#but this is what's particularly been swirling in my mind lately

[wanderingcas]

if you want my two cents about it - dean pre-season oh, let's say 11 or 12, believably has no idea that cas is in love with him.

he knows their friendship is... different? he feels differently about cas than other friends he has. but dean has so few friends and cas is an angel to boot, so of course things are going to be different with him.

but then lucifer kills cas right in front of dean and he's forced to look at a lot of things. like why this death hurts more than anyone else's. why cas dying this time makes dean feel like he's walking around with a permanent hole in his chest.

and when he really sits down with himself and realizes not only does cas loves him, but he loves cas? well he shuts it back up into a box right away. won't look at it directly in the eye. at first it's because cas is dead and not having him - well, really thinking about that would probably leave him comatose on the bunker floor. and then he gets cas back, and it's the happiest fucking day of his life, and the new reason is cas just got back, he has a son now, give him some space. and then fear takes over. if losing cas without the romance shit attached hurts this much - what would it be like if they actually crossed that line? if dean knew what it was like to have cas, truly have him, then lose him? so it's just easy to take hunt after hunt, to get swept up in saving the world, losing other people... it's easy to keep those feelings for cas tight in a box.

but then he nearly loses cas again. not to death; to dean's anger. after saying those cruel words to him after losing mary. and he realizes that if he lost cas again in any capacity at all, it might just kill him.

so he opens the box. he gets on his knees in purgatory. and he prays damn hard for cas's forgiveness. and he's ready to put it all on the line before cas stops him from saying anything out loud.

i think that post confession, it wouldn't come as a surprise to dean that cas loves him. i think that, due to him being captain emotionally insecure with himself, he'd be really fucking confused by why cas is in love with him in the first place. but i don't think he'd be shocked by it. i think he'd have to come to terms with loving someone like that and losing them, and knowing that cas didn't even hear dean's reciprocation. i think that's what would tear him up the most.

[nesepte]

Hundred Steps | Jaehyun — Preview | Read full fic here

Pairing: Jaehyun x fem! reader

Genre: soft jaehyun, mild angst, fluff (sort of – he is cute in this), cozy, unsaid words, music(al), enemies (one-sided) to lovers, rich jaehyun, but very humble jaehyun, acts of service love language jaehyun, small town, summer, small shop owner reader - vinyl record store, coming of age (?) Word Count (Preview): 1.1k words

A/n: It’s Jaehyun's birthday month so I thought of posting this on tumblr! The whole fic will be published on his birthday. Consider it my gift to you all here xD

If anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this – leave a comment, or a message, or anything you want.

The air was warm against your cheek. The summer had ended but the heat lingered like a stubborn heart refusing to see reason. In front of you beyond the wrought iron gates, stretched the steps to your new life but you stood frozen in place.

Mind can be so fickle, and this restless heart even more so. You had waited your entire life to leave your hometown and move to the city. You had dreamed of this college every night and here it was, ready to welcome you.

But you turned your gaze behind— the city quiet from this height. Beyond the mountains in the distance, amidst the swirling roads that led to nowhere, your eyes searched for him.

Jaehyun…

It was two weeks after your high school graduation. You were working late in your father’s store for vinyl records. Just a few minutes before closing time you heard the ding of the tiny bell fixed atop the door. He stumbled in, trying to frantically shut his umbrella which was dripping onto the carpeted floor. His brown pants were soaked at the bottom and his white shirt was wrinkled at the joints.

‘That’s alright,’ you said and he looked up. Despite the umbrella, his hair was slightly damp and the tip of his nose was red. ‘We are closing soon,’ you told him. ‘If you want to browse, I suggest you come back tomorrow morning.’

His curious eyes darted from you to the aisle behind him. ‘Where is...?’

‘Are you looking for my dad?’ you asked, trying to keep your tone professional. ‘He fractured his leg. I’ll be taking care of the shop in his absence.’

He finally managed to close his umbrella and left it by the window.

‘Right,’ he said, walking into the glow of the dim lamp hanging from the ceiling above the counter. This close, you noticed that his cheeks were red too but it wasn’t particularly cold out that night.

‘I am sorry to hear that,’ he said, ‘but by any chance did he mention any Beatles record on hold?’

‘The Beatles…’ you mumbled to yourself and ducked behind the counter to check the cabinets. At the very top, wrapped neatly in a clear film was the record and stuck to it was a post-it that had the word paid written in block letters and a name beside it.

‘Jung…’ you whispered, rising back to your feet to find the light, ‘…Jaehyun.’

It took you a moment to place the name in your head, and when you did, you blurted out, ‘It’s you!’ You looked up at him. ‘You are Jung Jaehyun?!’

Your raised voice had startled him but he replied as even as before, pressing his lips together. ‘That’s correct,’ he said.

‘Get out,’ you gritted out.

‘W-What?’

His blank, ignorant eyes angered you even more.

‘Do you have any idea what you put my father through?’ you yelled, your voice echoing through the empty shop. ‘You have been making these insane demands for those godforsaken rare records ever since you stepped foot into our store!’

You could feel your face heating up, your heart pulsating inside your throat. It was a bad look— shouting at a customer, but you could not stop the words from flowing out.

‘Do you know how difficult it is for my father to find them?! It’s because of you that he had an accident and fractured his leg. He was out in the rain to get your stupid record!’

‘I…’ He stared at you, mouth agape and his face drained of colour. He had shrunk under your gaze somehow. ‘I… I had no idea.’

‘Of course, you didn’t!’ you spat back, the thin record shaking between your trembling fingers. ‘All you rich kids care about is your own convenience!’

‘That’s a harsh judgement to make,’ he returned, though not unkindly.

‘Harsh?’ You let out a mirthless laugh. You could not believe your own anger. The bulb over the counter flickered like a dull firework as the record player in the corner switched to the next song.

‘I’ll tell you what’s harsh. All his life, my father has worked tirelessly in this shop to raise me alone and I have done nothing but kept my nose buried in books so I could get into the best university in Seoul.’

You sighed, pressing your palm to your forehead to control the wretched tears that were pricking the corner of your eyes.

‘This was my last summer before college. My last chance to taste freedom and it’s ruined because of you! I am stuck in this shop, working all day. The boxes are heavy, the shelves are high. I don’t know any of the customers and all they really do is ask about my dad. I haven’t even eaten all day but I can’t complain to anyone without looking like an ungrateful brat!’

There was more you wanted to say but you had no breath left in you. Besides, you had embarrassed yourself enough and you couldn’t risk crying in front of him.

‘Just take this and leave.’ You held out the record to him.

His hand reached out immediately but stopped just centimetres from the edge.

‘Take it,’ you repeated, hiding the hitch in your voice. You did not rush his hesitation— there was no other customer in the shop waiting anyway. At last, when he closed his fingers over the record, you let the rest of your anger flow out of you with it.

‘What?’ you asked. He was still standing at the counter, staring at you. Maybe you had been too harsh but your anger didn’t allow any sympathy.

‘I can pay the hospital bill,’ he mumbled, clutching the record tightly in his hands.

‘There is no need,’ you replied. You could not let your pride take another hit after making a complete fool out of yourself in front of a complete stranger. ‘Just… don’t come back here again.’

You regretted saying it the moment the words left your lips.

When you had first learned of Jaehyun through your father, you had imagined a stoic, old man in his 50s, dressed in an unnecessarily expensive suit with a cigar in his hand and a flashy gold chain around his neck. He definitely seemed the kind with his incessant demands for particularly hard-to-find, expensive records. He liked nothing in the shop.

Pretentious bastard, you had called him.

But standing in front of you was a boy, who didn’t look much older than you. He was careful with the record while stowing it away in his bag, holding it delicately by the edges. Despite your outburst, there was a twinkle in his eyes, one that you recognized all too well— your father had it too whenever he got his hands on a new record.

In the wake of your receding anger, you saw clearly how frightened you had made him but he did not protest again. Without another word, he left, stopping only for a moment at the door but he did not speak whatever it was he wanted to say.

However, that was not the end. He came back— sooner than you had expected.

[azrielsdove]

Softly: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Smuttttt, 18+. This is just a short, smutty fic for my az babies out there <3

***

You hadn’t been around many Illyrians before. You remember the first time you saw Azriel, how wide your eyes had gotten at the sight of the large wings behind him. You had never seen anything like that, anything so dangerously beautiful.

You had been shelving books in your little shop when he had come in. You had turned with a wide smile to greet your new customer, faltering as you took him in. Everything about him was big. You had trailed your eyes over his body before remembering your role here. You cleared your throat and put the smile back on, asking “How can I help you today?” He seemed to have not noticed your reaction to him, or was pretending he didn’t notice.

“I’m looking for a specific book, I was told you may have it here?” Azriel had responded, pulling out a piece of paper with a title and author. You had nodded and disappeared to find it for him. When you brought it back, he had given you a thankful smile and left rather quickly after.

You wanted to see him again.

Much to your pleasant surprise, Azriel began frequenting your little bookstore. You didn’t have too much traffic and sometimes he’d stay for hours talking to you. You started to consider him one of your dearest friends, looking forward to seeing his shadows enter your business.

As time went on your feelings grew for the Shadowsinger. You felt called to him. You started to need to see him, getting anxious whenever it had been a few days since his last visit. You only hoped Azriel hadn’t noticed your change towards him. You knew he would never feel the same way.

Years had gone by since your first meeting, and Az still visited you at least once a week, often more. He had started coming closer to close, helping you lock up and walk you home. You would invite him in occasionally, the two of you staying up late talking and drinking. Those were your favorite nights.

It was a night much like that when everything changed.

You admit you had a bit too much wine to drink that night, but it had been a particularly stressful week with your shop. A sudden increase in clientele had been excellent for your business in theory, yet in practice you weren’t prepared for all the new customers. You had struggled to keep stock, having to turn away many disappointed and angry faeries. Tonight you just wanted to drink and forget about all those problems.

You laughed as Azriel told you a story about his brother Cassian, tipping back more wine. You were probably sitting a bit too close to him on the sofa, but he didn’t seem to mind. You watched the way his eyes lit up as he spoke of his brothers, the way color tinted his cheeks when he revealed something embarrassing. You saw the way his shadows would swirl excitedly when he talked about something dangerous, and you loved the way his wings fluttered with them.

Oh, those wings.

They were one of your favorite parts of Azriel. You loved the way they would catch the sun, brown and red light shining through. You loved the way they reacted to his emotions, how you could tell what he was feeling that day depending on his wings. You loved how they hung strong on his back, giving him that deadly appearance.

You wanted to lick them.

You didn’t think as you reached a hand out and lightly stroked the edge of the wing closest to you. You didn’t even realize what you had done until you noticed Azriel go rigid, his story ending abruptly. You straightened up immediately, your cheeks going red. “Oh, Az I-i’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that without even asking. Did I hurt you?” You asked, embarrassed at your actions. He shook his head, refusing to look at you. “I don’t know anything about Illyrians. Was that rude? Oh I am so sorry!” You rushed out, feeling hot tears of humiliation fill your eyes.

Azriel quickly looked at you when he heard the break in your voice, spotting your tears as they spilled out of your eyes. “Hey, no, it’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” He said comfortingly, reaching over to brush your tears away. You ducked your head, focusing on your glass of wine.

“They’re just beautiful.” You whispered. “I wanted to know what they felt like.” You slowly looked up to him, asking; “Can I touch them again?” Azriels eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed a few times. Finally he nodded, saying; “Softly.” You broke into a giddy smile and set your wine glass down on the table. You carefully reached your hand out, stroking the wing in the same spot. You let your fingers brush over their softness, wanting to feel every inch of them.

You were so caught up in memorizing the feel of Azriels wings against your fingers that you didn’t notice the way his hand gripped the armrest of your sofa. You rubbed down a particularly sensitive spot on his wings, stilling your motions as you heard him let out a heated groan. You looked into his eyes, shocked to see them blown wide with lust. “Az?” You asked curiously, confused as to what was happening.

“Do you know what touching an Illyrians wings feels like for us?” He asked, voice deep. You shook your head as you removed your fingers from him, wondering if you had hurt him in some way. He turned to you, leaning close. Your body was caged under Azriels, your heart going a million beats a minute. “It feels like this.” He spoke lowly, running his fingers over your neck. You gasped at his touch, heat flowing through your body. He seemed to enjoy your reaction, a small smile coming onto his face.

You had imagined a situation like this so many times before, so many nights with your hand between your thighs. Nothing compared to having Azriels hands on you, and all he had done was touch your neck. You were fucked.

You felt like he could read your mind as his smile widened and he leaned down to press a light kiss to the place his fingers had just moved from. You arched into him, wanting more, needing more. “I’ve wanted to touch you for years now.” He whispered over your skin, one hand falling to press your hip down into the couch. You gave a soft moan at his words, desire ripping through your body. You didn’t think twice before you reached up and ran your fingers over his wings again.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for years.” You breathed out, his hand tightening on your hip. Azriel wrapped his other hand around your throat, forcing your eyes to look into his.

“Do it again.” He ground out, a low moan ripping through him as you ran your fingers down the ridges again. “You have no idea what you do to me.” He said before sliding his lips over yours.

The kiss was passionate, needy, searing. It was everything you wanted and more. You wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, the other running down his wings again and again. You gasped when he ground down into you, his tongue sliding into your mouth.

You. Were. Fucked.

The hand on your hip slid under your waistband, finding you over your underwear. He chuckled darkly against your mouth when he felt the wetness seeping through. “All for me?” He asked, kissing you harder. Azriel slipped his fingers under the delicate lace, running them up and down, teasing you.

“Az,” you moaned out, pushing your hips into his touch. He pulled away and smiled down at you, enjoying the lust all over your face.

“What do you say, my needy girl?” His voice was hot, dangerous. You were going to explode if he didn’t touch you.

“Please, Az,” You breathed, his fingers toying with you. “Please touch me.”

At those words his fingers plunged into you, your back arching off the couch as you threw your head back. Fuck. The hand on your throat angled your head back to look at him, a smirk on his face. “Now now, I want to look at those pretty eyes when I make you cum.”

Oh gods. Oh gods. You were done for. You were done for. Azriel moved the palm of his hand so it was rubbing against you, heightened the pleasure you were feeling. You couldn’t help as moan after moan spilled from your lips, the coil tightening in your stomach. You were so close, so close.

Azriel flicked his fingers inside of you once more and you came with a scream, shaking under him. “That’s it, that’s my good girl.” He murmured, kissing your neck, your ears, your face as his fingers helped you through your high. He stopped once you let out a cry of overstimulation, pulling his fingers out of you before popping them in his mouth.

Fucking. Hell.

“Az, if you don’t fuck me right this second i’m going to lose my mind.” You said, your words dripping with desire. His eyes darkened as he leaned over you, the hand on your throat tightening.

“I don’t believe you give out the commands here,” was all he said before attacking your lips with his again. Your hands were all over him, on his chest, on his wings, desperately undoing his pants. You slid him out once you got the ties undone, groaning at the thick length in your hand.

“Az,” you moaned again, pressing your hips into his. “Please.”

“Please what?” He teased, dragging his tip through your folds. You grabbed his head and pulled him down to you, kissing him with as much desire as you could muster.

“Fuck me.” You whispered against his lips, a cry coming from you a second later as he began to push in. Gods, he was so big.

“That’s it, that’s it. You’re taking me so well. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He moaned as he sunk down into you, inch by inch. Once he bottomed out he took a moment for both of you to catch your breath.

You raised your hand, running a finger down his wings again. “Please move, Azriel.” You gasped out, feeling his body push into yours at your touch.

“As you wish.” He answered, pulling out before thrusting all the way back in. You couldn’t help the scream that tore from you. You dug your nails into his back, your other hand still playing with his wing. He began biting and sucking on your neck, relishing the moans you were giving him. “I won’t last much longer if you keep doing that.” He ground out as you ran your fingers down his wings again.

“Good. I want you to cum in me.” You breathed against his skin, a particularly strong bite settling on your neck as he took in your words. Az picked up speed, hand sliding between your legs to circle you. You began moaning his name like a prayer, unable to think anything else. He brought your eyes down to look at his again, fucking you through another orgasm. You scratched your nails on his wing and he came a second after you, spilling into you with a roar.

You both laid there for a few minutes, breathing heavily and processing what you just did. You began to worry that he was going to regret it, that it was a drunken mistake, that he was never going to want to see you again. Azriel pulled out of you slowly, watching as his cum dripped from you.

“I don’t know if I can go without seeing this everyday for the rest of my life.” He said, voice deadly serious. Your eyes widened at his words, your heart soaring. You rose to your knees, pressing your hands to his chest as you lightly kissed him.

“Then make me yours, Shadowsinger.” You said against his lips, a smile breaking out on his face. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back down on the couch, kissing all over your face.

“You’re already mine.”

***

This was just a short little thing to breakup the angsty ones i’ve been writing! I needed something a little easy haha. Please give me all your feedback! My requests are open as well if theres anything you guys want specifically <3

[asvtrials]

can you please write a smut story about Bjorn? I loved the one from your master list and your fluff ones were just incredible I really want to give you freedom for this story cause you’re writing style is addictive 🫀🫀 go nuts!!

Bjorn x fem!reader, minors dni!

summary: What started as an attempt to talk yourself out of the scavenging trip, turned into proving to Bjorn that you are not as proper as he thinks. warnings/tags: smut, shotgunning, smoking weed, riding, p in v, swearing, manipulative Bjorn if you squint your eyes, reader is kind of inexperienced, not proofreader, NOT that accurate to the alien timeline a/n: Thank you for the ask! I'm glad you like my writing! <333 w/c: 2.6k words English is not my first language. Sorry for any mistakes I make.

── ୨ৎ

Tyler's words swirled in your mind as you stared at the ceiling of your trailer. Sweat coated your forehead as the endless possibilities of what could go wrong invaded your thoughts the more you tried to relax and go to sleep. 

It hasn't been an hour since you returned from Tyler and Kay's trailer, and you haven't been able to relax.

 You were never the ‘easy-going’ type but to be fair, Tyler and Navarro's plan was beyond reckless and dangerous. It was impossible.

If anything goes wrong you could easily be stuck in Jackson's Star for the rest of your miserable life to mine coal for Weyland Yutani.

That thought really woke you up, any hit of drowsiness disappearing completely. You sat up, rubbing your face. You checked the clock, “1:08”.

It's not that late.

Tyler wouldn't mind, would he? You just needed to know some details, and maybe say you can't join them.

Yes, that's the right thing to do.

You stood up, throwing on the clothes you previously wore and grabbed your keys before stepping out of your trailer.

