Nevadas with me. I know you said you hate all those people but it would be great business and you’d have a place to stay.” You looked at the boy hesitantly.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, how are you so sure that they’ll let me in anyways?”

“It never hurts to ask.”

[adorerdraco]

Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 1

Summary: Draco meets and accidentally falls in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP). Part 1 of a upcoming series.

Warnings: angst, some fluff, mentions of blood, crying, panic attacks

Words: 6.4K words (I made this so longgg)

A/N: my first Draco writing !!! i am sorry ahead of time if there are any misspellings, typing with long acrylics is hard omg. ALSO PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SEND ME REQUESTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also i do not own this gif.

It was almost satirical how Draco managed to fall in love with someone at what might be, is, the lowest point in his life. It was his sixth year at Hogwarts, the dark mark burned into his left forearm, the restless mending of the vanishing cabinet, the impossible task of killing his Headmaster, the Dark Lord looming over him and his family with promises of torture and death if he didn’t follow through with the orders he was given.

Draco was an empty shell of what he used to be. The playful and mean remarks that would leave his mouth to anyone that stood in his path were gone. The devious twinkle in his eye and the smug smirk that used to grace his face almost 24/7 was reduced to a permanent scowl and red-rimmed eyes. He looked as if he had aged a rough 10 years since the last year he was at school. Everyone noticed it.

Everyone noticed the skipped meals, the lack of sleep, the empty look in his eyes, the falling behind in class. But no one dared say a thing to him. It almost seems as though people were afraid of him now more than ever. The sneer on his face and the reckless and impulsive attitude he held now was like a repellent for anyone that tried to come near. He was completely alone, whether he liked it or not and he decided to keep it that way.

That all changed a few months into the year, however, when you were rushing to DADA, your long house colored scarf getting tangled underneath your feet causing you to trip and lurch forward, dropping all your books, your wand, and crashing into, you guessed it, Draco Malfoy himself. There was a loud cracking sound as you both tumbled onto the ground, a yelp slipping past Draco’s lips as he held his hand in pain.

"Oh, Merlin,” you gasped, Draco shooting you the dirtiest glare. “Draco, I’m so sorry.”

Before he could open his mouth to tell you off and incessantly insult you into oblivion, you reached forward and took his wounded hand in yours, the softness of your hands and tender touch throwing him off guard. He watched you as you examined the damage on one of his fingers.

“It’s just a sprain,” you finalized after inspecting it for a couple seconds. Draco recoiled his hand from yours as if he had touched a hot surface. He moved to get up and you huffed out a “wait, hold on,” as you scrambled around the ground for your wand. When you felt the wood underneath your fingertips, you clutched it and jumped to your feet, gently grabbing onto the sleeve of Draco’s robe who was already trying to retreat.

“Get away,” he snarled, snatching his arm out of your grasp.

“Let me help,” you pleaded softly, “it’ll be quick, I promise.”

Draco looked down at you with annoyance. He was about to leave again until he felt that same tender touch from just a few moments ago. The feeling stunning him again as he looked down at his hand that was now lying palm up in yours.

“Episkey,” you drawled the wand over his injured finger, the both of you watching the swollen and purple bruise beginning to form suddenly fade away.

Draco gave you one last scowl before he snatched his hand out of yours and turned around to leave the corridor, leaving you standing there dumbfounded as he quickly walked away, his cloak floating behind him like the professor, who’s class you now realized you were very late for.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

That night, Draco lied awake staring at his ceiling he had charmed to resemble a starry night sky. His mind wandered off to think about spells he could try to help fix the vanishing cabinet and different ways he could kill Dumbledore without actually having to face him. He thought of his parents, mostly his mom, and how much he wishes he could save her and himself from this life. He thought of this school and how much he missed being an unknowing child who just did his schoolwork, played quidditch and bully the Golden Trio. He missed the two-dimensional life he used to live. Even if he used to be a complete ignorant and snobby arse, he was a happy one at that. Only now he knows that life isn’t what mummy or daddy say it is, in fact, it is so much worse.

