#children's books; but nothing that has particularly stood out

[fablesdelajoie]

2023 favourite reads

Posting this because I'm loving everybody else's lists. Here are a few of my favourite books of 2023:

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Sick Ned high on milk of the poppy. He has no filter and can’t stop flirting with Cat even in front of poor maester luwin.

Maester Luwin has once again been exposed to things he would rather not be exposed to, Ned has an unknown sickness/injury and Cat is tired. I cannot emphasise this enough; enjoy!

Maester Luwin had decided he would not die very quickly. There would be pain, or would take time to make a recovery, though in the end he would have his health and there was no danger to his life.

Therefore Catelyn did not worry for him particularly much. Of course she was unhappy with the state of her husband and felt his pain deeply, she wanted nothing but for him to be well again. Though she did not have the time to think of him. With Ned indisposed many of his duties passed to her, so there was much to occupy her thoughts with.

Though she took the time to visit him whenever she could. Most of the time he was asleep, then she merely sat at his bedside. Embroidered, mended clothing, read a book. That day was different, she had been told he was awake and had asked for her.

Her lord had asked for her and so she had put aside what she was doing and gone to him. It would be good to see those eyes of his for once, and hear his voice.

“Cat!” Ned said when she came into his chamber.

His gaze was somewhat foggy, he seemed to have trouble focusing on her. Still she had to smile when she saw him. He was right there all the time, though she missed him all the same. Missed having him with her more often.

Maester Luwin stood by Ned’s bedside. He said nothing, though nodded towards her.

“Good day, my love” she said to Ned.

He smiled back at her, looking surprisingly joyful for a man that should have been in terrible pain.

When she came to sit on the edge of the bed his smile grew even wider.

“How are you feeling?”

She reached towards him to touch his cheek. His beard had grown rather unruly, she would have to see to that.

“Better now when you’re here.”

He made himself more comfortable against the pillows, then took her hand and brought it from his cheek to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

“Are you not in pain?”

Officially the question was directed towards Ned, though she looked at Maester Luwin. Ned, of course not understanding that, began mumbling something incoherently.

“I give him as much of the milk of the poppy as I dare, my lady” Maester Luwin told her. “He should not be–“

Suddenly Ned’s words became more coherent, leading the poor maester to trail off into silence.

“I need no milk of the poppy when I have you.”

Catelyn squeezed his hand, letting her thumb run over the back.

“That is sweet, my dearest, though it would be good if you did not interrupt Maester Luwin.”

“I take no offence, my lady” Luwin assured her with a nod.

Both of them were well aware it was the milk of the poppy that was speaking, not Ned. He was not acting like himself.

Catelyn turned back to Ned.

“I was told you asked for me. Do you have something you wish to say?”

He blinked slowly, as if trying to remember what it was he wanted. She expected he would ask of the children or the grain stores or something else that had appeared in his mind. It was probably not doing him well to be indisposed and of no use.

“You’re beautiful” was what he actually said.

“Thank you, though what was it you wanted to tell me?”

Perhaps trying to get it out of him was an impossible task, though she could try. If he had wanted her to come there had to be something.

“I miss you” he continued.

She was with him more often than he was aware of.

“You should be better soon, then you will see me all the time.”

Then he would never be rid of her.

“I dream of you. What the maester gives me makes me dream.”

Maester Luwin cleared his throat.

“It’s very common with this–“

Once again Ned began talking over him and Catelyn could not help but sigh.

“It makes me ache for you.”

“Ned” Catelyn said firmly.

She did her very best to give him a stern look, though she believed it was ruined by that she was also a little amused by it.

When she glanced at Maester Luwin she saw that he had found a very interesting spot in the ceiling that he was studying.

“I want your skin–“

It was her turn to interrupt him, though she did so by placing her free hand over his mouth as she suspected he would not have listened to her otherwise.

“Oh hush with you, that is most improper.”

Ned raised his eyebrows at her, then she felt a sharp pain in the palm of her hand, making her immediately pull it back again.

“Did you bite me?” she exclaimed.

It had happened before, of course, though never in the palm of her hand. And never when they were not alone.

“Just a nip” Ned solemnly informed her. “You have never complained before.”