The walk wasn't far but you felt guilt the closer you got. You hoped he wouldn't be asleep when you gently knocked on the door.

Part of you hoped he wouldn't answer, maybe then you'd finally do something reckless for once. Before you could finish your thought the door swung up and instead of Tyler you saw-

“Bjorn…Hey.” You muttered as you looked at him.

He stared at you perplexed, cigarette hanging from his plush lips.

“Forgot somethin’?” He mumbled.

“Uh, no. I wanted to talk to Tyler, is he here?” You replied, stepping up the metal steps.

“Not here, sorry to disappoint.” He said but moved to the side to let you in. “Ya wanted him…why exactly?” He asked, his voice gruff and dripping with implication.

You weren't sure if you wanted to share your fears with Bjorn. The number of times that he had made fun of Rain and even you for being reluctant made you somewhat standoffish around him. His loud and hot-headed personality didn't particularly help his reliability.

“What about Kay?” You tried to change the subject.

“With Rain, probably.” He spoke, sitting back down on the couch and blowing off a drag from his mouth.

A string of coughs escaped you when you smelled the smoke, he chuckled lightly. You should've guessed he was smoking weed by the redness in his eyes and his rough voice.

“Right” You muttered awkwardly, trying to clear your scratchy throat. “Sorry.”

“Ya didn't say wha’ you wanted him fo’.” He spoke before you could reach for the door handle.

“Nothing serious, just wanted to ask some questions.” You answered vaguely.

“Mm” He hummed, staring at his blunt before taking a long drag “Sorry to cock-block ya” He chuckled and blowed out the smoke.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “That's not what i-” you tried to defend.

“Relax. I just didn't think ya were like that, that's all.” He cut you off, finally taking his eyes away from his joint and focusing, as much as he could, on you.

His focus wasn't something you felt like you wanted, nor you ever get since you never spent any time alone with him. 

But having his eyes on you was surprisingly pleasant…

“I really just wanted to ask some questions.” You repeated, voice louder this time.

“Okay, bloody hell.” He swore under his breath.

You wanted to turn around and leave but his previous words still played in your mind “And what does “like that” mean?” You asked, accusation evident in your tone “What am I not like?” 

Bjorn sighed irritated. He groaned and some smoke escaped from his nose “Y’know, like a hooking up kinda chick.”

You could feel your anger babbling in your chest “You think I can't hook up with someone?” You retorted.

Bjorn’s glossy, reddened eyes seemed more focused as he slowly dragged them down your figure. “Nah, you can. I just don't think you do.” He murmured, a sly smile spreading across his face. 

The warmness that spread on your face made you feel almost as confused as his words. Especially since his words were true. You never did that sort of stuff. The idea of sleeping with someone you didn't know wasn't something you ever felt like doing.

But his words still pushed you to argue. “You think I'm some goody-two-shoes that has no life?” 

Bjorn didn't answer, just brought the blunt to his lips. He eyed you, shrugging mockingly..

You scoffed, muttering a small “whatever” but once again his words stopped you.

“Here.” 

When you turned you were met with Bjorn extending his hand to you, his blunt sitting lazily between his fingers.

You narrowed your eyes.

“Oh yeh, forgot ya didn’t smoke” He taunted and turned his face away.

“You’re such a fucking ass…” You muttered and walked to him. Before he could bring the cigarette to his lips you snatch it, bringing it to yours instead.

You wanted to believe it was because he was challenging you, underestimating you even but a small part of you knew that now that you got a taste of his attention, you wanted more—no, needed more.

You took a long, deep drag, keeping your eyes on Bjorn’s surprised ones. You kept your cool, the bitter taste invading your lungs but you kept your cough in. You broke when you saw Bjorn's mouth slowly twist into a smirk, a very approving one…

You coughed harder than before, the smoke coming out of your mouth wasn’t helping you at all. Bjorn cackled at your reaction and held your waist, prompting you to sit down.

“Jesus, Y/n” He laughed when your coughing fit came to an end. “I’m impressed.”

“Shut up.” You muttered but couldn’t stop the small smile that crept to your face.

Bjorn brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a slow puff, the same cigarette that sat between your lips moments ago.

You blushed.

The room fell silent but your thoughts about leaving the trailer were long gone. And not only because of the dizziness that slowly made its way to your sleepy mind.

You don't know if it's the substance that infested your mind but your eyes kept flickering back to Bjorn, or more accurately, his lips. 

Your tongue ran over your bottom lip as he opened his mouth and let the smoke escape his mouth.

You didn't miss the way your lips opened slightly to breathe in, letting the smoke explore your mouth. He didn't miss it either.

“Ya know…Ty won't be her’ for anotha hour or so…” He began, his eyes meeting your for a moment before letting them travel down your warm face, stopping at your lips. “If you wanna try doin’ otha things…i can help ya.”

You knew what he meant and for some reason you didn't back down. You didn't slap him and tell him that he's disgusting, neither did you sent him to hell and run off the trailer.

Instead you moved to him, your lips so close you could feel the smoke slowly moving past to your own lips.

You didn't wait for him to make a move. You closed the gap between you and pressed your lips against his without much thought.

Bjorn didn't take long to react, kissing back with the force that you lacked. Still, you tried to keep up with his hungry movements as his hands quickly wrapped around your waist.

You gasped in surprise when he bit your bottom lip. Bjorn didn't waste any time to push his tongue past your lips.

Your tongues and lips moved hungrily against each other. His eagerness made you wonder if he had noticed you before you realized.

You shivered when his hands slid under your shirt and gripped the delicate skin of your waist. 

“Bjorn—” You broke the kiss making the boy frown.

You didn't wanna stop but your mind was starting to race, your thoughts coming back, and the fear of regret settling in.

Quickly, you grabbed his hand, attempting to take another drag from the blunt but Bjorn seized his hand back. 

“Ah, ah, ah.” He stopped with a crooked smile. “It's clear you're shit at this.”  Rather, he wrapped his lips around the cigarette, breathing in deeply.

“Stop being an assh—” You began but he silenced you when he grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

His thumb brushed your bottom lip, encouraging you to open your mouth and you found yourself complying without a second thought.

With a gentle breath, he let the smoke travel to your mouth like a snake, choking you for a second but giving you enough courage to move closer once again, brushing your bottom lip against his before diving in for another ravenous kiss.

Bjorn's hand moves to your hair, wrapping his fist around it and pulling you even closer. You hummed your own hand reaching to cup his face.

The scene was messy and frantic. Lips moving like you were trying to devour each other, hands clawing on clothes and skin like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Bjorn's groans of pleasure encouraged you to let your soft sounds slip past your bruised lips.

Bjorn was the first one to break apart, throwing his head against the couch. “Shit, Y/n” He chuckled lowly, hands lazily roaming your back. 

You didn't say anything, you were too busy staring at his swollen, spit-painted lips. 

He cleared his throat. “You wanna keep goin’ or you want another one” He mumbled, wiggling the blunt between his fingers.

“I don't need it anymore.” You replied and you could see his lips twitch upwards.

Without warning, he closed the gap between you once again, leaning against you while attacking your already bruised lips.

He attempted to lay you down on the couch but you stopped him by tugging at his hair.

He pulled away only to move down to your neck, chuckling between kisses “Wussed out already?”

“No.” You breathed out, pulling at his hair to make him look at you in the eyes. “Maybe I just like being on top.”

With lust-clouded eyes, he smirked. “You keep surprising me, doll.”  A small whine left his lips when you tugged at his hair harder.

You kept surprising yourself too. Bjorn didn't seem to be a careful or attentive lover. He seemed selfish and rough and although the thought made your chest rise and fall faster, you weren't sure if you wanted to leave the pace up to him. Especially with how heightened the unfamiliar drug had made your senses.

To be fair, he looked just as excited to have you on top of him.

He grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, the split second your hands left him felt like pure misery for the both of you.

The drug really made you crazy, right?

Not wanting to let him have the upper hand, you took off his hoodie. Goosebumps covered both of your bodies but neither of you cared, grabbing and clawing at every piece of skin you could reach.

Normally, kissing as sloppily as you did now would leave you disgusted but all you wanted to do right now was consume him whole until you were spent and satisfied.

“Fuck…” he groaned and pulled at his belt, quickly undoing it.

You lifted your body a bit to let him push his pants down to his hips, taking his boxers too. His dick sprung up, settling against his stomach.

You eyed his member as he sloppily kissed your collarbone, but you were too focused on the fact that you haven't really been with many people, especially not people who were…as blessed.

“You gon’ stare for long? I don't mind but you promised me somethin’ else, doll.” He spoke against your neck. Despite his words, you could hear a small hint of pride underlining his tone.

“I didn't promise you anything.” You argued but stood up to remove your pants. You didn't even try to look sexy as you kicked your pants to the side. His hands gripped your thighs as you straddled his lap once again.

He fisted his cock and lined himself against your entrance impatiently. He threw his head back against the head of the couch, a loud moan left his lips at the feeling of his tip sliding oh so easily between your dripping folds,.

“Bjorn…” You mumbled and he looked up at you with a hum. Fuck, he already looked so fucked out… “Condom.”

He froze for a second, seemingly too out of it to comprehend your words at first. Quickly, he started to ruffle through his pockets hastily. 

“Shit.” He swore under his breath. He sighed when he found a forgotten condom in the back pocket of his jeans.

You chuckled at how eagerly he ripped the packaging and rolled the rubber down his length. He winced at the feeling but didn’t even flinch.

“Didn’t know you'd act like such a virgin” You teased breathlessly, your own panting making you unable to look as confident as you would've wished.

Bjorn didn't say anything. He grabbed your waist tightly, his short nails digging into your skin. You yelped but that pain was quickly replaced by the burning of your cunt being stretched as he slowly lowered you onto his dick.

You hissed and leaned closer, pressing his face against your neck, and Bjorn wrapped his arms around your waist tightly.

You moaned loudly against his ear. The feeling of being filled so deeply, so fully was addicting.

“Fuuuck” He groaned, pressing his lips on your skin seemingly unwittingly. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“It has been a while.” You chuckled, trying to get used to his size.

“Yeah. Bet you were waiting for the right one, huh?” He groaned, leaving open-mouthed kisses wherever he could find. 

“Fuck!” You moaned when he thrust into you.

He grabbed your hips, silently telling you to move. You complied, cycling your trembling hips on his cock. 

Bjorn dropped his joint from his hands ignoring how it fell to the ground in favor of grabbing your ass.

Tears collected on your lash line at the feeling of being this stretched. “Bjorn!” You moaned when he moved your hips faster.

“Wanted to do that for so long…” He groaned.

You squirmed and whined above him, not only by the speed at which he forced your hips to move but by his words as well.

“R-really?” You stuttered moving your head to pull at the hair on the back of his head.

“Fuckin’ hell. So fucking hot and you don't even know it” He whispered lowly “Wanted to fuck you the moment Rain brought you here.” 

You let out a moan that sounded more like a sob but that didn't stop Bjorn. He bounced you on his cock like his life depended on it.

He moved closer, seemingly wanting to kiss you but his own moans stopped him. You settled on sharing your choking breaths, wet lips brushing against each other the closer you got to the edge.

Your thighs trembled, attempting to tell him you're close but before you could even begin he quickly slid his hand on your clit, rubbing roughly.

“Go on, cum on my cock, darling.” He nearly growls.

“Please, Bjorn!” You cried his name over and over again until you came with a sob but he didn't stop. Even when you tried to push his thighs down, he kept thrusting deeper into you.

You cling to his shoulders as he came inside the condom with a strangled moan, grasping your ass tighter.

Good on you for trying to set the pace.

You weren't sure what to say but it turns out you didn't need to say anything. Bjorn's lips latched to yours once again, kissing you deeply.

This was definitely not the last time you decided to be adventurous.

[pathologicalreid]

Spencer ordering breakfast in and serving breakfast in bed on readers first day of spring break!!! He knows reader has been working so hard and it being hard on the bth people while he’s gone on longer cases :,) reader would def send a pic to Penelope and she’d show the others 🤭

breakfast in bed | S.R.

your boyfriend surprises you with breakfast in bed to celebrate spring break

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: fluff! fun fluffy fluff!!!!!! word count: 1.2k a/n: thank you for requesting!! it's my first day of spring break, so i figured today would be the perfect day to post this!!

At the click of the front door, your eyes fluttered open. The bright light seeping through the blinds of your bedroom led you to start squinting as you felt around the other side of the bed for your boyfriend, disappointment filling your chest when you realized he wasn’t there.

Rolling on your back, you sighed and let gravity press you into the mattress, letting yourself enjoy the comfort of your covers before sitting up and reaching over to your nightstand. You used your water carafe to pour yourself a glass of water, sipping it while you allowed your mind and body to wake up.

A rustling in the kitchen got your attention, and it wasn’t long until the door to your bedroom swung open, showing your boyfriend on the other side of the opening. “Good morning,” his voice chimed at you, “I thought you were still asleep.”

You shook your head softly, setting your water glass back on the nightstand, “Just woke up. What’s going on?” Quickly, you analyzed the sight in front of you. Spencer was dressed casually, definitely not his usual work garb – strange for a Monday morning.

He padded over to you and presented you with a tray, he extended the legs of the tray and placed it over your lap. “It’s spring break,” Spencer said matter-of-factly, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you looked at him. “Yes,” you said warily, “it’s my spring break.” Spencer hadn’t had a spring break since he finished his bachelor’s in philosophy, and even then, he had been working for the bureau.

“I wanted to make it special,” he told you, disappearing back into the kitchen before returning with a drink carrier and an unlabeled white bag.

Your lips parted in surprise, “You went to Moe’s?’

He nodded enthusiastically. “It’s your favorite,” he explained simply, setting the drink carrier on your nightstand before distributing your coffee and juice to your tray.

You reached for the coffee first, swirling it slightly in the cup before responding, “It’s all the way across town.” That was part of the reason you rarely went, the last thing you wanted to do at first light was commute through the district.

Spencer hummed in response, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your hairline, “You’re worth it.” He set the white bag on your tray before climbing up on the bed with you, sharing the tray. “You look pretty,” he observed, slightly out of left field.

Setting your coffee down, you cleared your throat, “I just woke up, Spence.” Gently, you reached for the white bag, opened the crinkly paper, and let the smell fill your senses.

“The time that you’ve been awake doesn’t alter how beautiful you are,” he informed you, watching as you filtered through the food in the bag. You grabbed your phone off of the charger and snapped a picture of your breakfast in bed, quickly sending it to Penelope before typing out a message about being spoiled.

Putting your phone away, you grinned, “Maybe you’re biased by the fact that I wore your shirt to sleep in.”

He beamed at you and nodded almost imperceptibly, “There’s also that.”

As the two of you ate, you checked the time as it got suspiciously late in the morning. Crumpling your napkin in your hand, you looked up at Spencer, “When do you have to go in?”

You knew that sometimes, after particularly rough cases, Agent Hotchner would tell the team they didn’t need to come in until a little later in the morning, but it was pushing ten in the morning now and you were curious. Spencer perked up a little at your question, “I have to be there at ten tomorrow for the debrief, but I’m yours until then.”

“You took the day off of work?” Silently, you tried to remember the last time Spencer had taken a day off by choice, but nothing came to mind.

He nodded eagerly, “I wanted to spend time with you, while you don’t have work or school.” He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before getting up and taking care of the mess.

When you weren’t at home or in school, you worked as a teaching assistant, so since classes weren’t in session, work wasn’t in session. “You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, grabbing your coffee off of the tray before he could clear it.

Spencer smiled softly at you, leaning over, and pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, “I missed you. We kept missing each other, I had to do something.” He slipped away to the kitchen, “I planned the whole day for us.”

A grin bloomed on your face, “You did?” You laughed lightly, “What are we doing today?”

Upon his return, Spencer paused in the opening, leaning on the painted wood of the doorframe. “We are going to go see the cherry blossoms, did you know I’ve never seen them?”

You cocked your head curiously, “You’ve lived in DC for eight years and you’ve never seen the cherry blossoms?” Really, you were surprised that you didn’t know that about him.

“Angel, I had to take the day off just to see you,” he reminded you, walking back to where you were perched on the bed. Tenderly, he cupped your cheeks in his hands, “Did you sleep alright? You looked tired last night.”

Nodding emphatically, you peered up at him, “Yeah, sleeping in felt nice.”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, “You’ve been working so hard lately, I want to make sure you’re remembering to take care of yourself. Especially since I’m not always here with you.”

You had to work hard, especially if you wanted to graduate early like you planned. “You’ve been gone a lot,” you concurred, “saving lives is a busy job.”

Carefully, Spencer sat down next to you on the bed, pushing the mattress down slightly under the weight of him. “I know it’s hard on you when I’m gone,” he whispered.

“I know it’s hard on you when you’re gone,” you echoed sympathetically. He had just been gone for two weeks, and when he came back, he didn’t have the energy to do anything other than rest his head on your shoulder while you worked on a term paper. When you finished for the night, he had fallen asleep like that. You didn’t have the heart to wake him up, so you both slept on the couch.

He hummed, dropping his hands to your waist, “I love you.”

Leaning up, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “I love you too, Spence.” You studied his golden irises, “So… cherry blossoms will take a few hours at most, what do you have planned for afterward?”

A sly grin spread on your boyfriend’s face, “It’s a secret. You’ll find out later.”

Confused, you watched as he turned around to the bathroom. Shaking your head, you reached for your phone to see that Penelope had responded.

Penny G: EEK Penny G: Morgan wants you to tell Spencer he was not aware of his game.

Rolling your eyes, you dropped your phone on the mattress and went to join your boyfriend in the shower.

[bonesxbows]

Ghosts of the Void (Arthur Nightingale X Reader)

My Masterlist

You're unsurprisingly plagued by nightmares. Arthur offers to stay with you through the night when he hears you calling out to him, but what ends up happening is more than either of you expected possible in the realm of dreams meeting transference. He doesn't seem to mind though, guiding you through the hellscape of your mind to bring you back to reality.

(WARNINGS) - Character death (in dreams, not in actuality) - Descriptions of panic attacks - Nightmares - Slight spoilers for the hex quest (dialogue spoilers)

I am on a roll with writing about Arthur and not even god himself could stop me at this point

Not 100% if I like how this one turned out, might revisit this idea later. Let me know what you think. Ty for reading :)

Banners by @strangergraphics

You couldn't remember the last time you had slept soundly through the night. The coldness, the darkness, the loneliness in your new surroundings in the backroom felt too suffocating every time you laid your head down. No matter how long you tried meditating or trying to distract yourself beforehand, the nightmares always came flooding back with viper-like speed, swirling in your head in a noxious cloud of inky black abysmal dread until it forced you shooting up straight in your bed, screaming and terrified. You prayed no one else in the Mall could hear you when you did wake up screaming bloody murder, though you doubt your prayers were answered. 