He found his mind wandering to his uneventful day of dragging himself through his classes and failed attempts on the cabinet in the room of requirement. He then all of a sudden remembered the klutzy y/h/c girl that tripped into him and sprained his finger. He remembered how soft her touch was and how gentle she was in fixing said finger. That feeling was hard to forget. He hasn’t felt such tenderness since he doesn’t know how long. He recalled his mother’s hug before he boarded the train to Hogwarts, but that was ages ago.

In his ever growing turmoil, there wasn’t an ounce of warmth in Draco’s life since he’s returned to school. The coldness he was feeling on the inside was just as apparent as it was in his surroundings. He catches himself wishing he could feel that touch again, something about you radiated warmth, and just as quick as that thought appeared, he pushed it away. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next day, as Draco was leaving the room of requirement and into the empty corridor, he felt the familiar ache in his chest that began to flow through his body. He had made little to no progress today on the cabinet. He felt a panic attack on the horizon, his breathing becoming staggered and tears pricking his eyes. He hated it. He hated feeling so weak.

He began rushing towards Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, his tears blurring his vision and just like the day before, he crashed right into someone. Instinctively, he held the other person in place by their biceps so neither of them would fall. But that still didn’t stop how upon impact, the other person’s head had collided with his bottom lip. He squeezed his eyes in pain as he felt the skin break and blood quickly escaping it. When he pulled back, he focused on the figure in front of him and realized it was you. The same klutzy girl he bumped into yesterday. 

“Oh no, not again,” you frown, placing your hand on the part of your head that met Draco’s lip.

“You ought to watch where you’re going, you twit,” he snarls, stepping away from you in anger.

“It was an accident,” you responded just as harshly. You take a deep breath and throw the attitude aside. He was bleeding for Merlin’s sake and you felt bad that it was because of you. “I’m sorry, please let me heal you again,” you offer, taking a step towards him, closing up the space he had made.

“I think you’ve done enough,” he backs up, eyeing you down.

“Draco, please, just let me heal your lip and i’ll be out of your way,” you ask again, your soft and guilt ridden e/c eyes peering up at him through your lashes. Draco’s heart flutters, his anger subsiding for a second and he nods.

You step towards him once more and unexpectedly place a warm hand on his face while the other brings your wand up to his lip where it hovers. It was a non-verbal spell you used this time and he felt the pulsating pain in his lip subside to nothing. 

Even though he was healed, you both stayed in that position, your hand still on his cheek and his eyes gazing into yours. He didn’t realize it at that moment, but the pain in chest had also subsided, just a little. The tears had gone. His breathing was drastically slower.

“What’s your name?” the question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. You gave him a small smile, your hand falling from his face and he frowns when he feels the cold on his skin from the loss of contact.

“It’s Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N” you answer. “We have potions together this year, actually.”

Draco thought back to that class, now that Slughorn was teaching it he hardly paid attention, especially since he felt he was skilled in it anyways so he would let himself slip into his thoughts and let the whole period pass by in a haze. He feels as though he might have heard your name here and there, but he wasn’t so sure.

“Hm, funny, I’ve never noticed you,” he says, not intending it to sound rude but it did. He watches your face fall and he feels a slight guilt poke at him.

“Well, like I said, I’ll be out of your way now,” you mumble to him, brushing past him softly as you continued your path out of the corridor and out of his sight.

He didn’t know why, but he felt a little sad to see you go. He shook his head, shaking the thought from his mind and instead of the bathroom, he decided to go to his room, no longer feeling like he did before your little encounter.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

As days went on, Draco ended up paying more attention in Slughorn’s class. Not to the chubby old professor, but to you, who he shared subtle glances with throughout classes and half-hearted smiles.

You wanted nothing more than to continue talking to him. To be in his presence. He was like a magnet to you, while everyone else thought the opposite of him. Even Pansy, who usually was up his ass, distanced herself from the ghost of the boy she once obsessed over. You couldn’t lie, the small crush you harbored on Draco had only grown more and more each day. It started about three years ago, during your third year when you had seen him in the hospital wing after his run-in with Buckbeak.