“Do forgive him, Maester Luwin, he is not acting like himself” she sighed.

Maester Luwin was not yet finished studying his finding in the ceiling, and he did not look at her as her answered.

“Lord Stark is affected by the poppy milk.”

The ridiculousness of it all struck her as she once again looked at her bedridden husband. It would be good to have him back on his feet again, she hoped it would be soon. And she prayed he would then continue to be in good health.

“I will leave you now as you so clearly cannot handle my presence” she chuckled.

Never before had she seen her lord husband pout, and she believed she would never see it again.

She leaned down and kissed his forehead, felt his fingers ghost over her cheek as she did so.

“Come back soon” he whispered.

“I will be back when I have time.”

When he was once again asleep and unaware of that she was there.

Maester Luwin did have a look of relief on his face as she nodded towards him and left the room. Perhaps he had tried to hide it, but she saw. And she understood it.

Catelyn met Robb not far away from there.

“How is Father? Can I visit him?”

“Perhaps you should wait” she told him. “He’s rather up on the clouds, the milk of the poppy makes his head very foggy.”

And his tongue very loose.

[nightingalestarchaser]

●Verecundia

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Fem Relative Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Content Warnings: Nothing too explicit, just some implications ✨️

A/N: This is the first thing I have ever written for HOTD, which I have been a huge fan of. Aemond immediately stood out to me as the most interesting character, and he has occupied my thoughts since I first saw him. I wrote this late at night while struggling to sleep, so apologies if it's not it! Hopefully you enjoy it ✨️

:

She misses him.

The loss became an ache that has settled deep into her body. It is in her very bones, she feels it everywhere.

It's shameful, to feel the desperate longing that she does. To feel her heart weigh heavy in her chest, to feel her stomach tighten, her body cry out for him. It is a shame she has brought upon herself, no other can be blamed for her misfortune.

For she does not miss her beloved husband, hundreds of miles away from home, fighting endless battles, nor her loyal brother, away to forge a new alliance for their family. She does not miss her kind father, who would sit her on his knee and make her laugh when she was feeling low. To miss any of those men would invite no shame upon her.

The man she misses can only bring her shame.

Publicly, at least.

Away from prying eyes, he brought her so much more.

All she wanted was him, and he gave her himself and so much more. He gave her that which she didn't even know craved so desperately, and then took it away from her.

He gave her love, devotion, attention, time. He would make her feel as though no others existed in the world but them.

Sometimes he would watch her so carefully, so intensely. If she was reading a book or practicing embroidery she wouldn't notice him watching, until she glanced in his direction. He would smile, her heart would race to think he'd been watching her.

She asked why, once. He said that he found peace in watching her. That he would wait for the moment where she would concentrate most, furrow her brow and let her teeth graze her lower lip. She felt embarrassed, but thrilled that he took such time to notice.

She watched him sometimes, too. When he didn't think she was looking. She loved him more in those moments. When he trained in the yard, expertly dancing with his sword and shield, looking so excited and thrilled. When he had an extra helping of wine with dinner and would laugh with abandon, his face lighting up. When he would sleep for a moment longer, letting her appreciate the beauty and softness of him in the early morning light.

He would smile when he woke up after her, a smirk following shortly afterwards. He would tease her for her voyeurism, slowly move towards her, join their bodies as one.

When she thought of those moments she ached the most. Those moments where she thought she must be dreaming, no reality could feel so wonderful.

With boundless time to think, he occupied most of her thoughts.

He always had, when she reflected. As children, they never played together, never felt drawn to each other. But she was always fascinated by him. Aegon was loud, the centre of attention, but she looked past that, to him.

Even before the accident, she found him fascinating. She did not know why, he wasn't particularly worthy of note, but she noted him. As they grew, she realised that he had noted her too.

It was not improper for them to spend time together, they were family after all. They weren't doing anything wrong, caused no harm. She would watch him practice with a sword, they would take lessons of the pen together. They would spend hours in the library, studying and reading. Others were always around, it was not improper.

Sometimes they would dance together at a wedding, or a feast. She danced with many men, he was no different.

But his hand would linger on her waist for a moment too long. They would whisper as they moved around each other. Their hands would brush when they should be still.