One night it had gotten particularly bad, worse than before. You were back in Duviri, the all-too-familiar execution in full swing. Though it wasn’t your head on the chopping block; no, it wasn’t your body beneath the executioner's sword, the one there now was much more metal and steel than yours should have been. The winds blew his hair and the strands grazed the blade set against his neck. You wanted to thrash against the Dax holding you in place, curse out Dominus Thrax as he began his speech, run to the warframe knelt on the ground and trade places with him, but your efforts were futile. You were frozen in place by an invisible force. And then it was too late; the sword had fallen. You watched in horror as his lifeless body slumped forward, his head severed onto the stone pavement, the lights of his warframe flickering out one by one as his systems powered down. A scream ripped through your throat, you cried out for him, shrieking until your vocal cords went raw. 

That was when you woke up, tears streaming down your face, sweat coating your back, and a sob caught in your lungs. You tried to catch your breath, tried to remind yourself that it wasn’t real, but it all felt so…vivid. Like you had just watched his death happen right in front of you. Again, for that matter. How many times would you have to see it? 

However, your train of thought was cut short when you heard a knock at your door. You caught your breath, waiting for the sound again, making sure you weren’t imagining things, and sure enough it rang out again throughout the room. You wiped your eyes with the back of your sleeves and hurried out of bed to scurry down the steps towards the sound, opening the door to find Arthur, hand raised like he was about to knock again and hair looking less than his usual well-kept look. He looked frantic, like he had rushed to your door in a hurry. 

“Arthur? What…What’re you doing here?” You asked him. His presence wasn’t unwelcome, in fact, you were glad to see him in front of you after the scenes that had just been playing behind your eyelids, but it was still jarring nonetheless. 

“I…heard you calling for me, so I came to check on you.” He hesitated, as if he risked sounding like he was making up excuses to be at your door in the middle of the night, or that he was hearing things himself. You wanted to adore the thought of him caring enough about your well-being to tear himself from his sleep to make sure you were alright, but the mention that he had heard you call out for him made your blood run cold. Had you been screaming that loudly? Or had some other mind link been made during your dream-induced emotional turmoil? 

“Oh…sorry about that…I’m fine, Arthur. You can go back to sleep. I appreciate you stopping by though.” You plastered the fakest smile you could muster onto your face, hoping your defensive walls were tall enough that he couldn’t see over them. Though all it would’ve taken was one good blow to make you crack and crumble. 

Arthur wasn’t fully blind. His experience with Amir had taught him the signs to look for, and he recognized all of them in you. The way you would be the first one awake every day, the discoloration underneath your eyes that seemed to get worse by the day, the weeks you would progressively drag on and continuously get slower on the draw before he would find you passed out somewhere in the Mall fast asleep, the noises that would startle him awake at night that he would tell himself was just the techrot underneath them but in reality was you screaming in your sleep. He had seen it all before, though this time it was even closer to home. “Would you like me to stay with you? Through the night?” 

At first, you thought he was joking, having a laugh and poking fun like the rest of the Hex did with one another, but his eyes were so sincere you were caught by surprise. “You want to? Are you sure?”

“Only if you’re comfortable.” 

You mulled your lip between your teeth, rocking on the balls of your feet slightly as you considered his suggestion. The thought of crawling back to the cold loneliness of your bed seemed daunting; like a trap laying in wait for you, ready to spring another bad dream upon your sleep as soon as you laid down. And he had been the one to offer…

“Okay.” It was barely above a whisper, but he heard it all the same, a ghost of a smile dancing across his face in relief. You stepped back, allowing him space to walk into the backroom, the mechanical door closing behind him as you swallowed your reservedness and threaded your fingers in between his, guiding him up the stairs toward your little loft apartment. He let you lead the way, never once making any signs of objection. The two of you had done this dance a hundred times before; him finding a comfortable spot on your bed, you curling into his side with your head nestled on his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, a blanket tossed loosely over the two of you. Though this time was different, all of the time the two of you had spent on your bed he had never stayed longer than a few hours, certainly not overnight. You had never asked him to, he had never asked if he could, and it was left at that. 

But now here he was, practically a furnace beneath you, his techrot-induced quickened heartbeat thrumming in your ear. You realized why it had never crossed your mind to ask him to stay; how were you supposed to get any sleep with the thought of him so close to you? But then you felt his hand make its way into your hair, his metal fingers mindlessly threading through the strands, a silent lullaby that calmed your mind enough for you to drift back to sleep, cozied in his arms. 

You felt something cold dripping onto your nose, the startling sensation yanking you from your sleep. Your eyes shot open, your hand coming up to wipe the substance off of your skin. Your fingers came back drenched in thick, sticky red. The rest of your slumber that had held on to the back of your mind immediately vanished. You held your breath, looking up towards where the dripping had been coming from, only to be met with a mangled corpse impaled to the ceiling above you, blood dripping down onto you and the surrounding floor. You had been lying in a puddle of the stuff. You swallowed a scream and scrambled up, almost slipping in the sticky mess in your haste. Your heartbeat was in your throat and it was then that you realized where you were, scanning the area revealed a scene that felt hauntingly familiar. Hallways from your childhood, doused in blood and ghosts and sins of the past. The Zariman. How had you ended up here? 

A piercing scream ringing off of the metal hallways and echoing towards your ears cut off your train of thought before it even had a chance to begin. People were being hunted, the body on the ceiling you had found was proof enough of that. You needed to move. Your feet decided for you before your mind did, picking a direction and taking off. You ran down the hallway, taking a left, a right, another left, screams and void explosions echoing behind you. Closer and closer and closer. 

You came across an open doorway and swung yourself inside, praying it was empty as you crouched down, your heart hammering in your head and your breaths coming out ragged. You sat down, curling your knees into your chest and placing your hands over your ears, your whole body shaking. You could hear them, so close to your hideaway; their screams, their shrieks, the splatter of gore as they tore limb from limb. You breathed, in and out, willing them to Just. Go. Away. You didn’t know how you had gotten here in the first place but you wanted out, you wanted to go back. Back to Arthur, back to the safety of the backroom, back to the chaos of 1999, back to your chosen home. You wanted to go back to him. And maybe, just maybe, if you focused hard enough you could will yourself away from this place. 

He had been sleeping, or at least he thought he had been sleeping, and then suddenly he wasn’t. Or…was he still sleeping? He honestly couldn’t tell anymore but he knew he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Cold, void-touched metal walls surrounded him, hallways of someplace he didn’t recognize. He picked himself up off the floor, how he had gotten down there he couldn’t remember, but he stood up regardless, surveying what laid in front of him. A lounge room of some sort, destroyed as if during a fight and furniture flipped over as barricades. Wherever he was had been, or was currently, a warzone. A switch flipped in his brain that set him on edge, his fingers itching for his AX-52. 

He exited the room carefully, seeing more of the same for as far as his eyes could see; battle-torn destruction and void-damaged metal. He heard a scream and whipped his head around, faced with multiple hallways that stretched in various directions. He pressed his back to the nearest wall and waited. One count, two count, three count, four…but nothing ever came. He heard it again, this time closer, but listening more carefully it sounded more like a strangled sob. It took him a minute to realize it was coming from inside his own head. Then he heard your voice. 

“I’m going to fucking die here…They’re gonna kill me!” you were sobbing, choking on your own words as you screamed them out. You sounded terrified. He discovered he hated the sound. 

“Who’s going to kill you? Where are we, love?” he asked, his voice soft in an attempt to soothe you, but his words fell on deaf ears. 

“I'm going to die and…and I’m never-” you paused, hiccups overcoming you as you tried to speak and cry at the same time. “I’m never going to see him again! Fuck! I’m gonna die all alone in this stupid place! I just-” he could hear you sniffle, gulping in air between ragged breaths. “I just want Arthur back.” 

He could feel his heart wretch. Did you not know he was here? You had to have been the one to summon him here, right? He knew of no one else who could. He scanned the hallways one last time, double making sure the coast was clear before heading back to the room he had originally found himself in. He sat down, closed his eyes, and tried to focus on your presence. You had to be in there, somewhere. “Sweets, can you hear me?” he tried, your cries still echoing around his mind. When there came no reply he tried again. “Listen to me; you’re not alone. I’m right here, love. Can you hear my voice?” he made sure to be gentle, but with a twinge of his commanding-ness that he knew, or at least hoped, would grab your attention. His brow furrowed as he searched for anything in his mind that could be a response from you, anything that showed him you were at least listening. 

“...Arthur?” It was meek and hesitant but it was there. He let out a sigh of relief, the sobs had stopped and you had acknowledged his presence. 

“I’m here, love. By Sol, I’m here. What’s going on?” 

“I…I don’t know!” you burst into tears again, he could practically feel the sobs racking your whole body, your cold tears on his face and the nerves of his fingers shaking with anxiety. He cursed himself for not approaching the subject more delicately. 

“Come now, sweets, you’re alright. Nothing can hurt you now that I’m here, you know that. Let’s start with, where are we? Can you do that?” 

He could hear you try to regulate your breathing, a trick he had taught you the first time he had witnessed you having a panic attack. The memory made him smile, just a little. “I…um…we…we’re on the Zariman and- oh Arthur! The Angels! The Angels are coming! Can’t you hear them?! They’ll find us! We have to run! Right now!” you had stayed calm for all of about two seconds, panic zinging through his nervous system as you tried to will his feet to move. But he held them still, his will over his own body stronger than your attempted control while you were in such a frazzled state. 

“Hold on, love, who’re the Angels? Are they the ones trying to kill you?” You didn’t have time to answer him as a piercing shrill scream rang through the metallic halls, this time Arthur knew for certain it wasn’t coming from inside of his mind. He was quick to his feet, looking for something, anything, to defend the two of you with. The room provided nothing. He cursed, grasping for his exalted blade, hoping his protoframe abilities still worked in whatever nightmarish place this was. Thankfully they did, the sword glowing to life in the palms of his hands. The blueish steel was all he needed. He could hear the shrills becoming louder as it screamed, sharp metal claws clanking and echoing off the walls as it searched. The creature was hunting. He didn’t have much time. 

He knew you could hear the monster through his ears, your presence had retreated to the farthest corners of his mind you could find, trying to escape the horrors that awaited you on the outside. But he could still hear you, could still sense you, crying and shaking and pleading with him to just make the thing go away. 

“I’m here to help, love, but it’s up to you. I don’t know what I’m up against. You don’t have to fight this, but you need to help me. I know you’re still in there, you’re still you underneath all that fear.” he was as calm as he could be knowing that an unknown void horror was about to be barreling down on top of him at any moment. But there was no response. And the newfound ringing in his ears could only mean that the creature had found him. 

He dashed out of the room, sliding across the floor and down the hallway, skirting underneath the legs of the lanky abomination. It shrieked, clawing at him with its metal arms. He rebounded, pouncing off of the floor and using the wall as leverage to jump at one of its legs, slashing at the metal, void energy tumbling out as his blade made contact. 

“Arthur,” you called out, his concentration severed at your sudden words. The creature slashed at him and his momentary surprise knocked him off balance, it missed, but only by inches as he jumped back and landed on his calves.“Arthur, I’m here! Aim for its center!” 

He grunted, ducking down as it swung at him again. He rolled, sliding until he was perfectly underneath the monster. His move confused it, its claws slamming down into the ground around itself as it spun around in a circle in an attempt to claw under itself, screeching the whole while. “Look up!” you shouted in his mind, and he immediately obeyed, being met with a center mass of concentrated swirling void energy, the coldness radiating off of the tip of his nose. “See?” 

“Yeah, yeah I do,” he replied, kicking up off of the floor into a jump straight through the creature, leading with the tip of his sword. He met the ceiling as it screamed, ricocheting off with his hands and landing onto the floor as the monster crumbled, the two severed halves hitting the floor with a resounded thud. All remains of the glowing void energy were gone, dissipating out of the cracks between the metal like wisps of smoke blown away in a storm. 

“It’s dead…” you told him as if you didn’t actually believe the corpse by his feet. He kicked it for good measure, showing you that it was well and truly not getting back up. You breathed in relief and he could sense the smile ghosting across your face. But it was quickly chased away by the sounds of more shrieks echoing down the halls. Again, and again, and again. As if there was more than one this time. You began to pull away again, your heart rate intermixing with his and beating in his throat. “No…no no no. No! Arthur, I can’t! Not again! I can’t! Arthur!” you were panicking, breathing becoming a challenge as oxygen refused to fill your lungs. It knocked the wind out of him. 

He fell to a knee, propping his weight on his sword. If he didn’t calm you down, and quickly, you would send the both of you spiraling into a panic attack. He could already feel his heart rate quickening, trying to match yours. Damn this transference. 

“You can, love. You’re strong enough. I’m right here with you.” he focused on you, blocking out the noises fast approaching. He spoke slow, steady, like a beacon in the whirlwind of your racing mind, searching for you. 

“We don’t have time for this, they’ll be on us any second!” you screamed in his mind, the essence of tears streaming down your face and ghosting down his skin. You were trying to will him to get up, to run, to do anything but just sit here like prey waiting to be slaughtered. 

“Slow. It. Down. Breathe, sweets.” he commanded, but not in a forceful way. The change of tone in his voice made you listen, though. The gruffness from his lowered octave had a way of pulling your attention and he knew it. 

“I…I…” 

But he didn’t let you continue and instead began deliberately breathing in and out, slowly, surely, steadily. Your mind suddenly went blank, the swirling thoughts seeming to calm as you unintentionally started to follow his example. Everything worked better, clearer, now that oxygen was returning to your system, and by proxy Arthur’s system as well. He could feel your mind begin to calm, the whirlwind slowing into a breeze. Relief washed over his nerves as you continued to breathe like he had shown you, your tears drying up and your heart rate returning to normal. He leaned on his sword and fully stood up, rolling his shoulders back and positioning his feet into a fighting stance just as the clicking of metallic claws rounded the corner down the hallway in front of him, the mass of void and twisted metal creatures coming into view, screeching and screaming. 

“What do we do?” you asked him. Your voice was quiet, timid. He could tell you were still frightened, but you sounded more sure of yourself. Your voice was here, in the current present with him, and not lost or trapped in the fears of your mind anymore. You were relying on him. He had asked you to place all of your trust in him at this moment and you had done so without a second thought. Sol above, he would never forgive himself if he bollocked this up now. 

“These creatures scare you.” it was a statement more than a question but he could feel your presence nod furiously in his head. You watched as he stared the approaching void angels down, his sword raised above his shoulder at the ready, his face carved out of stone as their claws clattered and tore down the hallway towards him. “Then we kill your fear.” his voice was low, threatening, dangerous. Sharp as the blade held in his hands and twice as deadly. He sounded so sure of himself you were almost weary to ask if that was even possible, but you never got the chance to anyway, his blade clashing with void-enhanced steel for the second time. 

There were at least three, if not more that could pop out of the walls at any second. Arthur slashed and dashed around the space provided, nicking the metal appendages of the monsters whenever an opening was available, which wasn't often. Claws constantly crashed down around him, threatening to crush and impale him with every move. Worry chewed at your nervous system. He was part warframe, sure, but he could still only handle so much. He was starting to slow down, the constant dodging and bouncing around wearing him thin. Sweat stuck thick to his brow, drenching his hair. He rebounded from a jump and kicked off of the wall with his foot, coming down on one of the angels with the tip of his sword, embedding it into the corroded metal, inches too far from hitting the mass of energy in the center. The creature wailed and tried to shake him off, leaving his sword still stuck in its carapace and throwing him across the room into a different wall, hard. The impact left a noticeable dent in the metal exterior. He heard you groan in his head, his name tumbling from your lips as if to ask if he was okay. Which only left him more confused. 

He had been thrown across the room by a void-born monster, slammed into a metal wall with enough force to dent it, and yet he felt…nothing? He felt fine, if he was being honest. A little tired from all the fighting but certainly not injured, not like he should have been for someone who had just been flung spine-first into a wall. But you were groaning in pain. The gears began to turn in his head just as the angels found where their plaything had escaped to. 

“It’s a dream…” he dashed away from the oncoming threat, now defenseless as his sword was still out of reach. 

You felt the need to cough up blood but doing so was impossible while inside a warframe, the copper liquid forcing its way back down your throat, Arthur’s words not even registering in your head. “What?” 

“This is your dream, love! It’s a nightmare! This isn’t real!” It had clicked; you were tormenting yourself, running through your worst fears, and causing yourself pain in the process. He hadn’t quite figured out how he’d ended up here with you, but this dream didn’t include him, he was never aboard the Zariman. His pain wasn’t a part of your torment. 

“What do you mean this isn’t real?! It fucking feels real!” You didn’t believe him. How could you believe him when your head still throbbed from being thrown and blood still poured from between your teeth? 

He huffed, sliding underfoot of the metallic beasts as claws swung in his direction again. “You trust me, don’t you? Transfer out of me and prove me wrong, love. I wouldn’t lie to you.” 

You hummed aggressively, though it reverberated through his ears as more of a whine. Whether you believed the facts you were seeing in front of his eyes didn’t matter, you believed him, and that was enough. 

“Let’s get out of here. The both of us, okay, sweets?” He asked softly, his hands at the ready as his eyes focused on the void angels stalking towards him, backing him into a corner. The threat was imminent, but his attention never left you, though, in the back of his mind. You were his way out of this hellscape, his only way out of this hellscape of your memory’s creation, if he could get you to listen to him. He didn’t panic as their claws started to swing in his direction, their shrieks piercing his eardrums, and he didn’t flinch either when their metal appendages came to a dead stop mid-air. Their hulking frames had froze mid-stance, outstretched towards him, but now dead, lifeless, their screams coming to an abrupt halt, deafening silence washing over the area.  

“Okay.” You answered, your voice clear as a bell ringing in his head. His eyes forcefully shut, his protoframe body shutting down as his mind drifted back to reality. 

You awoke with a gasp, tears automatically streaming down your face as you bolted upright, clutching and clawing at your chest as your lungs tried and failed to catch up to the rapid racing of your heartbeat. Arthur had woken up at the same time as you, a groan tumbling from his lips as being forcefully yanked from transference turned out to be a very rude wake-up call. He regained his composure quickly, though, sitting up and immediately pulling you into his lap, cradling you in his arms. Moments like this you reminded him of those old porcelain dolls that used to be everywhere before the techrot took over; small, fragile, one wrong move and he could shatter you into a million pieces that he wouldn’t have the first clue of how to put back together the right way. 