You remember the sheer shock you felt when you had seen him for the first time that year. The slicked back hair was gone, he had grown several inches taller, maybe even a foot taller now that you thought about it. His voice had deepened into that haughty tone you somehow couldn’t get enough of. But just like you, many other girls noticed these changes too and began pursuing him. Something you’d never had the guts to do.

Until now.

The feelings you had been suppressing for the past 3 years had come back in overflow the second you bumped into him the other day. Even worse this time since you’ve actually had a conversation with him now and the fact that he won’t stop looking at you.

Slughorn pulled you out of your thoughts when he announced to everyone to partner up to brew the potion he had been lecturing us on all week. Draught of Peace.

“This is your chance,” your friend besides you sings to you as you looked longingly in Draco’s direction who hasn’t moved from his spot.

“No, he usually works by himself, I don’t want to bother him anymore than I have,” you sigh, slumping down in your seat.

“Y/N, you’ve been in love with him since third year,” she huffs, “besides, maybe he only works alone because no one can stand being near him.”

“Shhh, someone might hear you,” you hiss, slumping even lower into your seat. “I am not in love with him, it’s just a stupid crush,” you whisper angrily to her while she only rolls her eyes.

“Okay, well, have fun working alone,” she smirks, getting up from her seat and scurrying across the room to join another classmate. You gape at her in distress, she returns the same gesture, mocking you. She then points over to Draco and smiles, giving you an encouraging thumbs up.

You rest your head in your hand for a second, feeling the hot blush that had made its way onto your face and focused your gaze onto the table in front of you. You mentally hexed your friend, who thought it’d be a good idea if she were ditch you so you would be forced to look for another partner. Jokes on her, you’re not getting up from this seat.

‘I can’t go up to him,” you thought, ‘he probably thinks I’m some annoying creep who won’t leave him alone. I’ll just work by myself.”

Draco looks over at you, noticing the empty space beside you and the frown on your face as you pushed your Potions book to the side and sat up to get your cauldron ready. You were alone, and so was he. He fought himself on whether or not he should join you. It was a bold move, especially for him. He was used to working alone, but the longer he looked at you, the more he found himself missing the sound of your honey sweet voice and soft eyes. Before he had any more time to argue with himself about it, he gathered up all his things and walked over to the empty spot next to you.

“Do you want help?” Draco asked awkwardly, immediately regretting his decision to move. Your eyes shot up from the potion book, not expecting to see the blond next to you with a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Um, yes, actually, that’d be nice,” you mutter out to him, moving some stuff around on the table so that he would have space for his. You could hardly contain the deep red blush that was already on your face from intensifying at his presence. You swallowed thickly as the realization set in that your longtime crush was right beside you and even offering a helping hand. Which in Draco’s case was extremely rare, almost unheard of. Matter of fact, this is something the Slytherin Prince has never done.

He sets his bag down and his supplies and takes a seat, rolling up his sleeves so that he could get started on crushing the porcupine quills into the moonstone powder. The amount of times he has made this potion by now for himself was sad, but good in this case since he would be able to impress you with his skill.

He worked diligently and quietly and you watched as his long slender fingers worked everything with attention and precision. You were looking up at him every now and then which you now realized was a terrible idea considering you were in the middle of cutting ginger root and you weren’t exactly coordinated to begin with. You felt the sharp blade slide across your finger and a small gasp left your mouth when the pain instantly began once the first drop of blood fell.

Draco looked at you in confusion, his eyes widening slightly when he saw the blood dripping from your hand and your face contorted in pain. You ignored the looks Draco was giving you, afraid that he might be looking at you with contempt for being sloppy.

“Y/L/N, perhaps you should go to Madam Pomfrey,” Draco suggests, now seeing that the cut was very deep as you inspected it. In fact, it was so deep he swore he could’ve seen bone.

“No, it’s fine, I can heal it,” you ignored the sharp pain and placed your hand on the table and pointed your wand at the cut with your uninjured hand. You focused on the cut and closed your eyes, letting your wand do its magic with your unspoken spell. When you opened your eyes, the cut was gone, just a small scar in its place and drying blood around it. “You see,” you smile, turning towards Draco and waving your finger, “brand new.”

“You don’t want dittany for the scarring?” Draco asked with an eyebrow raised.