They did not dance together at her wedding. She only danced with her husband. They did not brush hands, or whisper. They moved in perfect unison, completing each step with precision, as they would with any partner. She did not care to dance again that evening.

Until he came to her.

Told her she deserved a proper dance on her wedding night. She had left the hall briefly, with a maid in tow. He had followed, taken advantage of the maid's naivety and one of many secret passages. They danced under the moonlight, their bodies pressed close, her eyes never leaving his.

By the time they got back, few in the hall were sober enough to have noticed the absence, her new husband among them. She was grateful for the rivers of wine that allowed him just enough time to technically perform his duties before rolling over and escaping the conscious world.

She escaped their new chambers, her feet cold on the stone. He was waiting for her, he didn't say it but she knew when she saw him still fully dressed, pacing by the fire in his room.

He would claim responsibility and blame, that he took advantage. But she knew it was her own doing. She was the master of her own downfall. She was the one who kissed him, who begged him to give her the wedding night she deserved. She undressed him, she revealed herself to him and tempted him to her.

After that night, she knew she could never go back. The way he made her feel was like nothing she had ever known. He treated her not like a delicate flower or a common whore, he wasn't afraid of her but he worshipped her. Dared to leave evidence of their desire upon her body, knowing her husband would never see it.

He made her feel powerful and weak all at once.

They were so careful, but that matters little in their world. A whisper here, a glance there. A beautiful young couple with no children, in the first flush of marriage, how could it be? Maids are seen visiting Maesters, the chain is weakened. Some gold drops into a hand, a coaxing promise is made, secrets spill easily.

Still, confidence and gold will only buy so much, and whispers are not easily turned into shouts. He is powerful. Her husband is powerful. She is an embarrassment. Shame made felsh, lacking decency and honour but tied to a powerful man. So they stay whispers.

But whispers are hard to ignore. A swollen belly becomes of importance but with a husband who is keen to spend all his time in far flung lands fighting for another's cause, such things are impossible.

He is brazen, wants her belly to swell with his child. She has been shamed enough, she cries, tears for what she wants and cannot have. He promises it to her, she will have what she desires, she will be free.

He is to go first, make the arrangements. He has the luxury of time, money, honour, golden blood. She must wait.

And wait.

She would write, but she does not know where he is. Should be Pentos, by now. Back again, she knows. He should be taking her away, and he is gone.

She is alone, and surrounded by whispers that threaten to deafen her. She locks herself away when she starts feeling ill, notices the slight swell of her belly. She prays nightly for his safe return, for their escape.

By the time it is too late for the tea, she knows that she would never have taken it. She is determined to stand tall and rise above the whispers. New subjects have been found for titillation but her maid informs her that she is still a popular topic. The official word is that she is suffering with a fever, and while few believe it, it is an accepted falsehood.

She cannot cry, she cannot plead with the Gods any longer without feeling like a fool wasting her time. Her husband is now due back any day. He may be a battle-minded man, but she knows he is no fool. Their last, brief coupling could not align with her now swollen belly.

When she thinks of the delight some would take in her downfall, she feels a burning rage flare through her body. She won't wait to be rescued or to be condemned. Her life, and the life of her babe were in her own hands.

So, she utilised what little loyalties were left to her, and fled. The night air on her face was all she needed to confirm her decision, she knew where she had to go.

[badblood-lesmis]

enj's mom hc

She was homeschooled, of course. Being sent away for the better part of the year to a school with witches and, worse more, wizards of all sorts was at the time still not something pureblood families such as hers allowed their daughters to do. The Compulsory Wizarding Education Act has been put into action only several years prior and had not yet overpowered the money and the status these families possessed.