“Arthur…” you called out his name, watery eyes staring up at him. 

He brushed your hair out of your face, the strands sticking to your skin due to sweat, likely from you being fitful in bed during your nightmare. “You’re okay, love.” His voice barely above a whisper in your ear. 

“I’m sorry.” You blurted out, a fresh wave of tears falling from your eyes. His hand came up to caress your cheek, his metal thumb gently wiping the tears away as they fell. 

“What for?” 

“For…for bringing you into all…that. I…I didn’t even know that was possible. I’m so sorry.” you explained, placing your hands on his chest to ground yourself, the warmth of his frame radiating through your fingertips and keeping you from bursting into sobs. 

He tightened his hold on you, silently reminding you that you were here, with him, in your home in Höllvania, no longer trapped within your dream world. “You reached out to me when you needed me, don’t feel like you have to apologize for that.” he kissed you softly on the forehead, the feeling of his lips lingering on your skin. You crumpled against his chest, exhausted and at a loss for words. “You’re safe, love. They can’t hurt you here.” he reminded you, nestling his face into your hair as he gave you another gentle squeeze. 

He held you there in the dark, for how long you couldn’t remember. You cradled securely in his arms and him wrapped protectively around you, chasing away any further nightmares. Neither one of you fell asleep anytime soon, but when you did, you knew he would be there, your swordsman, his steel at the ready to drive away the monsters that plagued your mind. 

[insidemyrottenbrain]

Henry wants to move away from the city and surprises you with a country house …

Surprise get away - TSH

Henry Marchbanks Winter x GN!Reader

Precious anonymous, I hope you enjoy Henry's modest get away plan.

Henry disappears for weeks, only for him to come back with a surprise.

Henry as a lover is not particularly affectionate. He doesn’t suffocate me with besotted compliments and gentle touches. The space he allows me is welcomed with much gratitude, however, this doesn’t mean I do not enjoy the occasional in-bed morning kisses under Apollon’s playful, morning rays, the hours spent in the comforting silence of each other’s presence, or the way his hand finds its way around my waist or on my thigh so stealthily that I only notice it when the familiar warmth seeps through my clothes and into my skin as if it is the very fuel my body runs on.

Lately, he’s been somewhat more distant than usual. I have not talked or heard from him outside our almost everyday classes with Julian for weeks. The other day I even dropped by his apartment only to be greeted by scattered advertisements, cut-out mail, papers with phone numbers, and announcements ripped out of newspapers all revolving around extravagant countryside houses with imposing, marble columns, vast fairytale-like green gardens, and enough rooms to fit a family of ten. I couldn’t figure out why Henry was looking into houses, but something must have happened otherwise he wouldn’t want to go so far away from Hampden, from Julian, from me.

I am wasting my time worrying about him when I should be writing my assignment. He is more than capable of taking care of himself and I trust that if the situation calls for it he will ask for my help. Just as I pick up my fountain pen to finally start the long-overdue translation of the first few books from the Aeneid I hear the sound of the key turning in my door’s lock. The only one with a copy of my dorm key is Henry. 

‘Where have you been?’ I inquire just as he graciously walks in as if he hasn’t been absent for the past days.

‘Get dressed.’ He orders with no care about what I’m doing whatsoever.

‘I’m working on my assignment.’ I point out sharply. ‘You cannot demand me to get dressed without telling me what you have planned.’

‘I assure you, you will not be displeased.’

Moments later, I’m sat in the passenger’s seat watching humans, shops, and houses blur into moving, indecipherable colours as Henry drives us out of Vermont towards Demeter’s neverending golden plains and dense forests. 

‘I consider it unfair when you use my curiosity against me.’ I sigh, rolling down the window to vent out the smoke from the cigarette I just lit. 

‘It is a great disadvantage which the comfort of love drags after itself.’ Henry half-smirks at me, his blue eyes behind the glasses abnormally warm.

‘And what may this terrible disadvantage be?’ I hold my cigarette to his lips and he takes a long drag from it before I bring it back to mine.

‘The mortifying ordeal of being known.’ The smoke escapes his lungs with every syllable he pronounces and I find it utterly entrancing.

.

.

.

.

.

Henry’s faint voice swirls in my mind, disturbing the unconscious state in which I am. Even in sleep, I can distinguish his precious voice from any other external sounds. He whispers my name and it hits my mind’s walls echoing until I wake up.

‘We have arrived.’ He announces with a slight smile and helps me step out of the car.

It takes me a moment to realise the massive manor towering over me with its aged stone walls covered in wicked ivy, large, arched windows with intricate tracery that allow glimpses into the stately interiors and prominent towers crowned with finials and spires piercing the limitless sky. Two watchful statues stand by the grand wooden doors as if anticipating our arrival. Suddenly, it all clicks together and I glare at Henry.

‘Is this why you’ve barely spoken to me in weeks?’ He was already retrieving his luggage along with another one he had packed for me using the various pieces of clothing I had left at his apartment throughout our relationship. ‘I can’t believe this..’ I shake my head and cross my arms, staring at the incredible purchase, knowing that it probably cost him a fortune. 

‘Let us enjoy this.’ He comes to stand by my side, suitcases in hand. ‘I have already spoken with Julian. I told him we would not be attending classes for a few weeks due to personal matters. Naturally, he wasn’t very pleased, but there is nothing he can do.’

‘Henry Marchbanks Winter skipping classes? I did not think I would live to see this day.’ It is nice to tease him once in a while.

‘I needed a break from society. Everyone does after a while and this place is perfect for such an occasion.’ For once, he looks relaxed and I decide to do as he wishes for the time being.

‘Why bring me here then? Wouldn’t it be better if you were to be alone here with your studies?’ 

Henry looks at me as if he has not been expecting the question and bursts into genuine laughter. ‘And leave my only piece of sanity in Vermont? That is something I couldn’t even dream of.’ He starts guiding me toward the entrance, his hand once again finding its rightful place on my waist.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 9.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.0k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

so sorry for the long wait. ):

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, decapitation, death

story playlist

The sound of paper furling and unfurling were the only ones heard. Then the slam of a fist on a wooden desk. Then a sigh. 

“This is ridiculous,” Rhaenyra hissed, reading over the missive stamped with the Velaryon sigil for the near hundredth time. “Absolutely ridiculous— borderline treasonous.” 

The letter spelled out, in so many words, that Vaemond Velaryon was contesting Lucerys’ inheritance claim to Driftmark. Lord Corlys had apparently fallen ill in the Stepstones— damn that accursed place— which brought up the question of succession. There had been whispers over the years of Rhaenyra’s first three sons’ true parentage belied in the seed of a certain late Commander of the City’s watch. Such accusations have been unfounded and swatted away like flies if the argument was ever brought up in the small council chamber or throne room. 

Upon looking at them, the three Velaryon boys were only such in name– that much was obvious. Their brown eyes and curled brown hair struck a decided resemblance to someone that was not Ser Laenor Velaryon. 

Even if the rumors, as they may be, were plain as day truths, such things couldn’t be acted upon, much less said about the heir to the iron throne, could they? 

“How can Alicent even entertain this… this mummer’s farce?” she continued to seethe, resorting to pacing now, twisting the rings on her fingers. Her throat felt a bit dry at the situation. Her and Alicent had struck a comfortable balance since returning. This felt… it felt akin to a slap in the face.

“‘Tis not just Alicent entertaining it,” Daemon muttered, swirling wine in his cup. He was lazed in the chaise, one leg over the other. He seemed particularly laissez-faire about the situation at hand, as if it were nothing more than a mere annoyance to him, like a leg cramp or an annoying bug. “That snake of a father she has has his fangs in every pot. Whatever suits him— and this would seem to be one of those things.” he glanced to his wife, wanting to say more about the queen, but thought better of it. Daemon Targaryen was, in all accounts, a man who spoke his mind– but he didn’t wish to ruffle his pregnant wife’s feathers by calling her ‘girlhood friend’ a cunt like her father. 

“Otto Hightower is a conniving man, that much is true. What could he hope to gain by currying favor with Vaemond?” 

“The Velaryon fleet. The Velaryon coin. The Velaryon connections. The well of opportunities for conniving cunts like Otto are endless.” he punctuated each point with a wave of his glass.

Rhaenyra’s mouth snapped shut. She was silent for a long while before finally speaking again. “Well, Lord Corlys is not dead yet. This will be fought and we will be heard.”

—

The morning after the gala was… eventful, to say the least. She hardly remembered going back to her room, it all felt like a hazy, dizzy dream. 

Aemond had escorted her back to her chambers in (comfortable) silence, giving her another goodnight kiss before leaving her for the night. She had been reeling from it all, the adrenaline of their interaction.

She could feel his lips on hers and a delightful buzz on her face and… another unfamiliar sensation deep in her body, nestled behind her navel. It felt like a pulling sensation, like a thread connecting her and Aemond. Just the slightest tug on the string had her feeling warm and fuzzy— she wanted him. The implication of wanting him could mean a myriad of things. She was fond of him, of course, she always had been. His possessive declaration, to any normal person, could be deduced into one thing. But in Shera’s mind, there were many interpretations of such an action, it couldn’t be assumed to mean one thing! 

He said she belonged to him— that didn’t necessarily mean he… loved her, he just wanted her near him. The kiss… she had started it, of course! It was merely… something of comfort between them, like a soft blanket or a favorite smell, right? Nothing so deep as… as one might assume.

 But it was also… melding into one another with ease, like their lips coming together had been second nature, their feelings inevitable. 

She kicked her legs in bed, spooking Moongeist slightly. Burying her face in her pillow, she gave an uncharacteristically loud squeal— to personify her current feelings. This was girlish and so very silly! Her face was red, she knew, feeling the heat radiating off of it.

No, no— ‘twas not love. It… Aemond didn’t love her, he couldn’t, it was a passing fancy. Yes, he was possessive and had mentioned marrying her twice. But that didn’t… mean… 

She glanced over at the dozens of drawings and sketches they’d done over the past few weeks on her side table. Her eye immediately caught on the portrait she did of him in blue and purple pastels, fingers wrought over the etching as she thought back to when she presented it to him. 

“I do not look like this, Shera,” he scoffed as he rolled his eye at her depiction of him. “You made me look like a child getting their portrait done for the first time. I look like I am being held at swordpoint.” 

Her mouth opened, brows flying to her hairline. “What do you mean? This is what you look like to me,” she snatched the paper from his hand and put it up next to his face to compare. “And you wouldn’t sit still, you basically were a child. I thought you had more discipline than that– Ser Criston would be disappointed.” she tutted.

Of course, it was a stylized portrait– mayhaps overly stylized. It was lines and angles and he did look quite pointy in it. But it felt like him, harsh around the edges but there was a glint in his eye that was soft, something few people could catch in Aemond Targaryen. He had been agitated when she made him stand still and it was surprising that she didn’t capture that overbearing emotion– rather, she caught the softness reserved only for her that hung in the back light of his eye.

“You are blind.” Aemond huffed, turning away.

“Yes, we have established that,” she pushed his shoulder playfully.

Love. Love? Love!

She screamed herself hoarse again into her pillow until Moongeist tugged it away from her. 

She loved him. She was in love with Aemond Targaryen and had been for a very, very long time. 

She was still giddy about it, getting out of bed with a spring in her step, as if she were some sort of sprightly hare. She peppered Moongeist’s face in kisses, to which he returned sleepy chuffs and whines, cooing soft noises to him in lieu of words— her throat hurt from her girlish squealing.

She had almost forgotten about the incident. The warging. She wasn’t even sure it had been real, if not for the bruises where Aemond held her so tightly to stop her from falling to the floor, she thought it would’ve been a dream. 

Shera knew of warging– every Stark did, every Northman did. It was a seemingly supernatural phenomenon told by stewardesses to children. It was a thing of wonder and utter horror. She remembers her own stewardess, the very fleeting memories she had before King’s Landing of Winterfell, keeping her afraid with the threat that if a skinchanger died while inhabiting another being, they would be trapped in said being’s skin forever. 

“Some skinchangers are more beast than man, Shera,” the older woman said, wagging a finger in the little girl’s face, who was no more than four at the time. “If you keep up your antics, don’t be surprised if you wake up as a beast, you little hellion.”

Shera promptly bit the offending wagging finger.

Unfurling the paper left with her breakfast, a hearty plate of hot eggs and bangers (which looked ravenously appetizing), she skimmed it. The message was clear in its intent: the move back to Dragonstone was delayed. Biting into the sausage, she threw Moongeist some eggs.

One more thing to be delighted about– she felt like everything between her and… those who resided in King’s Landing was on borrowed time. 

‘Twas a pity about the hearing for Lucerys’ inheritance. She didn’t care much for Lucerys– but she didn’t really know him. She wonders if he even remembers taking Aemond’s eye, and Shera subsequently shoving him into a wall where he hit his head.

She ponders it more over breakfast, even asking for a second helping of sausage before reporting to the throne hall. The maids that dressed her had brought a separate garment, one unfamiliar and most certainly not something she brought with her.

“Princess Rhaenyra wishes for you to wear this at the hearing,” one of them murmured. 

Shera eyed the dress– it was deep, blood red with black and gold trim. There were embellishments of dragons and wolves across the chest and a sash belt that looked like it had wolf claws embedded into it. It was… nice in its own way, except for the ghastly color. The maids were relentless in the cinching of her waist and she shifted uneasily from foot to foot as she regretted her second helping of breakfast. The women didn’t say anything to her, really, but exchanged looks that said more than words. 

As she slips into the throne room, she feels a whoosh of air beside her. “You look garish in that color,” a familiar voice sneered. Aegon blocked her way, brows raised. “Some little birdie told me that you prefer blue.”

“... mayhaps I do,” she murmured. “And how exactly do you know that?” 

“Again, my little birdie. But also, I was at the gala and saw you and my brother eye-fucking each other. You two are seriously shameless, debaucherous almost.”

“That is truly rich coming from you, Aegon,” Shera cracked a small smile. 

Continuing her walk, Jacaerys sweeps her up into his arm and leads them over to… their side. Rhaenyra, Daemon, Lucerys and Rhaena are waiting. Across the opposite side of the room are Aemond, Aegon, Helaena, Alicent and Otto. In the center, stands Vaemond, swaying ever so slightly to the Queen’s side. The room is so clearly divided that it's almost sickening. Just the previous night, they had been making merry without all of this division. She sees Aemond, who gives her dress a onceover– his expression is reserved and she can’t tell what he is thinking. He looks at her for half a second, nostrils flared, before looking away from her. 

While the proceedings are happening, she swims within her own mind. She stands near Jace, who has his arm looped in hers in a protective manner. Scattered words of Vaemond come through her muddled thoughts, ‘Velaryon’, ‘Blood’, ‘Survival’, ‘House’. Her eyes were glazed over as she counted the cracks in the stones of the floor.

One, two, three… four… 

She doesn’t really pay attention to what’s going on until the heavy doors of the throne room open with almost silencing impunity, quiet chatter and shocked whispers pulling her from her reverie.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” the Kingsguard announced as His Grace, who still looked all the part of a royal corpse, hobbled into the room. He declined any assistance to walk and take his seat.

She gets a sinking feeling in her gut– something telling her that everything is about to explode. 

“I must… admit… my confusion,” he wheezes, winded by the small walk. Shera feels a small twinge of sympathy at that, understanding the feeling. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

“You are of sound mind in that, father,” Rhaenyra bowed her head, unfurling another paper, walking to the King to present it. “This is a whit and declaration of betrothal between my son, Lucerys Velaryon, and Lord Corlys’ granddaughter, Rhaena Targaryen. It is signed and stamped by Lady Rhaenys, who upholds her husband’s declaration that Laenor’s son shall inherit Driftmark. This betrothal shall only strengthen his claim.” 

Viserys gave a small smile. “Thank you, my daughter,” he skimmed the paper, obviously with some struggle. “The matter… is settled, Ser Vaemond. It has been and it will… stay affirmed… that Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon is heir to Driftmark… the Driftwood Throne… and the next Lord of the Tides… and the children… of him and Lady Rhaena… will inherit it after him.” 

She feels the intensity in the air, it’s almost palpable. She feels sick as the voices raise, the blood in the room rises. 

Vaemond looks like he is about to burst, his body shaking in clear anger. “You break law… and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me… who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon,” he pauses for a moment as if to consider his next words, “No.I will not allow it.”

“‘Allow it’? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond,” Viserys struggled to sit up, returning Vaemond’s vitriol with his own– as labored and unthreatening as it was.

“That,” Vaemond pointed to Lucerys, with a look that could raze an army. “is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.” 

“You… may run your house as you see fit… but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this…” Vaemond looked back to Lucerys and Jacaerys. The rage in his eyes were palpable as a humid day, the anger emanating from him sticking in the room like cloying smoke.

“Say it.” Daemon whispered, eyes trained on the second son of Driftmark. The rogue prince was disarmingly calm, his voice like Caraxes’ hiss. 

“Her children… are bastards!” Vaemond boomed, stomping his foot and pointing again at Rhaenyra’s sons. 

Shera’s breath left her lungs. She remembered what happened the last time someone called them bastards. She glanced to Aemond, who was looking right back at her. 

“And she…” Ser Vaemond turned his damning finger to Rhaenyra, “is… a… whore.” 

The swing of a sword was all she heard. 

It is silent, save for the hushed and shocked breathing of everyone watching. One would think that people would scream, would gasp. But no, it was quiet as a mouse, quiet as Vaemond’s head was removed from his body and the gentle seep of blood staining the stone floor. 

Shera had never seen anyone die before– not like this. She can see into the passages of his skull, his eyes still open. Shocked, she looks at Daemon, who is wiping his blade against his doublet. Her eyes were glued to the ground, to the cracks she was counting before. They were soaked in his blood, the divots and fissures of the stone opening way for the blood to fall into, branching out into jagged rivers.

One, two, three… f-four…

This is what is he capable of, isn’t it? No one came to truly seize him, to arrest him for killing a man in broad daylight, in front of the King, in front of the Hand, in front of courtiers, in front of the Kingsguard. 

Alicent’s mouth was opened, her eyes wide. Even Otto was shocked, his fist clenched. It was as much emotion as Shera had ever seen the Hand express.

Her saliva feels cloying in her mouth as she glances across the room. Helaena has her ears covered and Shera wishes she had done the same. Aegon was staring off into space, pupils dilated. The scuffle of blades and minds beginning to come to a sense of what just really happened.