“No, I don’t mind them and this one is small anyways. They’re like memories to me. Some come from good experiences, some bad. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a little clumsy,” you explain, a small smile on your lips.

“Trust me, I’ve noticed,” he sighs, “so you’ve managed to become your own healer because of that?”

“Exactly that,” you hummed. “That’s actually what I’m studying to be. I plan on being at St. Mungo’s once we graduate. I’ve been studying for it my whole life.”

Draco was silent for a moment. He watched as you carefully threw ingredients into the cauldron and stirred them with caution. He noticed that despite your clumsiness, you handled everything you touched with a care and gentleness. It was a calming sight to him for some reason and he faintly smiled.

“I think you’d be a great healer,” he complimented quietly. You looked at him with one of the brightest smiles he’s ever seen and his heart swells at the thought of it being because of him. He feels a smile mirroring yours that tries to break through, but he fights it.

“You know, you’re a lot nicer than you let on,” you say quietly, waiting for his reaction from the corner of his eye. Draco wants to give you a snarky remark, just to uphold his cold reputation he’s given himself since his first day back at Hogwarts, but he doesn’t.

Instead of saying anything, he just shrugged and gave you a small smile, turning his attention back to the task at hand. You do the same, choosing to enjoy the comfortable silence that had settled.

When Slughorn came by to check when you finished, he eyed you and Draco and smiled.

"Ahh, Mr. Malfoy, I’m glad you’ve finally decided to partner up with someone,” he gleamed. “Miss Y/L/N here is an excellent potions student such as yourself.”

“Yes, she is,” Draco responded, keeping his eyes trained on the professor. He didn’t want to look at you, feeling embarrassed that he has now complimented you twice in the last 20 minutes. You smiled to yourself, something you’ve been doing a lot of since the slytherin boy sat next to you.

“Well, I suppose you’ll be pleased to know the two of you have brewed an outstanding potion,” Slughorn grins, “both of you will receive perfect marks on this. You can be excused from today’s class now.”

“Thank you, Professor,” you begin gathering your things and turn towards Draco. “I’ll see you next class? Or maybe somewhere around the castle when I accidentally bump into you.”

Draco chuckles and shakes his head, “perhaps. I’ll see you soon, Y/L/N.”

With that, he strides out of the class, you staring at the back of his platinum blond head with a stupid smile on your face.

“You’re welcome,” your friend suddenly appeared next to you, playfully slapping your arm. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen Draco look so... calm.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Weeks had gone by, and several Potions classes. The seat beside you now belonged to Draco and the two of you had in a sense, become friends. Or acquaintances. You couldn’t quite say. 

He was still brooding and mostly kept to himself, but he would converse with you here and there about things, almost always school. The two of you continuously getting outstanding marks on everything you produced much to Slughorn’s delight.

Sometimes he would come to class looking disheveled or angry and those were the days where no matter how much you tried to talk to him to at least maybe get his mind off things, he would ignore you. Wouldn’t even look at you. You couldn’t deny how it had hurt your feelings, but you would brush off the hurt and remind yourself that it wasn’t personal. He was obviously going through something, you didn’t know what, but you had to respect that sometimes he just didn’t want to talk. That was hard. Especially because you just wanted to hear his voice or see him give you that rare smile when you would say something he found amusing or you would accidentally drop something off the table with your elbows or knocked over with your hands. 

You were rounding a corridor when you saw the flash of blond zoom past you. He didn’t see you, but you saw the pointed look in his eyes and the tears that were pooling in the stormy gray eyes that you adored. You mentally fought yourself on whether or not you should follow him, he looked so upset and all you wanted to do was give him a peace of mind. So you followed him, all through two corridors until he disappeared into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Your heart broke at the sobs that filled the bathroom. They were full of pain and despair. The sound of his rapid breathing mixed in with his cries was more than enough to let you know that he was having a panic attack. You pushed open the door slightly to see him hunched over a sink, his robe discarded on the ground along with his vest and tie leaving him in only a white long sleeved dress shirt. 