She wasn’t particularly sad about it either, although she did feel dreadfully dull at times. She wished wholeheartedly to have sisters — to have unalienable friends to have around always, to play dress- up with, to giggle over the way monsieur Simon lisped when he talked, to tell them her deepest secrets — of how she wished to get away from this house, to see the world. How once she nearly dared to run away, out of sheer sense of boredom than anything other, and how she hardly made it out of their land borders when she was already so hungry and tired and covered in dirt, she decided to return. She felt ashamed of that a little, of her cowardice and lack of will her father often pointed in her, but she would tell this secret to a sister. Sisters, she was convinced, existed solely for the reasons of understanding, but she only had a brother nearly five years older than her, who at that point stopped paying her any attention even if to terrorise her. Maybe if he did, she thought sometimes, she would have the strength to run away. Maybe if her family had been entirely horrible like families are sometimes in books, when children are driven to the streets, and the woods, and the dirt, and the mosquitoes just to not be near them. Her own family was, on the other hand, entirely agreeable and she loved her parents, and she loved their house, and she had no reason really to run away apart from the vague desire to “see the world” and even that felt most times so vague and strange that it was easy to set aside and continue practicing scales on the piano.

She never particularly wanted to get married but then again, it was never really conceivable not to. She was to be married, like all girls, but not just to anyone — like most girls, her husband would be of her status and of her position, and so pleased was her father when he came one day to announce that the Minister for Justice himself has shown interested in Alice that she also could not help but feel the giddiness of being wanted by such a man. She didn’t even think much at the time of the fact that Ministers for Justice are not usually young and beautiful men of romantic novels. It would have hardly mattered regardless, of course, because the date had already been scheduled before the announcement of it to the bride, and the girl had only to indulge in womanly chores of ordering a dress and choosing the flowers and what other minor arrangements are left to do before a girl steps out of the house of one very wealthy and powerful man into the house of another very wealthy and powerful man, thus reinforcing the wealth and the power of both of them.

Minister Enjolras wasn’t very old and wasn’t bad-looking by any account, he was tall and handsome and she found his piercing pale-blue eyes immediately charming even with their seeming coldness. He kissed her when they stood in front of the church altar, and she, a seventeen-year-old girl in a very pretty dress, and with flowers in her hair, and with specially made shoes tailored to her tiny foot, smiled because she did not know, of course, that this short moment of their acquaintance when she was not yet his property was going to be the last time her future husband would be kind to her.

*

Nothing changed much at first glance — it was a different house but a similar emptiness of it outside of dinners with a plenty of guests, where she would be expected to hold conversations and smile and charm, and play some nice little piece on the piano if she were asked, or sing along to someone else playing, and praise the meat of their cook with the same words she praised their cook back home. She had to learn other things too. She had to learn to close her eyes and wait for her husband to fall asleep. She had to learn which creams and ointments helped to mask and heal

occasional bruises. To not hear things, to not see things. To understand also that Minister for Justice had seemingly very little to do with justice

She wrote a letter to her father the second week of her marriage, begged him to meet her and begged him in tears to take her back to receive a sudden blow of a harsh slap on the cheek from a man who had never done anything but cherish and love her.

“I don’t want to hear another word. Your husband is to listen to that now, Alice. Not me.”

She had a decent education. She didn’t care the slightest bit about history of magic, she was only okay at transfiguration but she did know her herbs, and she did know which herbs make you not see, which make you forget, and which turn you just mad enough so the world around you becomes bearable. Nobody stopped her, as long as she could still smile and hold a conversation at a dinner party. Being little glassy-eyed wasn’t entirely out of fashion. She hardly noticed, it seemed, bringing a son into the world. Or rather — she cared about having a child until she discovered it was a son, not a daughter which she secretly hoped for. That maybe if she was denied sisters, she would have a daughter to share the world with. But it was a boy and so she closed her eyes and waved the doula away from her breast, resigning the child to his father. It was his son, his heir, his blood and, as it later turned out, his likeness. She wanted nothing to do with him. Her daughter would share with her her sadness and her desire to love, but her son would not. She didn’t not love him entirely, but she always expected his father to jumped out of him.

Her art of not noticing was so perfected by the time the boy was grown, she was able to ignore the fact that he was not like his father in almost every way. Their physical resemblances bearing too much weight still. She felt quite unable to either give him anything or change anything in his fate or presence in this house. He was his fathers and he was his father’s to silence, to bleed and to abuse. Even if she did feel sorry for him, it was distant, like you’d feel sorry for an orphan in a book, not your own flesh and blood. He was a boy, so flesh and blood was his fathers’. And she had her own survival to care about.