Aemond’s face finally held some emotion: enamorment. For the power that Daemon held, the prowess, the act of brutality itself– Shera couldn’t parse which. All she knew is that it scared her. That darkness lying just beneath the surface that she’d tried so hard to ignore–

Her extremities feel numb, the sharp sting of icy needles crawling up her arms and legs. She began to sway, unknowingly clasping onto Jacaerys. The room was spinning and shaking, the intense smell of copper— Vaemond’s blood— tainting her senses. 

A high pitched ringing overwhelmed her hearing as she slipped from consciousness into darkness. 

—

Alicent held Rhaenyra’s arm, hand over the length of the scar she gave her so many years ago. It seemed like a fever dream; that night. Her thumb traced the raised skin as the two women shared a moment in silence.

“I— I will return, Alicent,” the princess murmured, her hand over her belly. “I will take the children home and return for Shera. We… we have overstayed our welcome.” her throat bobbed as they spoke softly in the corner of the maester’s room. 

The queen’s eyes roved over Shera’s sleeping form. Her chest rose and fell softly and she seemed… troubled in her unconsciousness, soft whines emitting from her every so often. Her wolf stayed at the foot of the bed, standing at attention. Amber eyes vigilant, guarding. 

“How… how shall you transport her? She hasn’t woken up yet, Nyra,” Alicent asked, tilting her head. “The maesters say she is fragile.” 

“Syrax is a smooth flier— a makeshift cot is being constructed on her saddle as we speak. The flight wouldn’t be long and it would be much less taxing than a wheelhouse or horse.” 

Alicent nibbled on her lip anxiously. She had never been fond of dragons, despite most of those closest to her connected to one in some way. 

Targaryens and their queer customs. 

“Is… is that wise?” she pressed, brow knitting. “They do not even know if she will wake.” 

“I made an oath to her brother that I would keep her under my care, Alicent— we must go back to Dragonstone, our affairs cannot be put off any longer. I do not wish to birth my babe here, nor do I wish for Jacaerys to marry here.” 

But I wish for you to stay. I wish for you to leave that ingrate of a husband. She punctuated her unheard thought with a meaningful squeeze to Rhaenyra’s arm. A silent plea— it was the first time in years that something had felt right. 

But it wasn’t her place to say anything about it, the words were better left unsaid. “If you think that is wise, Rhaenyra,” the queen responded, her hand dropping from her skin as if it burned her. Mayhaps it did. “At least let our maesters monitor her for a few days— then you may take her.” 

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched as she recused both hands to her belly as if to defend herself. “Very well, my queen.” 

They were so close, yet so far. 

—

It was hazy. Hazy and dreary— silent but all too loud. Her steps were calm and measured as her heart thumped in her chest. Shera felt light in her steps without any inhibition or reproach. Feeling no pain or vertigo, she flew down the staircase, skipping two or three at a time, giggling. This had to be a dream, didn’t it?

Descending, down… down… 

She was in the Red Keep, she knew. But it felt different, somehow. Younger in its stones, in the bones of its foundation, there was still some give. 

And yet, despite the airiness of the walls, there was a shadow looming

Two somewhat familiar figures were conversing near the skull of Balerion. She recognized them from portraits– young Rhaenyra and a much healthier, much more alive version of Viserys. 

She had always been fascinated by him, Balerion. Despite her heritage being very non-dragonesque, she always felt a childlike wonder whenever someone would speak of Balerion. It was hardly fathomable to her to imagine a dragon that would blot out the sun– one that even rivaled Vhagar’s gargantuan size. 

Viserys spoke softly but firmly to Rhaenyra, who was so young. She had just lost her mother and brother— the claim to the Iron Throne and named heir were up in the air. 

“Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds. And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living. When this Great Winter comes, Rhaenyra… all of Westeros must stand against it,” Viserys urged softly as the candlelight flickered against his features, fingers skimming atop the flames

“And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king,” he paused, looking at Rhaenyra once more, “or queen, strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. Aegon called his dream ‘The Song of Ice and Fire.’ This secret… it’s been passed from king to heir since Aegon’s time. Now you must promise to carry it… and protect it. Promise me this, Rhaenyra,” the king looked directly to where Shera was standing, looking right into her eyes, as if he could see her, see into her. “Promise me.”

The metal of the Catspaw blade heated up atop the coals to a bright and almost fluorescent orange. Goosebumps prickled on Shera’s skin in tandem with the rising heat of the room. It was so warm, no, it was hot, scorching. The air vacated her lungs, replaced by flames licking at her insides, burning, consuming.

Young Rhaenyra had left the room, leaving Viserys to look at the skull of Balerion. He picked up a single candle, peering into the flame like it held the secrets of the world. 

He spoke again, but his voice wasn’t that of the era of King that Shera was looking upon. It was old, weezing– just like in the throne room from earlier in the day. The form of Viserys slumped, hair falling out and skin graying as he held the candle like a lifeline. He fell to his knees and the sound of his bones shattering could be heard, breaking and splintering into nothing but dust. 

But the candle was still lit. His hand, now nothing but bone and sinew, was fused to the wax. 

“No… more,” he coughed and sputtered, blood leaking from his lips onto the stone. Wax dripped, mingling with the blood. Finally, he focused on the flame of the candle. “My… love.” 

He blew out the candle with his last breath. With that, all of the candles in the room blew out.

Shera was left alone in the darkness and swirling smoke. 

It was cold.

–

She awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. But she was still cold, shivering. The smell of smoke was still lingering. 

Her chest was heaving as she sat up and tried to walk, wanting that same flighty weightlessness she felt before. Her body failed her and she crumbled to the floor, a broken doll once again. Arms wrapped around her and helped her up. The familiarity of sandalwood lulled her frantic nerves as she wholeheartedly buried her face into Aemond’s chest. She knew it was him. His arms laced behind her as he lifted her up easily as if not to taint her with having to stand on the ground. His nose buried into her hair, holding onto her as if he was afraid she would slip away.

There was the sound of a throat clearing near the corner of the room. The two of them were not alone– but she didn’t care. She clung to Aemond like her life depended on it, peering behind him slowly. 

Aegon was sitting behind them, knee bobbing nervously. He looked… disheveled, more than usual. Even more so, he was wearing… the crown of the conqueror. He was wearing the crown of his namesake. “You’ve missed a lot, Shera,” he muttered, eyes dark.

“Aegon?” she croaked, voice sounding hoarse and broken from disuse.

“‘Tis ‘your grace’ now.” Aegon said bitterly.

[rookiesbookies]

Greek God!Price x MaidenFem!Reader pt 2

Masterlist is pinned as always and please submit any requests to my inbox I dont bite

She had always been nervous around men, in her village they had always seemed rude and misogynist. Women were a commodity, their value based on purity and age. But Price was different. He treated her with respect and tenderness, making her feel safe and cherished. It was a new experience for her, and she couldn't help but feel nervous about it.

As she lay there, wide awake, she couldn't help but notice Price's movements in his sleep. He had gone from a respectful distance to spooning her side, his warm body pressed against hers. It was both comforting and unsettling at the same time.

She had agreed to spend the night in his bed, a decision that made her anxious. Changing in his master bathroom, she had put on one of his white undershirts that barely covered her upper-mid thigh. She worried about him seeing her exposed, about her own vulnerability in this unfamiliar situation.

The clock on the wall ticked away, reminding her of the late hour. She shivered, feeling the coldness of the room seep into her bones. Despite Price's warm body heat and the thick blankets, she couldn't find comfort. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of her nipples showing through the shirt or the possibility of her underwear being revealed.

But amidst her restlessness, she couldn't help but appreciate Price's gentle and kind nature. It was a stark contrast to her past experiences with the men who had tried to court her - often older and looking for a young housewife to act as a slave due to their wealth. She found herself slowly letting go of her fears and embracing the unfamiliar warmth that he offered.

Price stood out among the men she had encountered. He possessed a genuine gentlemanly demeanor that made her wonder if all gods were like him.

As her mind aimlessly drifted, she couldn't help but become fixated on Price's physique. Questions began to swirl in her thoughts, particularly about what lay beneath that thick sweater he now slept in. Were his muscles well-defined, sculpted from hours of hard work and dedication? Or were they hidden beneath a layer of softness, adding a touch of comfort to his appearance? The curiosity grew stronger, fueling her imagination as she envisioned the possibilities. It was a tantalizing mystery, one that she couldn't help but ponder, wondering if one day she would have the chance to uncover the truth.

As her mind wandered, it delved even deeper into his physical attributes, specifically focusing on what he possessed between his legs. Questions arose about its thickness, length, girth, and whether it was thin or substantial. She pondered whether he preferred a clean-shaven look or if his hair was coarse yet well-maintained, similar to his facial hair. Curiosity arose about the presence of freckles and whether it leaned towards one direction or the other. She wondered if it was pale or tan, what color the tip was. These thoughts consumed her mind, leaving her with a multitude of unanswered questions.

Her cheeks flushed with warmth as she realized the direction her thoughts were taking. It felt criminal. It was inappropriate to think of a man in such a way, especially someone like Price who was so sweet and such a gentleman. She began to question her own feelings towards him, fearing that she might be falling for a man who deserved a woman equally as remarkable to be his eternal partner. She pondered the qualities that would make a woman worthy of Price's affection. Would she need to possess extraordinary beauty, intelligence, or perhaps a combination of both?

The weight of her own self-doubt began to settle upon her, as she questioned whether she could ever measure up to the standards she imagined Price had. Perhaps he was waiting for some magic spark to ignite, maybe Eros to strike them with arrows to let him know it was meant to be or a letter hand-written from Aphrodite or Hera with approval. Something he seemingly so desired based on his adamant refusal of the other sacrificial women he considered for brides. He even said it himself, he wanted someone closer to his physical age to keep for an eternity as a partner, not just a wife.

Lost in her thoughts, she yearned for a sign, a glimpse into Price's true nature. She longed to know if he was as extraordinary as he appeared, or if her infatuation was merely a figment of her imagination, the facade of a god. Only time would reveal the answers she sought, and until then, she would continue to question her own worthiness of a god like Price.

He shifted again in his sleep, pulling her closer. His beard tickling against her neck, he took a deep breath. She couldn't help but think about the advice her friends had given her as a teenager. They had told her that men could determine if they wanted to marry a girl by the end of their first date. As she lay there, she wondered if the dinner they had just shared counted as a date. Did it hold any significance or was it just a casual outing with his friends? Her mind raced as she rubbed her legs together and nervously bit her lip. Being in such close proximity with a man was a new experience for her.

Suddenly, he began to stir in his sleep, a soft grunt escaping his mouth. Startled, she realized he was awake. "Why aren't you asleep?" he questioned, his voice filled with curiosity. "Humans need a good deal of sleep compared to us gods."

Her heart skipped a beat as she tried to come up with a response. "I... I couldn't sleep," she stammered, her voice barely audible. "I guess I'm just not used to... this."

He looked at her intently, his eyes filled with understanding. "It's okay," he said softly, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "We can take things slow. There's no rush."

As he held her close, she felt a warm and comforting feeling, giving her hope for a happy future. Could this amazing man be the one she would marry? And, by some lucky chance, did he really understand her deepest desires?

Finally, she drifted into a peaceful slumber, feeling a sense of tranquility and optimism. The man she had discovered, whom she might be falling in love with, had filled her heart with hope and affection. The thought of marrying him brought her immense joy and contentment. He was truly remarkable, and she could only wish that he felt the same way about her. Thankfully, it seemed like he did, and that realization filled her with even more happiness.

[charlieg1rl]

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍

𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄!𝐀𝐔 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀!𝐀𝐔

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏.𝟔𝐊

For weeks, Hyunjin found himself caught in an emotional whirlwind, one that spun faster and faster with each passing day. He’d wake up every morning, the first thought on his mind being Y/N—the way her laughter echoed in his head long after they had parted and how her radiant smile had the remarkable power to brighten even his darkest days. Each moment they spent together felt charged with electricity, igniting a spark that sent his heart racing. Yet, despite the intensity of his feelings, every time he attempted to voice what lay heavy in his heart, the words seemed to get stuck in his throat, trapped behind the barriers of his own fear and uncertainty.

Their routine had become a comforting pattern: study sessions filled with laughter, casual coffee dates, or simply hanging out in each other’s company. But there lingered an unspoken weight in the air, a palpable tension that neither seemed able to address. Hyunjin could feel it pressing down on him, and he sensed that Y/N was aware of it too. She often regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and concern, her eyes searching his face as if she was waiting for him to break the silence, to share what was brewing beneath the surface.

One chilly afternoon, as they sat in their favorite café—where the cozy atmosphere was enhanced by the delightful aroma of fresh pastries and the rich scent of brewing coffee—Hyunjin found himself lost in thought, staring absentmindedly at his half-finished latte. The intricate foam art began to dissolve, mirroring the turmoil in his mind. He knew he needed to speak, to express the feelings that had been gnawing at him, but each time he opened his mouth, the right words failed to materialize.

“Hyunjin?” Y/N’s gentle voice pulled him from his reverie, snapping him back to the present. He looked up to find her watching him intently, her brow slightly furrowed in concern. “You’ve been really quiet lately. Is everything okay?”

Meeting her gaze sent a familiar flutter through his chest, a rush of warmth mixed with anxiety. “Yeah, just… a lot on my mind, I guess,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, her curiosity evident. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

There it was—the perfect opening, the ideal moment to pour out his heart. Yet, despite the clarity of the opportunity, he found himself nodding and deflecting, the truth slipping through his fingers. “It’s nothing serious. Just school stuff. You know how it is.”

A shadow of disappointment flitted across her features before she masked it with a smile. “Alright, if you say so. Just know I’m here if you need to vent.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he replied, feeling a pang of guilt gnawing at his insides. He longed to be honest with her, to share the tumult of emotions that swirled within him, but the fear of jeopardizing their friendship loomed larger than his desire to confess. What if she didn’t share his feelings? What if this fragile arrangement they had built came crashing down, leaving him with nothing but regret?

As the weeks dragged on, Hyunjin found himself increasingly consumed by his internal struggle. He’d watch Y/N laugh with their friends, her eyes sparkling with joy, and it broke his heart a little more each time he refrained from expressing the depth of his emotions. The weight of his silence became an unbearable burden, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that time was slipping away, like grains of sand through his fingers.

On one particularly rainy day, they had just finished a project together at her apartment. Y/N had been in high spirits, her creativity radiating as they crafted a presentation on innovative interior design concepts. However, as they wrapped up their work, an uncomfortable silence settled between them, thick and heavy.

“Hyunjin?” she said softly, her eyes searching his with an intensity that made his heart race. “You’re really quiet again.”

He inhaled deeply, determination swelling within him. This was it; he needed to tell her. “Y/N, I—”

Before he could finish, the doorbell rang, startling them both. Hyunjin felt the tension dissipate, frustration gnawing at him. Of course, just as he was about to bare his soul, something had to ruin the moment.

“Who could that be?” Y/N murmured, her expression a mixture of confusion and irritation as she got up to answer the door. Hyunjin leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of the unspoken words slip away, replaced by annoyance at the interruption.

When she opened the door, a wide grin spread across her face, and Hyunjin felt a wave of disappointment wash over him. It was Changbin, Chan, and Jeongin, their boisterous laughter and playful banter filling the room as they barged in, completely oblivious to the charged moment they had just interrupted.

“Surprise! We thought we’d crash your study session!” Changbin exclaimed, triumphantly walking in with a bulging bag of snacks.

“Yeah, we were just in the neighborhood,” Jeongin added, flashing Y/N a thumbs-up. “Hope that’s okay?”

Y/N laughed, a bright, genuine sound that made Hyunjin’s heart ache in an entirely different way. “Of course! Come in!”

As the room filled with the sound of laughter and lighthearted chatter, Hyunjin felt the weight of his unspoken feelings settle heavily in the pit of his stomach. He sat back, watching Y/N interact with their friends, her laughter infectious and carefree. It was in these moments that he realized how deeply he cared for her. It wasn’t just about their friendship anymore; it was about her happiness, her vibrant spirit, and he wanted desperately to be a part of that.

The evening progressed with snacks and games, but Hyunjin felt like a ghost in the room, his thoughts racing as distractions pulled him further away from his resolve. Each time he tried to refocus, a new interruption seemed to arise, pushing his feelings deeper into the recesses of his mind. It was maddening, an emotional battle he felt ill-equipped to win.

After a couple of hours, their friends eventually departed, leaving Hyunjin and Y/N alone once again. As the familiar silence returned, he felt the heaviness loom over them, a constant reminder of the words he still hadn’t found the courage to say.

“Thanks for inviting them over,” he finally said, breaking the stillness.

“Of course! I love hanging out with you all. It’s nice to take a break from studying,” Y/N replied, her smile bright and inviting. But there was something in her eyes—a flicker of uncertainty that hadn’t been there before, a hint that she sensed something was amiss.

Hyunjin’s heart raced. This was another chance, another moment where he could finally let everything out. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, she cut in again.

“Hyunjin, are you sure everything’s alright? You feel… distant. I know we’re just friends, but if there’s something bothering you, you can tell me.”

He froze, caught in a tug-of-war between the urge to confide in her and the instinct to protect what they had built together. “I’m fine, really,” he said, though the words felt hollow as they slipped past his lips.

Y/N studied him intently, her eyes probing his. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I promise I won’t freak out or anything.”

The sincerity in her voice made his heart race even more, and he felt the pressure of his unexpressed emotions building within him. “I just… I’m not good at this, Y/N,” he finally admitted, the honesty spilling out before he could rein it in.

“What do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“I don’t want to mess things up,” he confessed, the words tumbling forth. “I just… I’ve been trying to figure out how to say what I need to say, but it’s hard.”

Y/N stepped closer, her expression softening, the distance between them narrowing. “Hyunjin, whatever it is, you can trust me. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he replied, the sincerity in her gaze cutting through the defenses he had built around his heart. He took a deep breath, determination flooding through him once more. “Y/N, I—”

But once again, the moment shattered. A notification buzzed on his phone, pulling his attention away from her. He glanced at the screen, and his heart sank at the sight. It was a text from Changbin, a meme that made him chuckle, but it was also a harsh reminder of how easily distractions could slip in, pulling him away from what truly mattered.

“Sorry, it’s just Changbin,” he said, shaking his head as he tried to refocus. “I’ll talk to you about this soon, I promise.”

Y/N’s expression fell slightly, disappointment flickering across her features like a candle’s flame. “Okay, just… don’t keep me in the dark for too long.”