You wanted to run in and help, but stayed back, realizing that this was something that was extremely personal. You knew he would be livid if you or anyone saw him like this, so broken and emotional. You were about to leave, all of a sudden feeling very ashamed for even following him in here. You watched as he looked up into the mirror, an anger flashing in his eyes as he stared at the reflection looking back at him. Not yours, but his. All he could see was a monster staring back at him. A failure. A weak man. He was disgusted and angry with what he saw and before he knew what he was doing, he had pulled his fist back and you watched it collide with the middle of the mirror where he had been. The glass shattered upon impact, the shards now flying in all different directions and embedding into his knuckles. He fell to the ground on his knees, in pain and clutching his fist as his cries only got louder. 

That was when you threw open the door, rushing in to help him, not caring that you were going to have to put up a fight in order to even get near him. Draco’s eyes shot up to meet yours, and just like you thought, he was beyond pissed to see you. 

Draco has never felt such humiliation in his life. The beautiful and kind y/h girl he had acquainted himself with, was now looking at him with pity. He grabbed his wand from his pocket, pointing it at you with such quickness that you faltered in your steps.

“Get. Out!” He yelled, his wand shaking violently in his uninjured hand. He would never hex you, but he figured you would fall for his bluff and leave. But you didn’t. You only sat yourself down a few feet away from him and felt your own tears begin to fall. “Y/L/N, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t leave, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you challenged. “I just want to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” he sneered, his wand still pointed at you.

“You’re bleeding, a lot, Draco,” you point to his bloodied hand that curled to his chest. “You know I can save you a trip to the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey’s interrogation.”

After a few moments of silence and a wand still pointed at you, you slowly scoot towards him. Your hand encloses around the one holding his wand and you lower it for him while he watches you. He was still crying and breathing heavily. His panic attack somehow getting worse now and no longer having the energy to fight you. You finally reach him, now knee to knee with him and you place a hand on his shoulder.

“Draco, just breath with me,” you say calmly. “In,” you took a long exaggerated inhale, and after a few seconds, “out,” and let out an equally exaggerated exhale. You did that with him for a while, his pained gray eyes focused on yours the whole time, never breaking eye contact. Once he was calmed down enough and was just left with the post crying hiccoughs, you took his injured hand in yours. There was shards and particles of glass stuck in his reddened and bloody skin.

You reached into your robe pocket and pulled out a set of tweezers you kept with you. You often found yourself getting splinters or tiny rocks stuck in your skin when your hands hit the pavement when you’d fall you try and catch yourself.

“This might hurt,” you warn, starting to remove one of the biggest pieces. He sharply inhales as you try your best to do take it out carefully.

It was quiet the rest of the process, just sniffles and gasps from Draco when you had removed a piece that especially hurt. When you were done, you waved your wand over the gashes and watched as they faded into faint pink scars. You got up, pulling him with you and took him to the sink where you rinsed off the blood from both your hands and his. 

He couldn’t say anything. He didn’t know what. He just stared at you, dumbfounded and confused. You turned your body to face his and he did the same, eyeing you carefully and still very cautious to any move you made.

“I can leave now, if you’d like me to,” you offer quietly. He stayed silent, wondering if he should just send you off. But he didn’t want to. You had already seen him at his worst, and he was terribly alone, so he just shook his head ‘no.’ You looked up at him and decided to risk it all. “Can I give you a hug?”

Draco was stunned at the question, his heart pounding against his chest. “I suppose,” he managed to let out in a strained voice.

You slowly stepped closer to him and slid your arms up his biceps until your hands met behind his neck. You stood on your tippy toes and pulled him into you, his chin now resting on your shoulder as your hand smoothed the back of his head. You felt him stiff under your touch and as he got comfortable in your embrace, his arms raised from his sides and snaked around your waist, pushing you flush against him. You stayed like that for what felt like forever, and he held you tightly, not wanting to let go.

This was the first time in a long time that he had felt any type of relief. It had been such a constant uphill battle for him, day after day. He took a deep inhale accidentally, but the smell of your perfume and shampoo filling his nose and his mind made him feel at ease. The warmth of your body from underneath his fingertips brought him peace and succor.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair so quietly that if you weren’t so focused on him, you would’ve missed it.