[awesomelittleprincessjess]

The Classroom Transformation

James, a dedicated and somewhat beleaguered English teacher, paced at the front of his classroom. His students sat in rows, their faces a mix of boredom and mild interest. Among them was Emily, a 14-year-old student who often seemed aloof and uninterested in the lessons. Little did James know, Emily was not who she appeared to be.

"Emily," James called out, pointing to a passage in the book they were reading. "Can you answer the question about the protagonist's motivation in this chapter?"

Emily glanced up, her expression one of disdain. "I don't want to answer."

James sighed, determined to engage her. "Come on, Emily. Participation is part of your grade. Everyone has to contribute."

Emily's eyes darkened slightly. "I'm above all this nonsense," she said coldly.

James chuckled, mistaking her words for typical teenage rebellion. "You know, I was a student once too. I understand how it feels."

"No, you don't," Emily replied, her voice laced with an eerie certainty. She raised her hand and whispered something under her breath.

In an instant, the classroom spun around James. He felt a strange tingling sensation coursing through his body. Before he could react, he found himself shrinking, his clothes morphing. His trousers fused into a skirt, his shirt tightened into a blouse, and his shoes became dainty flats. His briefcase transformed into a pink, glittery school bag. He looked down in horror to see a pair of slim, delicate hands where his own had been.

He rushed to the window, catching his reflection in the glass. A 14-year-old girl with long, chestnut hair stared back at him, wide-eyed and terrified. He was now wearing the same school uniform as his students.

The classroom murmured, but no one seemed particularly surprised. Emily, now standing at the teacher's desk, smiled wickedly. "Jessica, can you answer the question about the protagonist's motivation?" she asked.

James—now Jessica—stammered, "I... I don't know."

Emily's grin widened. "Is it too hard for you, Jessica? Maybe you're not ready for this class."

Jessica felt a surge of panic. She was an experienced teacher, not a student, but her mind felt clouded and confused. She couldn't remember the answer.

"Perhaps we should try something more appropriate for your level," Emily suggested.

With another wave of her hand, Emily's spell struck again. Jessica shrank further, her clothes morphing once more. Her skirt became a pinafore, her blouse turned into a simple, childish shirt, and her bag became a small, cartoon-themed backpack. She now stood barely three feet tall, her surroundings towering over her.

Emily took Jessica by the hand, her grip firm and unyielding. "Come along, little one. Let's find your proper class."

Jessica tried to protest, but her voice came out as a high-pitched squeak. Emily led her down the hallway, past uninterested students and staff, until they reached the classroom for the youngest children.

Opening the door, Emily addressed the teacher inside. "This little girl was lost. She should be in your class."

The teacher, a kind-looking woman, smiled warmly. "Welcome, dear. You can sit right here."

Jessica, her mind spinning, took the seat offered to her. The desk was too big, and her feet dangled above the floor. She looked around at the other seven-year-olds, their innocent faces reflecting nothing of the turmoil inside her.

Emily leaned down, whispering in Jessica's ear. "Enjoy your new life," she said softly, before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Jessica sat there, trapped in a child's body and a child's life, her mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion. The bell rang, and the teacher began the lesson, oblivious to the nightmare that had befallen the new girl in her class.

[inochinoyomikata]

Inochi no Tabekata ch 3-1 Translation

Part #3 向こう側に僕ら (We on the other side) I’d be there for you

“The Yark also thought about the children he has eaten up so far. Just as if doing so would lighten his sins even a little, the Yark thought that it would not be unreasonable for him to be eaten up this time.”

– “The Yark” Bertrand Santini (1)

Chapter 3-1  扉、開いて  Door, open  Otogiri-Tobi

It wasn’t scary. And it wasn’t particularly disgusting. However, Otogiri Tobi’s heart was extremely fast. It was racing.

“Don’t look.”

Baku said.

‘Don’t look at it, Tobi.’

Or maybe it was not “don’t look” but “do not look.”

I wonder why?

Tobi couldn’t take his eyes off of her lying face-down in the courtyard. She was in a pool of blood. The pool of blood expanded its territory moment by moment. Her finger, and arms, her legs were twitching as if being pulled.

“No!”

Someone blocked Tobi’s eyes.