“Yeah, I won’t,” he assured her, though the weight of doubt hung heavy in his mind. As she turned away, a wave of frustration washed over him. How had it come to this? Why was it so difficult to simply say what he felt?

Days turned into weeks, and with each passing moment, Hyunjin felt the gap between them widen, the words still unspoken, festering like an open wound. The burden of his emotions became unbearable, yet the fear of what would happen if he finally broke the silence loomed larger than the love that compelled him to speak. Each day, the internal struggle intensified, a silent battle waging within him as he grappled with the truth he was desperate to share.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 | 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

tags: @estella-novella, @beccasmecka

[dearstvckyx]

Flufftober | 10.20 |

Falling in love in October - Luke Hughes

It was mid-October, and the crisp autumn air clung to everything at the University of Michigan. The leaves crunched underfoot, a golden and red blanket across the campus. Luke Hughes had never really been one for romanticizing seasons. Sure, fall was fine—he liked the cool weather and the excuse to wear hoodies—but he wasn’t one to swoon over falling leaves and pumpkin spice lattes.

That changed when he met her.

They had met in their shared Sports Management class they both dreaded. Luke, more of a natural on the ice than in a classroom, found himself needing help with the readings and concepts. She, on the other hand, had a sharp mind and an easy way with explanations.

She wasn’t part of the hockey crowd, and that’s what intrigued him. She didn’t treat him like the next big NHL star or held him up to his brothers standards; she treated him like a regular student, one struggling to keep up with marginal utility and demand curves. That’s how they became study partners. He appreciated that she called him out when he wasn’t focused, and she appreciated that he tried his hardest to stay on top of things.

The first few weeks were just study sessions in the library or grabbing coffee to go over notes. But as October rolled in, so did a shift in the air between them.

One late afternoon, they met at a park near campus to go over some notes before an exam. The trees were at peak color, golden light bouncing off the reds and yellows. They sat under a large oak, textbooks open, but they were both distracted. Luke looked up from his notes to find her looking out at the view, the wind tugging at her hair.

“Pretty, huh?” Luke said, his voice a little softer than usual.

She smiled, her eyes lingering on the vibrant leaves. “Yeah, it’s beautiful. October’s always been my favorite. Everything feels… warmer, even though it’s cold.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the wind filling the gaps between their words. She glanced over at him, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “You know, Luke, you’re not as distracted as you used to be.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I had a good teacher.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she turned her attention back to the trees. “Do you ever just… stop and take it all in? Like, really appreciate where you are?”

Luke thought about it. He was always so focused on hockey and getting better that he rarely just was. But with her, these moments felt different. “Not really,” he admitted. “But maybe I should.”

That’s when it started—the shift from study partners to something more. They began meeting outside of their usual library sessions. They’d grab lunch or coffee, and sometimes, they didn’t even talk about school. They’d just walk around campus or sit in that same park, talking about life and their dreams, the warmth of her voice filling him up in ways he didn’t expect.

One evening, after a particularly late study session, they were walking back to her dorm when she stopped suddenly. Luke, a step ahead, turned back to her, confused.

“What’s up?” he asked.

She hesitated, her breath visible in the cool night air. “Do you ever think about… more?”

“More?” he asked, stepping closer.

“More than just study partners,” she clarified, her voice almost a whisper.

Luke’s heart raced, his hands suddenly feeling clammy in his jacket pockets. He had been thinking about it—a lot. But he didn’t know how to say it. Now, standing here in the dim glow of the campus streetlights, he realized he didn’t need the perfect words. He just needed to be honest.

“Yeah,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot.”

Her eyes softened, a small smile playing on her lips. She took a step closer, and without another word, she reached up, her hand resting on his cheek. The world seemed to slow down around them, the cool October breeze swirling, the smell of fallen leaves in the air.

Luke didn’t wait any longer. He closed the space between them, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that felt like everything he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. It was soft, tentative at first, but quickly grew more sure, more certain.

When they pulled away, their breaths mingled in the night air, both of them smiling like two kids who had just shared their first secret.

“I think we just fell in love in October,” she whispered with a shy laugh, referencing the song that had played in the background at their latest study session.

Luke chuckled, pulling her closer. “Sounds about right.”

From that moment on, everything was different. Study sessions were filled with lingering touches and knowing glances. They still met at the park under the oak tree, but now they sat closer, hands intertwined as they watched the leaves fall.

As October faded and the Michigan winter approached, Luke found that fall wasn’t just about the cool weather or the changing colors anymore. It was about her, and the warmth she brought into his life, even when the world around them started to freeze.

[nesepte]

Hundred Steps | Jaehyun

Pairing: Jaehyun x fem! reader

Genre: soft jaehyun, fluff (he is cute in this), very mild angst, unsaid words, cozy, vinyl record store, music(al), rich jaehyun, but very humble jaehyun, acts of service love language jaehyun, small town, small shop owner, shop assistant jaehyun, first kiss, first crush, coming of age (?), senior jaehyun. Word Count: 6.5k words

A/n: Happy Jaehyun day, my loves! Here is the full fic. This is probably the sweetest fanfic I have ever written. Hope you find it so too! xD

Taglist: @yewshi @kanekisheart @cigsaftersuh

The air was warm against your cheek. The summer had ended but the heat lingered like a stubborn heart refusing to see reason. In front of you beyond the wrought iron gates, stretched the steps to your new life but you stood frozen in place.

Mind can be so fickle, and this restless heart even more so. You had waited your entire life to leave your hometown and move to the city. You had dreamed of this college every night and here it was, ready to welcome you.

But you turned your gaze behind— the city quiet from this height. Beyond the mountains in the distance, amidst the swirling roads that led to nowhere, your eyes searched for him.

Jaehyun…

It was two weeks after your high school graduation. You were working late in your father’s store for vinyl records. Just a few minutes before closing time you heard the ding of the tiny bell fixed atop the door. He stumbled in, trying to frantically shut his umbrella which was dripping onto the carpeted floor. His brown pants were soaked at the bottom and his white shirt was wrinkled at the joints.

‘That’s alright,’ you said and he looked up. Despite the umbrella, his hair was slightly damp and the tip of his nose was red. ‘We are closing soon,’ you told him. ‘If you want to browse, I suggest you come back tomorrow morning.’

His curious eyes darted from you to the aisle behind him. ‘Where is...?’

‘Are you looking for my dad?’ you asked, trying to keep your tone professional. ‘He fractured his leg. I’ll be taking care of the shop in his absence.’

He finally managed to close his umbrella and left it by the window.

‘Right,’ he said, walking into the glow of the dim lamp hanging from the ceiling above the counter. This close, you noticed that his cheeks were red too but it wasn’t particularly cold out that night.

‘I am sorry to hear that,’ he said, ‘but by any chance did he mention any Beatles record on hold?’

‘The Beatles…’ you mumbled to yourself and ducked behind the counter to check the cabinets. At the very top, wrapped neatly in a clear film was the record and stuck to it was a post-it that had the word paid written in block letters and a name beside it.

‘Jung…’ you whispered, rising back to your feet to find the light, ‘…Jaehyun.’

It took you a moment to place the name in your head, and when you did, you blurted out, ‘It’s you!’ You looked up at him. ‘You are Jung Jaehyun?!’

Your raised voice had startled him but he replied as even as before, pressing his lips together. ‘That’s correct,’ he said.

‘Get out,’ you gritted out.

‘W-What?’

His blank, ignorant eyes angered you even more.

‘Do you have any idea what you put my father through?’ you yelled, your voice echoing through the empty shop. ‘You have been making these insane demands for those godforsaken rare records ever since you stepped foot into our store!’

You could feel your face heating up, your heart pulsating inside your throat. It was a bad look— shouting at a customer, but you could not stop the words from flowing out.

‘Do you know how difficult it is for my father to find them?! It’s because of you that he had an accident and fractured his leg. He was out in the rain to get your stupid record!’

‘I…’ He stared at you, mouth agape and his face drained of colour. He had shrunk under your gaze somehow. ‘I… I had no idea.’

‘Of course, you didn’t!’ you spat back, the thin record shaking between your trembling fingers. ‘All you rich kids care about is your own convenience!’

‘That’s a harsh judgement to make,’ he returned, though not unkindly.

‘Harsh?’ You let out a mirthless laugh. You could not believe your own anger. The bulb over the counter flickered like a dull firework as the record player in the corner switched to the next song.

‘I’ll tell you what’s harsh. All his life, my father has worked tirelessly in this shop to raise me alone and I have done nothing but kept my nose buried in books so I could get into the best university in Seoul.’

You sighed, pressing your palm to your forehead to control the wretched tears that were pricking the corner of your eyes.

‘This was my last summer before college. My last chance to taste freedom and it’s ruined because of you! I am stuck in this shop, working all day. The boxes are heavy, the shelves are high. I don’t know any of the customers and all they really do is ask about my dad. I haven’t even eaten all day but I can’t complain to anyone without looking like an ungrateful brat!’

There was more you wanted to say but you had no breath left in you. Besides, you had embarrassed yourself enough and you couldn’t risk crying in front of him.

‘Just take this and leave.’ You held out the record to him.

His hand reached out immediately but stopped just centimetres from the edge.

‘Take it,’ you repeated, hiding the hitch in your voice. You did not rush his hesitation— there was no other customer in the shop waiting anyway. At last, when he closed his fingers over the record, you let the rest of your anger flow out of you with it.

‘What?’ you asked. He was still standing at the counter, staring at you. Maybe you had been too harsh but your anger didn’t allow any sympathy.

‘I can pay the hospital bill,’ he mumbled, clutching the record tightly in his hands.

‘There is no need,’ you replied. You could not let your pride take another hit after making a complete fool out of yourself in front of a complete stranger. ‘Just… don’t come back here again.’

You regretted saying it the moment the words left your lips.

When you had first learned of Jaehyun through your father, you had imagined a stoic, old man in his 50s, dressed in an unnecessarily expensive suit with a cigar in his hand and a flashy gold chain around his neck. He definitely seemed the kind with his incessant demands for particularly hard-to-find, expensive records. He liked nothing in the shop.

Pretentious bastard, you had called him.

But standing in front of you was a boy, who didn’t look much older than you. He was careful with the record while stowing it away in his bag, holding it delicately by the edges. Despite your outburst, there was a twinkle in his eyes, one that you recognized all too well— your father had it too whenever he got his hands on a new record.

In the wake of your receding anger, you saw clearly how frightened you had made him but he did not protest again. Without another word, he left, stopping only for a moment at the door but he did not speak whatever it was he wanted to say.

However, that was not the end. He came back— sooner than you had expected.

The next morning was busier than usual. You had to receive a new consignment and the truck that came with the boxes did as little as unload them right on the street in front of the store.

The sun was already up and you were sweating through your shirt by the time you had dragged the third carton inside amidst the sea of cursing passersby tripping over them.

Jaehyun found you sitting on the pavement, exhausted and on the verge of tears again. You had your head between your palms and was about to keel over from your own weight when he tapped you on your shoulder.

You looked up at him, squinting at his silhouette against the sun.

‘Didn’t I tell you not to come back here?’ you said, unable to keep the sharpness out of your tone.

He nodded, his expression unchanged. His eyes raked over the mess you had made on the street behind you.

‘What?’ This time you actually felt the tears fall out of your eyes but he didn’t startle. Instead, he sat down beside you.

‘What are you doing—’

He reached into his bag and produced a sandwich from it. It was homemade, you could tell. He peeled the wrapper back and offered it to you.

‘You haven’t eaten, have you?’ he said.

It was your turn to stare at him, wide-eyed. ‘I— don’t understand…’

‘I made you a sandwich.’

He had it so simply as if that was the most natural thing in the world. He had that air about him. You had mistaken it for confidence but Jaehyun was never too proud. He was just… him. You were dumbstruck and humbled at the same time. There were tears in your eyes again but you weren’t crying anymore.

You scoffed instead, amused. There were people still around you, cussing while stumbling through the maze of boxes; the sun was still shining— brighter and hotter; the drains smelled foul from last night’s rain and here was this boy, sitting on a hot pavement beside you with a godforsaken sandwich in his hand because you had told him last night that you hadn’t eaten anything all day. But the most absurd thing of all was when you actually took it from his hand and ate it, right there on the street.

He waited patiently beside you, not saying a word. He only had one sandwich too— you realized it after finishing it. He asked for the wrapper and shoved it in his bag, then got up and offered you his hand.

‘Let me help you,’ he said.

‘With the boxes?’ you asked.

‘In the shop,’ he replied.

His unwavering gaze was steady on you and he inhaled before speaking. ‘I can be your shop assistant. You do not have to pay me,’ he added before you could protest.

‘You want to work here?’

He nodded his head, his eager eyes searching your face for an answer you weren’t quite sure of yourself yet. For a moment, you saw it— behind the façade of his coolness— his guilt. You did not want to be pitied but he seemed more earnest than arrogant.

‘Do you not have a job?’ you asked.

‘I am in college.’

‘No summer internship?’ You could not help the derision that seeped into your words. And he picked up on it too but he did not budge.

‘It’s only my second year.’

‘I can’t pay you,’ you said in a final attempt to dissuade him.

‘I didn’t ask for money,’ he replied in the same breath.

‘Right… the shop opens at 10 and closes at 9 but you have to report an hour early to help me clean it. Will that be alright?’

‘Yes,’ he replied.

You could not tell your father about him. Jaehyun was a stranger and the shop never had any assistants before. But you needed the help, and he was willing even if it was for his own atonement.

‘So, am I hired?’ he asked.

Sighing, you took his hand and he pulled you up to your feet.

‘Get those cartons inside,’ you ordered your new assistant walking inside the store.

His reply came after a pause. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

That is how Jaehyun came to work at your store.

Every morning, he was there waiting in front of the shop before you arrived. His satchel over his shoulder and a homemade sandwich in his hand that he gave to you. He listened to what you said without question. When you told him to vacuum the floor, he did. On the mornings you told him to wipe the windows clean, he did. He steered clear of the records. Perhaps he was afraid he would break them. But he did not help you with dusting nor with arranging the shelves.

He was rich, you had realized that much but, in the shop, he acted no more than an errand boy. From carrying the boxes to special deliveries— he did them all.

During lunchtime, you took turns to eat in the backroom while the other manned the counter. In the evenings, he got you coffee from across the street and offered to tally the register while you rested.

You did not speak much, nor did you learn anything about each other that was not necessary, not until that night—

It was past 9 pm. You had closed the shop. Jaehyun was folding the cartons in the backroom and you were shelving the scattered records back in their places. You were almost done too, save for one record that was supposed to go on the top shelf of the closet in the back. You jumped up from your toes to fling it into the thin gap but not even its edge made it on to the shelf.

It's useless, you sighed to yourself after another failed attempt But just as you turned around to reach for the ladder, you bumped into his chest.

‘I’m sorry,’ he quickly straightened but did not move away. His eyes landed on the record in your hand then up at the open shelf.

‘Let me,’ he said and waited.

When you nodded, his fingers closed over the edge. He pulled it from your grip but kept standing in place. You stood there with him, confused.

‘Uh…’ The tip of his nose turned red. Perhaps the A/C was too cold, you thought at first but it was when he leaned forward that you realized why he was waiting.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, you cursed inward, holding your breath as you shrunk under him against the shelves. The blush on his face creeped up your cheeks, your breath drained out of you as he pressed further.

But Jaehyun braced himself against the edge and swiftly placed the record back onto the shelf, not even letting the hem of his shirt touch you. You had never realized how much taller he was than you, but then again, you had never bothered to look before.

You were looking then, up at him and back at his face when he found his footing again. He had an earphone in his right ear. You could hear the faint music leaking out of it in the sudden silence that had enveloped you both.

‘What are you listening to?’ you asked, surprised at the strangeness of your own voice.

He took the earphone out and held it out in front of you. ‘Want to listen?’

You nodded but he walked down the aisle and out of sight. Several seconds later, you heard the soft crinkling of a plastic film and the distinct sound of a record being pulled out of its case. You waited as he dropped the pin over it and the song reached you.

The Night We Met by Lord Huron.

Unexpectedly, he found you on the floor again as the notes of the first chorus filled the empty shop. He sat beside you, just as naturally as he had done the first time.

When the record player cracked to a halt, he turned to you. He did not speak, not out loud at least, but you could make out his words. So, when the next night came, you put on a new record in the player— With You by Harrison Storm.

The night after that, he replied and the one after that, you replied to his reply. Every night, after you flipped the sign in the window to closed, you both found a song for each other. To his Dandelion you replied with Sofia. For his Laufey, you had Lana Del Rey. For your Hozier, he had Artic Monkeys.

You sat beside each other on the same spot tucked between the shelves, listening to your conversation echo against the walls. It was easy to slip through that crack in time that you had opened and enter that small pocket of dimensionless space, save for the music.

He tapped his foot against the floor when you replied to his Home with Nancy Mulligan and danced on the night you had played Something Just Like This to his question, Mystery of Love.

It was strange how you knew nothing about Jaehyun yet you had never known anybody that intimately before.

But the summer was ending. In a blink of an eye, three months had passed. You had started receiving emails and thick letters from your college about orientation, dorm rooms, classes and credits. And two days ago, you had taken your father to the hospital to get his cast removed. He was going to come back to the store; you were going to leave for college and Jaehyun… you didn’t even know where he was going to go or whether you would see him again.

You fell asleep on the counter that night after closing the shop. It was humid outside and the A/C was on full blast. It was a restless sleep and you must have been shivering because you felt him drape his outer shirt over you. It smelled of him— warm and sweet, and you groaned, suddenly wanting more. You opened your eyes slowly. He was right there, his face in front of you but your gaze did not surprise him.

He reached out and brushed a strand of your hair away from your face. His touch was so light that you thought you were still dreaming, but his warm breath over your lips was evidence enough. His dazed eyes pulled you in and for a brief moment you thought he was going to lean in but when you blinked up from his lips again, he gulped and shook his head.

‘Uh…’ You straightened up too, his shirt falling to the floor behind you. You were sweating beneath your collar, a familiar flush on your face.

‘It’s your turn to pick a song,’ he mumbled. Perhaps he did not know what to say either.

‘R-Right…’

You leafed through the records to find your words. A conversation had ended last night so it was your turn to begin anew. But all you could really think of was Jaehyun… and you, and what if you hadn’t met him like you had. What if you had met him in college. He would have been a senior and you, like every other girl in his class, would have had a crush on him. Then, one day, after gathering all your courage, you would have asked him out. Perhaps he would have said yes, and instead of helping you around the shop, he would have done all those small things for you as your boyfriend.