“Anytime.”

That was the day Draco Malfoy became your friend.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Potions class was no longer the only place you would see Draco. Now that the two of you were comfortable with one another and he trusted you more than anyone else, he found himself hanging out with you every day during his free time when he would be done messing with the cabinet.

It would be taking walks around the castle. Sneaking out at night and meeting behind statues to talk. Sitting together at a bench in the courtyard. Skipping stones along the Black Lake. It’s been months of this. Months of friendship he so desperately needed. You had helped him through several more panic attacks and meltdowns, each time coming closer together. He never told you about what caused them. The worst ones were when he found he had almost killed Katie Bell and Ron Weasley, and as much as you begged him to tell you, he kept his mouth shut. 

He had spent so much time with you that it was affecting him. But for the better. He found himself eating again at the Slytherin table and his friends were more than excited to have him back. He still wasn’t too buddy-buddy with everyone as he once was, but he joined conversations and shared a couple jokes. He was even sleeping a little more. He was still beyond stressed, but it wasn’t as gut-wrenching. He enjoyed Potions again and even started paying a little more attention in his other classes. His new found energy even helped him greatly progress in mending the vanishing cabinet, finally making a breakthrough in fixing it.

He would lie awake at night sometimes and thank Merlin you crashed into his life, literally. You were like an angel to him, healing his heart with every word and smile and touch you sent his way. It was easy with you. He tried his best to keep his emotions at bay, reminding himself that when he would have to follow through with his task, he would lose you and that thought pained him to no end. But he was selfish, and he adored you with every fiber of his being so he couldn’t leave you alone. And especially not when he needed you most.

Today, you lied in the grass, shoulder to shoulder and staring up at the sky and watching the clouds. You were a little ways from the castle, away from all your other classmates and teachers and it was nice. Finally being able to enjoy time with the Slytherin Prince without people gawking at the two of you.

“My mother used to do this with me when I was a small,” Draco trailed off, his eyes following a particular funny shaped cloud. “She would take me out to the garden behind the Manor, usually when father was doing some work at the ministry. But we would sit against this tall oak tree and I’d be on her lap and she’d have her arms wrapped around me and she would point out the funniest shaped clouds and try to pinpoint what they resemble. Sometimes she’d even joke around and say the weirdest shaped cloud looked like father.”

You giggled at that last part, your heart swelling at the story. He rarely talked about his family, but when he did, it would always be of his mother and a happy memory he had with her, never his father.

“Draco, can I ask you something?” you turn onto your side, your elbow holding you up as you gazed down at him.

“What do you wanna know, darling?” you blushed at the nickname but brushed it aside, knowing he only meant it in a friendly way.

“Forgive me if it’s rude, you don’t have to answer,” you begin, “but do you miss your father? I know it’s none of my business and I’m so sorry the Daily Prophet put your family business on blast like that. I can’t imagine how that must have felt.”

Draco frowned and followed you in turning onto his side and propping himself up with his elbow to face you. You remembered the image of Draco and his mother on the newspaper, bright lights flashing across their faces as all the press tried to get picture of them after the sentencing of Lucius Malfoy to Azkaban. You remembered seeing Draco look so sad, yet strong beside his mother as he looked from her and then into the camera with disdain. 

“Sometimes, I do,” he answers, eyebrows furrowed as he thought of his father. “My whole life, he’s expected nothing short of perfection from me. There were no room for mistakes, and if I made any, I would be punished for them. I remember coming to Hogwarts was like an escape, a place where I could finally sort of relax and be a child. I don’t miss his scolding or his coldness. But I miss having a father, I miss going home on that first day of summer and seeing both my parents even if he was going to reprimand me for something later on in the day. He’s been with me my whole life, and now he’s gone, stuck in a cell in Azkaban. He’s never going to be the same. Home is never going to be the same.”

You felt tears prick your eyes as you listened to the boy beside you, a distant look in his eyes as he turned back over on his back to look at the sky in the middle of his explanation. You sat up and he did the same, looking at you with a frown when he noticed you were about to cry. You took your hand in his and held it tightly.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” you mumble. “You don’t deserve any of the bad things you’ve been through.”