It was Haizaki, the janitor.

“Don’t look! Otogiri-kun, you can’t…!”

He only vaguely remembered what happened after that.

An ambulance had come. And the police too. A lot of questions were asked by the police. He thought he answered their questions honestly. Afternoon classes seemed to have been canceled. By the time Tobi left school, all the students had left school. The staff of the facility came to pick him up. He didn't like it, but he put up with it and returned to the facility in the staff’s car.

He was out of school for a day or two. They went straight to the weekend. Tobi scoured through the books at the facility, was dazed, chatted casually with Baku, and fell asleep. He didn’t feel like going out.

Sometimes Takatomo crossed his mind. But Tobi didn’t know her well. Or rather, he didn’t know her at all. He didn’t even know her name, Takatomo Miyuki, until he heard it from a police officer. It was no use to think about someone he didn’t know. There was no material to think about to begin with.

Why did Takatomo jump?

There was no way for Tobi to understand.

---

When he left the facility on Monday morning, the staff told him if he didn’t want to go to school, he wouldn’t have to force himself. Tobi ignored them.

“Are you sure?”

Baku asked.

“What?”

Tobi asked back.

Baku said nothing.

A teacher with black-rimmed glasses stood in front of the school gate. Even though he always gave him a hateful look, when he saw Tobi this morning, he held his glasses and looked down.

“Don’t go crazy.”

Baku muttered.

Tobi changed his shoes at the shoebox and headed to the classroom. It seemed unsatisfactory, and he was disappointed.

He realized just before entering the classroom.

It was probably because Shiratama didn’t ambush him.

Class 2 section 3 was quiet. Not everyone kept quiet. Some students were talking to their friends. However, their voices were clearly lower than usual. Everyone was talking with a hesitant tone. He couldn’t hear any laughter. No one laughed.

Shiratama was sitting in her seat. Seeing Tobi, she purposely stood up. Then, for some reason, she bowed.

“Good morning.”

“...Good morning.”

He felt the eyes of his classmates. Most of the students in the room were watching Tobi.

“Because you’re an eyewitness.”

Baku said with a half smile. Really?

So that’s how it is?

Takatomo Miyuki seemed to be in critical condition.

In the morning homeroom, Harimoto, the homeroom teacher, explained to everyone.

“She is receiving treatment at the hospital, but she has not yet regained consciousness.”

Harimoto wore a white shirt and dark slacks instead of the familiar red jersey. He didn’t know why. Tobi had no idea.

“I think everyone is worried, and if I find out anything more, I will tell you. Strange rumors are circulating, it seems, but don’t believe them. Alright?”

What were the strange rumors?

Tobi didn’t know.

He just didn’t know.

The world was made up of things that Tobi didn’t know.

There were thirty-five students enrolled in section 3 of class 2, excluding Tobi. One of the thirty-five was a female student named Shizukudani who attended school from the infirmary. Tobi had never seen her. So in effect, thirty-four people. There was something like a transparent membrane between the thirty-four and Tobi. That thin but unbreakable membrane almost completely separated Tobi from the thirty-four.

Tobi was terribly nostalgic for that membrane.

If that membrane was still alive, he wouldn't think about his classmates like this. Tobi’s classmates also wouldn’t worry about him.

There was a student who glanced at Tobi even though he was in class. Some students pretended to look out the window and casually watched Tobi.

Without even realizing it, he was looking around the classroom. When he did that, he usually met someone’s eyes and ended up feeling awfully awkward.

Shiratama seemed to be thinking about something, and often looked down. She was pale to begin with, but even so, she had a bad complexion. Was she feeling unwell? Maybe she hasn’t slept much.

Was Shiratama close to Takatomo? Tobi didn’t know.

During the break between the second and third period, a female student started crying. Until then, she had been standing and chatting with two other female students. Then she began to sob.

“Chiami…”

The two girls were clearly dismayed.

On the sobbing schoolgirl’s back, a strange thing like a bat or flying squirrel was clinging.

Kon Chiami was crying.

Shiratama tried to approach Kon Chiami. But she stopped along the way.

Before long, two female students left the classroom with Kon Chiami. The three returned after the chimes signaling the beginning of class rang. The teacher did not scold the three.