You found him at your spot on the floor after putting the song on the record player— Those Eyes by New West.

Three minutes and forty seconds. It’s not long, not by any measure, but it was enough for you to tell him what you could not speak that night. You couldn’t recall how long you sat beside him, silently, after the song was over. You didn’t want to leave, not yet.

Then it struck you.

‘Do you want to go on a trip with me?’ you asked, keeping your eagerness at bay.

‘A trip?’

‘It’s just to get a record from the next town. Don’t say it,’ you warned, expecting a taunt about it but it never came. Instead, he smiled his dimpled smile and nodded his head.

‘We’ll have to take the bus,’ you told him, testing his resolve.

‘Alright.’ He nodded his head.

‘We will have to leave at 5 am.’

‘Okay.’

‘You might get bored,’ you told him.

He paused— the dimples on his cheeks deepened. ‘Then let’s get bored together.’

The morning was silent and still blue. You reached the bus stop before Jaehyun, who came a minute after. There was no sleep in his eyes, nor any hint of exhaustion. If anything, he looked as lively as the birds singing in the trees behind you.

‘Did you walk here?’ you asked.

‘It wasn’t that far,’ he replied and you realised you didn’t even know where he lived.

‘What’s that for?’ You pointed at the film camera that was hung around his neck.

‘Oh, this is…’ He looked down at the camera, running a hand through his hair. ‘In case I find something beautiful today.’

You and Jaehyun sat near the end of the bus— him by the aisle and you at the window seat. The ride was short, or so it felt (you fell asleep quickly into it and woke up when the sun was up and your destination was two stops away). If he was bored, he didn’t complain, nor did you feel him stir beside you.

‘Here,’ he said, taking out a wrapped sandwich and a small box of chocolate milk from his bag. ‘Why are you smiling?’

You took the sandwich from his hand and unwrapped it. ‘Why do you bring me a sandwich every day?’ You knew the answer already but you wanted him to say it.

There was a shy smile on his face and he fumbled before speaking. ‘That night…’ he started, ‘you said you hadn’t eaten all day.’

You were grateful that he turned his pointed gaze away from you because you could feel your face heating up. Pressing his lips together, he offered you the carton of milk with both hands.

‘I don’t like chocolate milk,’ you lied and pushed the box towards him. ‘Why don’t you finish this?’

He sighed, looking disappointed but took the box nonetheless.

In the soft light of the morning sun, even the town’s chaos seemed peaceful. Amidst the sudden swarm of running children, Jaehyun pulled you close by the elbow— you were about to bump into a child, who was scampering to find his way around your legs.

‘Do you know where to go?’ he asked.

‘Hm?’ It was hard to focus when he was that close to you.

‘The way to the shop…’ he repeated.

‘Right,’ you said, pulling away to conceal the beat of your thumping heart. ‘Straight down this road and right at the intersection.’

‘Alright then,’ he said, cheerily, ‘lead the way.’

The shops were only just waking up, delivery trucks lining the streets. In the distance, you could hear the ocean, calm that morning except for the occasional thrash of the waves which marked its presence.

‘Where do you live?’ you blurted out without thinking. The question must have caught him off-guard too. He jerked his head in your direction, pausing for a bit before answering.

‘My parents’ home is in our town,’ he said. ‘But I go to college in Seoul.’

‘Oh, which one?’ you asked. ‘My university is also in Seoul.’

‘I know,’ he replied but did not answer your question.

You could see the ocean in the distance now, merging into the sky beyond the intersection. The cars looked as if floating on water as they sped off in either direction.

‘I am sorry,’ you said.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘What for?’

‘For shouting at you that night.’

‘It’s alright.’ He shrugged. ‘If someone was making my father work that much, I would have been angry too.’

That was Jaehyun— easy and uncomplicated. He had managed to put your mind at ease so simply that he made you question your own apology. You nodded, not sure whether grateful or humbled but whatever it was, you knew it was real, the feeling anchoring itself inside your heart.

When you reached the store, he stayed outside. The store owner had already laid the record out for you. It was a rare 12-inch record wrapped in a gatefold sleeve. You replayed your father’s instructions in your head as you picked it up for inspection. You held it up to the sun for signs of scratches or scruffs along the fine grooves. There were none. The label was authentic and so were the markings at the back.

You lowered the record and your gaze fell on Jaehyun, standing outside the store window. He had his hand on his camera and his eyes on you. The sun must have been burning his back— he was standing so still but he did not move.

You jerked your chin up in question but he shook his head and turned away. You had seen that look before on him before, several times in the last three months. It was either in those early hours of morning when he would report to work or later during the slow evenings just before closing time. You had never questioned it. It wasn’t your place. But you had realized as much that it was always when he was staring at you.

‘Did you get it?’ Jaehyun asked once you were outside.

‘Hm,’ you replied, tapping your bag and sighed, ‘We still have the afternoon to kill before the evening bus.’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘There is a lighthouse here,’ you said. ‘Do you want to go see it?’

‘Yes,’ he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up.

You retraced your steps back to the intersection and turned left this time, towards the sea and to the lighthouse that stood down the stony promenade. It was painted in striking red with a set of staircases leading up to the cabin at the top. The sea behind it was a stark blue in contrast, endlessly spilling over the horizon.

You sat on the edge of the walkway, your feet dangling over the breakwater rocks below you. You leaned back on your palms and breathed a sigh. The clouds overhead had overshadowed the sun and the salty wind had turned cold.

‘What are you doing?’ you asked.

Jaehyun had torn a page from a notebook in his backpack and was folding it up into a shape.

‘Making a boat,’ he replied with a child-like giggle.

‘A boat?’ You laughed. ‘For the ocean?’

‘Mhm.’ He had his eyes set on the paper he had laid out beside him. ‘See?’ he chimed up, holding the paper boat up to your face. ‘But the question is whether it will reach the ocean or not.’

The rocks were blocking the water and the aim had to be perfect. You got up with him, taking a step back to witness what you could already tell would be a failed venture. He angled the front of the boat towards the water like a plane and shot it like a dart towards it only for it to land right in front of your feet.

‘Here, let me try,’ you said and picked it up. You held it from the bottom and aimed it further away. It flew a few inches but landed in a small crevice between the boulders below.

‘Jaehyun!’ You shrieked.

Jaehyun had practically flung himself down the pavement to the slippery rocks, his hands still holding onto the edge.

‘Careful…’

‘I am fine,’ he shouted back above the sound of the waves just a few metres away from him.

‘Just throw the boat from there,’ you shouted back as you saw him scrambling back up to you with the boat still in his hand.

‘What’s the fun in that?’

‘You are insane, you know that?’

He smiled and shrugged.

The boat was crumpled beyond hope. With a quiet sigh, Jaehyun tore another page and made a longer, sleeker shape this time only to fail again. You tried different angles, shapes, even places. At one point, Jaehyun even took a running start and hurled the boat forward, but it always fell short of the shoreline, sometimes by mere inches.

By afternoon, a few children returning from school had joined your futile pursuit. While you kept folding new boats, you could hear Jaehyun behind you— scolding them in an attempt to keep them away from the edge.

At last, exhausted, you both plopped down.

‘Should we just give up?’ you asked. The wind wasn’t in your favour and the clouds were shifting again. You saw his shoulders slump further with a sigh as his gaze fell over the pile of the failed paper boats.

‘You look disappointed,’ you remarked.

You wanted to laugh and perhaps you did too because his dejected frown quickly twisted into an offended scowl. Why was he so disappointed over a silly boat. That boy really was mad. And, maybe you were too, because before you even realized it, you were grabbing his hand and pulling him along.

‘Come on, get up,’ you said, picking out the very first boat he had made from the pile. ‘We are going to get your damn boat into the water.’

The paper had dried hard but it was not torn. If it landed correctly, it could still float. You straightened out its crumpled edges, making the perfect cone at the top to balance its weight and took the position at the edge.

‘Careful.’ He tightened his grip on your hand.

‘I’m fine,’ you told him. ‘Just hold on tightly me.’

He braced his foot against yours as you leaned forward with his support. His fingers stiffened and his other hand grasped your elbow tightly but he gave you enough room to safely incline yourself over the rocks.

‘A little more.’

It took him a second to loosen his hold to let you lean further over the edge. You were focused on the angle, your eyes fixed on the pattern of the crashing waves. You counted the seconds in between. One more. You had to wait for just one more.

‘Now,’ you said. Jaehyun let go of your hand. You shot the boat towards the receding tide in the fraction of a second before he yanked you back into his arms.

This time the ocean accepted it, pulling the little devil inwards with its current.

‘It’s in the water,’ he said.

You had expected more of a celebration after the hours you both had spent on it. But perhaps the feel of his pounding heart beneath your palm was evidence enough of his triumph and the smile on his face was your reward.

‘It’s in the water,’ you echoed, amused at your own joy.

The evening bus was right on schedule and you barely made it back to the stop in time. The sun was setting in the distance. It was time to go back. You glanced back, as if hoping you could catch a final glimpse of the boat that you’d set afloat in the ocean together but it was gone.

The bus was packed yet quieter somehow. Jaehyun pulled a juice box from his bag for you and as you sipped on the bitter taste of farewell, your eyes swelled with tears. This really was the end— the last night of the dream that the summer had pulled you into.

Tomorrow, Jaehyun would be gone.

And so, you held on, as tightly as you could. You closed your eyes and let the setting sun lull you into one final sleep. He was still there, and you weren’t going to let tomorrow ruin that.

‘It is your turn to pick the song tonight,’ you turned to him.

His dazed eyes focused on yours then took out the earphones from his bag and gave one of them to you. It took him a while to find the song on his phone.

The Night We Met by Lord Huron.

Why did he choose that song? It was the very first you had both listened to together. Perhaps that was his closure.

It was still early when you reached your town but the bus stop was empty save for the passengers who got down with you. Jaehyun had offered to walk you back to your house but you had refused.

You pointed to the camera around his neck. ‘You didn’t take any pictures today.’

He remained silent, but you could see his mind working behind his eyes. He was perfectly still but he seemed restless somehow and you couldn’t tell why the same impatience was seeping into you as well.

‘Didn’t find anything beautiful to click?’ You tried to break the tension his silence had caused. The street lamp above you flickered for a brief moment before settling down.

‘I did,’ he said at last, his voice not above a whisper but his smile had returned— the shy one. In the same breath, he raised the camera to his eyes and snapped a picture of you.

You are not sure how long you stood there, arrested in place by the flash but you were sure of one thing then— you had to ask him the question that had been poking at you since last night.

‘Will I see you again?’

His relaxed smile irked you. Why was he so calm?

Silently, he unhooked the chain that he wore around his neck. You had seen it before but as he pulled it away, you saw a pendant hanging at the end. It was a small silver record complete with its grooves.

He took your hand and placed it in your palm, closing your fingers over it. He leaned in close, as if whispering a secret to you.

‘On the day you climb a hundred steps, close your eyes, hold out this pendant in front of you and say my name. That’s when you’ll see me again.’

You looked up at him, confused, but he had already let go of your hand.

‘Promise me, you will remember this,’ he said. He was pulling away but his eager eyes were waiting for your answer. ‘Promise me.’

‘I will,’ you managed before he left.

That was two weeks ago and the last time you saw Jaehyun.

Nothing had moved around you— the wrought iron gates still stood; the people still walked by. The air was still warm and the college was still waiting.

Pulling the strap of your bag up your shoulder, you dragged your gaze back to your new life. One step after the other, you walked till you reached the base of a steep climb.

This entrance was reserved for freshmen. For a moment you wondered whether it was some sort of a prank set up by the seniors because in front of you was a seemingly endless set of steps stretching to a top you couldn’t even see from where you stood.

Just then, a boy next to you groaned. ‘Why are there a hundred steps here?’

You heard a breathy laugh next. ‘Funny you say this. It’s exactly a hundred steps here.’

A hundred steps…

You had started climbing the steps alongside them, your ears perked up at their conversation.

‘What do you mean?’ the first one asked.

‘It’s tradition,’ the other one replied, catching up to him. ‘Freshmen are supposed to climb a hundred steps on their first day of college for good luck.’

‘What did you just say?’ You suddenly turned to them, making them jump up.

The two boys exchanged a confused glance before looking back at you.

‘I am sorry,’ you quickly added, seeing their startled expression. ‘The steps…’

The shorter one nodded his head. ‘Yes, it’s a freshmen tradition—’

‘No,’ you cut him off. ‘Are there exactly hundred steps on this staircase?’

‘Y-Yes,’ he stammered.

Jaehyun’s words rushed to the front of your mind— on the day you climb a hundred steps…

It was the strangest thing that he had said that night. You had turned his words over in your head a thousand times, wondering if you had misheard him or missed something between the lines.

But here they were, quite literally, a hundred steps in front of you.

Heart hammering inside your chest, you quickly counted the steps you had already climbed— 24— before turning around and breaking into a run. You could feel the pendant burn inside your pocket as you rushed up the stairs, two at a time.

Your legs burned with the strain it took to push yourself up the incline, each step more demanding than the last.

This is ridiculous, you thought. This isn’t a fairytale. How would he even know about this.

But the rising questions melted away in the face of what was pulling you up.

Your breaths turned into short gasps, making your pounding heart thud against your ears, drowning out everything else. Your lungs ached for air, but you did not stop. If he was really waiting at the top, you didn’t want him to wait for too long.

One after the other, you kept going, slower when you couldn’t anymore, but not stopping until the top finally came into view.

Still panting, you reached for the pendant in your pocket, your other hand pressing against the stitch in your stomach. The silver record dangled from the chain as you held it out in front of you, the tiny grooves reflecting the sunlight.

You closed your eyes, and whispered his name like a prayer— it felt like magic anyway.

‘Jaehyun.’

The leaves above you rustled in the soft wind that had caught you. The birds were chirping too. There was a dull chatter somewhere in the distance and the soft curses of the students asking you to move. But you could not bring yourself to open your eyes yet.

God, this is so stupid. You were sure you looked deranged to others. The possibility crossed your mind too. What if he had meant his words to be something else. What if you had not paid close attention to what he had said. Ugh. Why couldn’t he have just said what he wanted to?!

But then you heard it— him.

‘What took you so long?’

You smiled first, then opened your eyes. He was standing right before you, his dimples etched on his cheeks. His hand closed over yours, pulling the pendant to himself, and you with it.

‘I am sorry, I am late,’ you said.

There he was, your senior in college, the dream within your grasp. Just like every other girl in his class must have, you had a crush on him too.

‘Do you…’ The words caught in your throat. The fantasy was easier than reality. But you had not just climbed a hundred steps to shy away.

‘What is it?’

Gathering all the courage in your heart, you asked, ‘Do you want to get a cup of coffee?’

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling like they did the first time you had seen him. His smile grew wider barely leaving space for the dimples on his cheeks. He wrapped his arm around your waist, hesitantly at first then bolder when you followed his lead. The tip of his nose had turned red but his bashful gaze remained fixed on you. He held your face in his hands and pressed his lips over yours ever so sweetly like he had been waiting to do so for an eternity.

‘I would love to,’ he whispered and kissed you again.

The End.

[flusteredmoonn]

haunted; regulus black

summary: "c'mon, c'mon, don't leave me like this," in which he doesn't have the heart to tell her of his imminent departure.

tags: (SFW), angsty, one sided angst, war angst, mentions of war, mentions of murder, post hogwarts years, slight canon divergence, fast paced, implied slytherin!reader, she/her pronouns, third person y/n.

words: 600+

speak now tracklist. request.

hurriedly, he ventured down the stairs of the safe house, swallowing thickly when he reached the bottom. he clutched the strap of his worn book bag as he moved throughout the house. making it to the entryway, he threw the bag down on a side table aggressively before reaching for the ends of his sleeves and adjusting his cufflinks.

he knew what was coming, he knew what was expected of him. the dark lord had graced him with a second opportunity to prove his capability and furthermore, his loyalty to him. it was no secret that he had failed his assigned task during his sixth year at hogwarts. a failure which was held over his head at any given moment, particularly from his manic aunt.

hearing his descent, she made her way through the house, meeting him in the entry hall.

"regulus?' her voice was light as she queried her partner, watching as he seemed increasingly frantic, readying himself for something.

"yes, my dear," he did not look in her direction, instead diverting his attention to the contents of his satchel, making sure everything was in order.

"what ever are you doing? you seem in an awful rush, are you going somewhere?" her question was innocent, and still his heart shattered, daring himself to send a look in her direction.

upon seeing her, his face dropped. once pinched expression relaxing, his shoulders dropped their tension. he turned his body to face her,

"oh," he finally hesitated, registering her inquiry, "i've been summoned at work, needed urgently for something confidential that has arisen," he clarified with a tight lipped smile before resuming correcting his appearance.

"when will you be back?" she continued to question, causing regulus to inwardly sigh.

"i'm not sure," he was quick to speak, leaving his back and manoeuvring around the girl, as if in search of something. she took the hint as tension thickly grew around them, that he did not wish to elaborate.

from a distance, she watched regulus pace all throughout the house, nervously checking the grandfather clock at the end of the hall to make sure he wasn't late.

worry still swirled through the girl's mind, brows drawing closer together as she watched her love spiral. she knew something was wrong. she had done for a while. but whenever she toyed with the resistance of the subject, the boy did nothing but deflect.

eventually, the boy concluded that he had acquired everything he needed before readying himself to leave once more. however, this time, his expression was solemn rather than the frantic one it held prior.

regretfully looking at the grandfather clock once more, the hands of the clockface told him that he needed to leave.

he called the girl's name, watching as she emerged from an adjoining room, clearly having hovered.

"i fear it is time i need to go," regulus' voice was above a whisper, moving forward stiffly, as he embraced her. breathing in a shaky breath, he added, "i'm not sure if, when i'll be back," he hid a cough amongst his words.

"that's okay, i'll wait for you," she replicated his actions, wrapping her arms tightly around him, as she normally did when he had to depart.

his heart broke silently at her words. he knew he wouldn't be back, it was a mission he wouldn't return from. he had known the second he saw the faces of the other death eaters. he couldn't tell her, even though he usually did, despite confidentiality. he wouldn't.

he would hate to be the barer of her despair. and he couldn't make her upset. not now.

so he held her tighter, before affirming that he had to leave. and he didn't look back before apparating, he couldn't.

[somorrow]

Can I request a Naruto character (your pick ofc) meeting reader’s parents for the first time!