“I do,” he shrugs. “I’ve been a real git since I’ve been at Hogwarts, you know.”

“You’re different now,” you say. “Sure, you still haven’t lost a little bit of the Malfoy snobbishness and you’re still a bit of a git, but you’re kinder and more gentle. You’re a lot more empathetic and perceptive. I mean, I’ve never spoken to you prior to this year, but your reputation follows and the Draco in front of me doesn’t seem anything like the Draco you were.”

“How you’ve managed to insult me while complimenting me is something I’ve never seen anyone be able to do successfully is astonishing,” he laughs, a smile growing on his face as you laughed with him.

“I’m serious, Dray,” you giggle, “I think you’re a good person.”

“I’m not good,” he thinks to himself. The compliment leaving your lips made him feel foul. He didn’t deserve to have such a kind soul complimenting him to be something he’d never amount to. He frowned and harshly stood up, and you quickly followed. Suddenly afraid that you might have overstepped your boundaries.

“Where are you going?” You ask, fear trembling in your voice. He begins to hurriedly walk off and you chase after him, stopping in front of him so you could place your hands on his chest to stop him. 

“Y/N, let me go,” he pleads. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“I think I’ve been around you long enough to know who you are.”

“Not long enough.”

You stare up at him, but he refuses to look at you. His body feels rigid under your touch and it pains you to see him beginning to shut down again.

“I know something has been bothering you this year, and I know it’s not just because of what happened with your father,” you start. “I don’t know what is hurting you so deeply enough to make you hate yourself, but I’m here to tell you that whatever that thing is, it doesn’t define you.”

Draco swallows thickly, the tears already falling down his cheeks. “It does, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you cry with him. “Even if you don’t see your goodness, I do.”

Both you and Draco are crying, the tree you were now standing under was swaying violently in the wind, as if it was picking up on your guys’ emotions. You placed a hand on his cheek, and he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I’m not good,” he whispers to you, “and once you see that, you’re going to hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Draco Malfoy,” you promise, a complete sincerity in your voice that it makes his heart jump.

Draco lifts his head up and sniffles, he watched you do the same, peering up at him through your wet lashes. He brought his thumb up to smooth the crease in between your eyebrows, letting it fall down to your cheeks where he wiped away the stray tears that had stilled. His hand then landed on your mouth that was pulled down in a grimace that matched his own. His thumb grazed over your lips, the softness of them nearly driving him mad. He wanted nothing more than to feel them against his own, but he couldn’t bring himself to kiss you. He didn’t want to drag you into the darkness of his life more than he already has.

“Kiss me,” you said to him, so softly but it rang loud in his ears. You had seen the way he looked at you and how he seemed so focused on your lips. You knew what he was thinking because it was exactly what you were thinking. You wanted this just as badly as he did. “Kiss me.”

Every argument he had in his head vanished and suddenly he closed the small space between the two of you and gently placed his lips onto yours. It was a fluid movement, like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

Your hands found their way in his hair, holding him closer to you and he did the same by gripping onto your hips. His lips were soft against yours, filled with fervor and desire. He was gentle with you, but you could still feel the deepness of his kiss and how it intensified with each second. He had put all his emotions into it, his care, his appreciation, his want, his sadness, his grief, his love.

When he pulled away and the two of you stood there staring at each other with love stricken eyes, he realized he had made a grave mistake.

He realized he was in love with you. He realized that he would never be able to let you go, and you would never let him go. And he knew that with the direction his life was going in, one way or another, you would get hurt and he would lose you, maybe even to death itself.

So in that moment he knew. As much as he loved you and wanted more than anything to be with you, he couldn’t put you in that position where you would be staring evil and death in the face. He wouldn’t tarnish your beautiful soul like that.

“I have to go,” he breathed out. “Please, leave me alone. For good.”

And with that he turned away, leaving you standing under the tree with tears falling down your face, a sob escaping your throat and the sound of your knees hitting the grass below you. He held back his own cries and walked faster away from you, knowing you had finally done damage to yourself that you couldn’t heal, and it was all his fault.

PART 2