“It could be worse. She could be dating an Uchiha.” As you opened your own door to exit the vehicle that had just parked in front of the house, Jiraiya’s narrowed optics bored into the dark, piercing eyes of his wife. Tsunade’s arms were crossed over her chest as they stood before the front window. Jiraiya shook his head, a heavy feeling in his gut. "This is worse. I've seen that kid at signings before."

He could never forget that sideways, spiky silver hair. He’d never seen any other man with locks that defied gravity the way his had — not other than himself at least, and maybe his godson.

Tsunade’s brows narrowed, her pink lips scowling. “What?! You know him?!”

“Yeah, Kakashi was his name. Kakashi Hatake. I remember it from the signing.”

“Sakumo’s boy?”

“Yup.”

“Wasn’t he always in trouble for fighting?”

“Yup.”

“Damn it,” Tsunade cursed, clenching her fists. "A pervert and a delinquent. What the hell are you thinking, (Name)?!"

"It's a new relationship. We could ruin it."

Tsunade gave it a genuine thought before clicking her tongue. "We shouldn't. She seems happy." "It's only been two months. It won't kill her to start again." He let out a scoff of disbelief when the two of you began to walk over his freshly cut grass, hand-in-hand. "Oooh, it's so over." "Cut it out! Get away from the window before they see us!" "Let him see me." Tsunade groaned and wrapped her arms around her husbands toned bicep and pulled. "Let's go, big boy. Time to pretend you've never met him."

The doorbell echoed throughout the house, and Jiraya propelled himself forward to reach it before her. He swung the door open in a flash, face already flushing in a swirl of anger and humiliation. As he opened the door, your happy greeting took all thoughts of assault from his mind. You immediately disregarded your boyfriend's hand for a hug from your father, latching onto your mother next. "Hi, dad! Sorry we're late! My cat got out, and Kakashi had to help me chase her." Kakashi had a face of stone, though it was pressed into a smile. He lowered himself into a substantially low bow. Unusually so, for Kakashi, but you knew he had to really lay it on in order to get out of this alive. Especially after you'd just botched it all to hell. What the hell had you been thinking?! Your cat got out?! She was terrified of the outdoors! "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Senju. My name is Kakashi Hatake." You gave your mom a second hug - almost an apologetic one - before pulling back. An awkward pause settled between the four of you. If looks could kill, your boyfriend would be 12 feet deep twice over. Your father especially appeared to be seconds away from lashing out - either in a vicious, verbal way or, you were afraid he'd really punch him. A mix of emotions filled him as he eyed Kakashi. He was composed and respectful thus far - it would be unfair to keep the pressure mounting much further. Trying to keep his tone neutral, Jiraiya invited you in. "Well, let's not just stand in the doorway. Come on in." Kakashi bowed again before smiling. "Thank you. It's an honor to meet you, truly. (Name) is incredible in every way." Kakashi continued to lay on the charm throughout the next hour and a half, through a meal your mother had cooked (one of his least favorites, although he didn't particularly mind it this time), and both of you managed to stumble through conversations without any accidental innuendos. The time came, though, to where the dinner had ended, the conversations had died, and you needed to leave to prepare for work the next morning. It was evident they were still wary, though they had eased with time. You figured this would have to be something they got used to - you had been single for a long time, after all. During your goodbyes, though, it felt far much more lighthearted than before. You turned to your mother for one last hug, with Kakashi bowing to them both and shaking your fathers hand. "Take care of my daughter, Hatake." Your heart fluttered at the sound. Kakashi's eyes widened a bit as Jiraiya pulled him in. "And throw out every copy you own," he whispered threateningly. "Every. Last. One." He'd burn them. "Yes, sir. Of course," Kakashi agreed, fighting through a stutter. With that, Jiraiya's crushing grip eased, and your mother finally let go of her hug. You crossed the grass once more, hand-in-hand. "That went well!" You chimed. Kakashi winced a bit as you squeezed it reassuringly, an energetic lift to your step. "I hope so..." He said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking up at the tail end of the sunset, stars beginning to glitter above. "Next time, we won't be late." Edit: I moved this to ao3! Thanks for the inspiration. Here's the link: xxx.

[givemea-dam-break]

a/n: since quite a few of you wanted a part 2, here it is for this request - heyy could you do anthony lockwood x reader, where they used to be best friends but something bad happens to the reader and they stop talking and after years they reunite because of a case. maybe angst and fluff - i hope you all enjoy! on my masterlist, it's titled Downfall

warnings: mentions of deathh, spoiler (for those of you who haven't read the end of the whispering skull aka end of s1's book), mild language gn reader taglist: @tellmeoflegends @shampoocovers99 @nessa-stark @moonysstarconstellation

part 1

Your coffee went cold about ten minutes ago, and yet still you wait. Begrudgingly. Hopefully. God, who knows why you're waiting?

Lockwood's almost half an hour late. Really, you should've left twenty minutes ago. Really, you should've never agreed to come out to get a coffee with him, but it felt necessary. He and his friends had just rid your house of the ghosts of your mother and aunt, and you'd been feeling particularly emotional at that moment, so you'd agreed. Now, you're beginning to regret it.

The sun gleams through the windows of the café, one you used to frequent with Lockwood the morning after he'd had a case while he was still working as an apprentice. You chose it simply because of how much you loved their coffee.

You've not had a sip.

Even though it's a drink, it carries memories almost as bitter as the taste of it, and you can't bring yourself to have a bit. It feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong. The way you look at the door every time the windchimes sound; the way your heart is pounding in your chest with apprehension. You should be at home, making sure your dad is all right. Not meeting up with the guy who ignored you for years for something outwith your control.

You check your watch, frowning at the time, when once more the windchimes jingle.

This time, it's not an old man or a young couple that walks in, but a tall, slender boy in a far-too-long coat, a rapier by his side.

When Lockwood spots you, he smiles and hurries over, sitting down slightly out of breath. His cheeks and nose are a rosy pink.

"So sorry," he says. "I was running late."

"Clearly." You nudge your mug around on the maple table, watching the sun reflect off the white porcelain. "I was about to leave."

He grins in a way that was once contagious. No longer. "Well, I'm glad you didn't. What did you get? The usual? Back in a moment, I'm going to get a tea and a muffin."

In seconds, he's away and at the counter ordering, and you can feel all of your energy sap out of you and into him. You're not sure how he's so high-spirited, nor so energetic. You're positively shattered. But his temporary absence allows you to try and gather your thoughts and emotions.

It's like the barista knows your predicament because she's taking obscenely long to make Lockwood's tea. Not that you're complaining. Just as well you tipped her beforehand. Maybe you'll tip her more.

"Ah, nothing like tea on a cold day," Lockwood says as he sits down again, placing his mug on the table gently. "So, how are you? Good, I hope, seeing as you're ghost-free."

You shrug, watching the coffee in your mug follow the swirling motion of your spoon. "As good as I can be when my mum and aunt are dead, and my dad is losing his mind. What do you want to talk about?"

"Straight to the point, as usual." He smiles brightly, and it retains even when you don't return the gesture. "I just thought it'd be a good idea if we worked things out."

"Worked things out? Lockwood, there isn't anything to be worked out. I moved away without a choice, you got mad at me and never answered my letters. What more is there to say?"

For a millisecond, his joyful mask slips, revealing something that looks like a mix between guilt and irritation, but it's back in place before you know it. "Can I at least properly explain why?"

For lack of better judgement, you nod and cross your arms, sitting back in your seat. There's a weird feeling in your stomach, almost like squeezing. Like how some snakes wrap around their prey, squeezing the life out of it to consume, Lockwood's words do the same to your very soul.

How long have you waited for this conversation? To finally get clarity as to why he just cut contact with you?

Well, you know some of it. After the deaths of his family, you were the only person he had left, and his biggest fear was losing you, too. He clung to that fear for the five years between Jessica's, his sister, death and your move as if it were the only thing keeping him afloat in a dark, endless sea. It's why you insisted on writing and sending letters every day even when you had nothing of interest to talk about. You didn't want him to feel alone.

What more could there be?

Much more, apparently.

"Well." For the first time in this whole encounter, Lockwood seems nervous. His fingers are tapping against his mug, occasionally making little clicking sounds when his nails make contact. He keeps looking at the bridge of your nose instead of your eyes like he used to do when he was a kid and wanted you to ask your mum to get you both ice cream. "You were my closest friend. Nigel Skyes, you remember him? My first employer? Well, he was great, but I'd never consider him a friend, so you were essentially it for me. I mean, you know as well as I do, that all this charm? The bravado? It's fake, (name). You were the one person who could see through it and still accepted me as I was.

"So, yes, it hurt more than anything when you left, because I needed my shield up all the time. After my parents, after Jessica -" He pauses for a moment to slow himself down. He had started to ramble. "It was hard, but around you, I didn't need to be brave or happy all the time. Then you left, and - and I can't even begin to explain the fear that ran through me. What was I meant to do without my rock? The one person who saw what a mess I am but didn't care, because they were just as bad."

"Thanks," you mutter.

"You know what I mean, though," he continues. "It's like... When you're on a rope swing, really high in the air, and then the rope snaps and you can just see the clouds growing distant and the ground rising up to meet you before you crash into it. It was disorienting not having you around, and it felt like that when you told me you were leaving."

You only speak because of how final that last sentence sounds. "I didn't leave. Leaving implies I chose to go, which I didn't."

"The premise stays the same. You were here, and then you weren't."

"You -" Taking a deep breath, you compose yourself. You'd both chosen to meet out in public so you didn't start shouting at each other. "Okay. I understand how you feel."

His eyebrow quirks up as if to say, Is that so? But he says, "Thank you. Your turn."

For what? you think. You've got nothing to explain, no actions to justify. You did everything in your power as a teenage kid to stay with your best friend, and you got the response most teenagers would receive from their parents for such a request. No. What more could you have done?

"You could've replied to my letters," you say quietly, unable to look at him.

"I did," he says. His voice is soft, and you can feel his eyes on your face. "I just didn't have the guts to send them."

The emotions that overtake you then are overwhelming. Sadness because you never got to read these letters or see the stupid responses he came up with for the even-stupider things you said. Anger because he never sent them, never even sent one to tell you that he couldn't handle it. Regret because you never should've sent any in the first place. Comfort because he spent time actually reading your thoughts and ramblings and sat down to respond, even knowing he wouldn't send them.

But there's that little part in you that doubts what he says. How are you to know that he's not lying?

Swallowing the clog of feelings in your throat, you say, "I just wanted my best friend. Even if I couldn't stay here and see you all the time, I wanted to know how you were doing. If you thought of me as much as I thought of you."

"I never stopped."

You take a sip of your cold coffee then to hide the tears clouding your eyes.

"You could've taken the train to come back and see me, you know," Lockwood says. "A visit every now and then wouldn't have hurt."

"And so could you," you retort. "I gave you my address. I had school to think about, and I couldn't spend however many days a week on a half-hour ride there and another back. There was too much going on,"

His lips purse, and there's a little pang in your heart seeing him without his smile. You had forgotten how fulfilling it had always been to see it, even when you were mad.

"Did you mean it when you said you've not made any friends where you are now?"

As embarrassing as it is, you say, "Yeah. It's not easy when you're the new kid with social issues. Why do you think I always made you do the talking?"

He breathes a laugh then, a faint glimmer shining in his dark eyes. "I suppose you never were very good at talking to people."

"No." You tuck your hair behind your ears, staring down at your mug. "I never realised how hard it was to make friends. With you, it had been easy. You were just some chatty kid who wanted some of my doughnuts. No one could compare to you, so I never bothered."

Lockwood hesitates, breathing in as if to speak but no words pass his parted lips. With the sunlight streaming through the window, he looks like he's been painted onto the scene in front of you with those shadowed eyes that hold a lifetime's worth of mystery and an almost unrealistic air about him. The golden light splits across his face far too perfectly. It's infuriating. It never does that for anyone else.

"I think what hurt the most," he says, and his voice holds a very unrecognisable note of trepidation, "is that I had been planning to ask you out the day you told me."

Your hands, which had been tapping the tops of your thighs, stop short, and you look over at him in shock.

"What?"

His smile this time is small, bashful almost. "I'd liked you since we were twelve, in all honesty. But I never acted on it because we were kids and I was still grieving. Admitting I loved you felt like sentencing you to death, and I didn't want that for either of us. And then I worked up the courage, got my shit together, but look where that's got me."

It hurts a little to breathe. "You're kidding."

"I'd never joke about that." He's the one who won't meet your eyes now. "It hurt twice as bad getting the news because I was losing my best friend and the person I loved most on the same day. But I went on."

You note the wording then, how he didn't say move on, and an old, almost foreign spark of hope flickers in the dark abyss that once held your heart. Like every minute spent with the boy you left it with makes it slowly return.

"I loved you, too, for what it's worth," you murmur. "But, you know me and talking. I couldn't get the words out."

The nature of his smile shifts to something more remorseful. "I wonder how much trouble we would've avoided if we'd told each other."

"Or caused, you mean."

And he laughs softly at that, bringing a little smile onto your lips and a warmth to your chest. Something about the conversation, even though you're still insanely mad at him for the things he's done - or not done, more correctly - has made you feel lighter, liberated, in a way. It's easier to smile and laugh and feel a little okay. To allow yourself to connect with him in a way so minuscule to how you once were years ago but so tremendous compared to your time apart.

You never thought you'd be sitting here with him now, sharing smiles, and the thought makes you tear up again.

"Do you think we could ever be friends again?" he asks hopefully. "I mean, I know you'll still be a half-hour journey away and all, but I'll send my letters this time. I swear it. I want to hear all about your life at university."

No, a little part of you cries. You'll just end up hurt again.

But you don't want to listen to it. You want your happiness back, your best friend. You want to be able to wake up in the morning happy, knowing you're not all alone in your life anymore. You want to suffer through a stuffy train journey on weekends and holidays to come and see him and drink bitter coffee and eat stale doughnuts like you used to when you were fourteen.

Most of all, you want him again. A week ago, you would've scoffed at the notion and told anyone who thought it to go screw themselves, yet this one conversation...

It has given you clarity, along with a lot of anger and frustration and sadness, but sitting across from him? It feels worth it. Everything from the past three years feels worth it because now you're across from him and you're smiling and so is he.

So you say, "Yes."

And while part of you screams that you've made a mistake, another tells you that you made the mistake of falling into his web so, so long ago and never yearning to leave it, instead calling it home.

"Yes," you repeat because at least he's your mistake, your downfall, your home.

[mosneakers]

The spirit of Agnes and Coraleye enter the elegant Sunset Valley estate. Vintage melodies from a record player swirl, enveloping Coraleye in a sense of nostalgia that she had only known from classic romance films up until this moment.

Agnes: Welcome home, darling. 230 Redwood Parkway, fondly known as "August Moon" by some.

Coraleye: Wow, that's such a magical name. This home is breathtaking, Grandma!

Agnes: It's always been my envisioned haven for raising children. Coraleye: And you owned it? Even while you lived in Moonlight Falls? Who took care of it when you weren't here?

Agnes: My sister, Cornelia, tended to her in my absence. This home held a special place in my heart, and she, understanding its significance, made occasional upgrades, just in case we ever decided to sell. Or, perhaps... return.

Coraleye: Return? As in move back? Agnes: Come, dear. Looks like dinner is finished, and now we're clearing up. I want you to hear this conversation.

As they step into the kitchen, tension hangs thick in the air. Erik diligently washes the dishes while Agnes busies herself preparing ingredients for tomorrow's meals. Neither utter a word, until Agnes finally breaks the silence.

Agnes: Erik, I... I must apologize for snapping at you during dinner. That was quite unwarranted. You were right—I ought to have shared the news with you about the fire. I know the Seymour house was so dear to your heart. It was for me, too. I hope you're not angry with me.

Erik: Ain't mad at ya, Aggy. Gee, I suppose I overreacted too. It's not just about the house; I can live without that. My decent paying job in Moonlight Falls, no chance nobody here'll pay the same. Cost of living's a lot higher, and...well, I've been hoping you'd eventually come 'round to having another baby with me, honey...

Coraleye: [eyes misting] Grandpa really wanted another baby, didn't he? Agnes: [Smiles fondly] Oh yes. But I was quite stubborn. Coraleye: I think Janie mentioned a bit about the fire being the reason for you moving back here. Did you figure out how it happened? Agnes: No, we never did. But the Crumplebottom Sisters informed me that it destroyed everything. Even their great powers couldn't reverse the damage. I had planned to tell Erik, but Belinda beat me to it with a telephone call.

Agnes: [Continuing with Erik] You know I've always said that I'm content with our two. Erik: I know baby, I've just had my fingers crossed one day you'd change your mind. Just a pipe dream, that's all. Agnes: [Sighs] Well, darling... We'll need to sort through our finances. It seems you might just be getting your way, after all...

Erik: What are you telling me, woman? Agnes: It's still early yet to, but... I find myself a tad late.

Erik: Late for tea and crumpets with the ladies at the country club, or are we talking more along the lines of a bun in the oven? Agnes: It could be. Again, it's still very early. Just three days.

Erik joyfully sweeps Agnes into his arms, twirling her as they share a tender kiss. A soft giggle escapes Agnes's lips.

Erik: Aggy baby, you make me the luckiest man to ever live or die!

Coraleye's heart swells with emotion as she witnesses her great-grandfather express his unconditional love for Agnes with such passion and honesty. They follow the Darling pair into the living area to join the girls, particularly Gwendolyn, who are engrossed in the television.

Coraleye: Gosh, look at how you two lovebirds are gazing at each other. TV not holding your attention much, is it? [Grins]

Agnes: Well, I've always preferred books. [Smiles] The television often broadcasted troubling news, especially that year when the government confirmed the existence of aliens. I made the children turn it off promptly if I heard any talk of extraterrestrials.

Coraleye quickly averts eye contact, wondering how much Agnes knows about the current state of the world, particularly Sunglo, his abduction, and how those events resulted in the birth of his beloved daughter.

Knowing her great-grandmother's well-documented phobia centered around extraterrestrials, Coraleye opts to change the subject for the time being.

Coraleye: Hey, Grandma? How did you and Grandpa know to bring the family photos along on your trip to Sunset Valley? Most people don't bring all their family photos on vacations.

Agnes: [Grins] My, I did say you were observant, didn't I? Coraleye: Well, astute. But yes. I hope to land a career in journalism, just like Grandpa! Agnes: [Nods approvingly] A journalist in the making, just like your Grandpa. No, the decision to take the photos along was merely a coincidence. Like you heard your Grandfather say, I make him "the luckiest man to ever live or die!"