At the end of third period, Masaki Shuuji, aka Masamune, who had on his head and short hair a strange tarsier-like creature in the “speak no evil” pose, cleared his throat in front of the blackboard. 

“Well. I know but, what do you think of this atmosphere? No, do you understand? I understand. Even if we’re depressed, there’s nothing we can do about it. I’m not saying it’s okay to make a fuss. Let's be a little more normal though, okay?”

The reactions of his classmates were dull. About 80% were puzzled, and the remaining 20% were somewhat antipathetic. That’s what Tobi saw.

“--Excuse me!”

Masamune placed both hands on the lecturer’s table and raised his eyebrows in a straight line. It seemed he intended to make a crying face.

“I said something unnecessary. Goodbye.”

There was a little bit of laughter. In this situation, it was a good joke. Tobi was rather impressed, but apparently some were offended.

“Don’t act funny, seriously.”

One male student said with a low voice. It wasn’t just him. A male student kicked the floor. Although it was a kick that rubbed the floor with the sole of his shoe, there was some noise.

Tobi was a little surprised because that boy was seated close to him. Even Baku shuddered on his desk.

Then he yelled, “Oh…”

His bangs were long enough to cover his eyes. His name was Asamiya. He thought it was Asamiya. Asamiya what? Shinobu. That’s right. It’s Asamiya Shinobu.

Masamune looked at Asamiya. However, Masamune quickly averted his eyes from Asamiya. ‘Don’t act funny, seriously.’ Didn’t he hear Asamiya’s words?

However, the creature that Masamune wore on his head was staring at Asamiya with his tarsier-like eyes.

Did it just seem that way now? Or maybe Tobi was thinking too much. Needless to say, Kon Chiami was definitely looking sideways at Asamiya. The creature clung to her back, turning its human baby-like face towards Asamiya.

A question popped into Tobi’s head.

Why did Takatomo Miyuki jump off?

---

After finishing his school lunch in no time, Tobi took Baku and left the classroom. The weather was fine. However the courtyard was closed. Because it was the scene of the incident. Even if he didn’t go through the courtyard, he could climb to the roof as long as he went outside. He thought about it for a while, but he didn’t feel like it. He didn’t want to go to the roof. Because Takatomo jumped off. A female student, a classmate, jumped from the roof of the school building.

Why did she jump?

Tobi walked briskly through the corridors of the school. Something was off. He felt sick when he sat still.

Only at times like this, Baku wouldn’t say anything. He was sullen and silent. Tobi got a little angry. A silent Baku was just a backpack.

I can’t go to the roof. It’s because Takatomo jumped off.

Because of Takatomo. Was it Takatomo’s fault?

He didn’t think so. Even Takatomo didn’t jump because she loved to. What happens if you jump? He could imagine. It wasn’t safe. You could get seriously injured.

You could even die.

Tobi didn’t understand. He didn’t understand Tamatomo’s feelings at all. He couldn’t understand. Lunch time was over. When the students started to come and go in the hallway, Tobi walked around looking for places where there were no people. It’s like he was running and hiding. Like an idiot.

Baku didn’t say anything for some reason.

Maybe  he was just a backpack. In fact, he may have been a backpack all along.

Tobi thought about that too. Of course, it wasn’t true.

Come on, talk to me, Baku.

If he said something, he’d lose. Was he losing? What kind of game was it?

There was no one in the corridor on the third floor special classroom building. Somewhat tired, Tobi sat down on the stairs.

The special classroom building had three floors. Tobi was sitting upstairs. The staircase led to the roof. Unless you climbed the outer wall like Tobi, you couldn’t go up to the roof without using this staircase.

Takatomo should have headed for the roof on these stairs. There was a door when you went up the stairs.

Takatomo managed to open the locked door.

The roof key was lost.

Haizaki, the janitor, had said so.

Takatomo probably had the key. On the wall in the staffroom, he believed, near the vice principal’s desk, many keys were held in rows. Takatomo stole the key to the rooftop from there. Was that it? It was a very conspicuous place, and seemed quite difficult.

Anyway, maybe Takatomo used the key to unlock it. She opened the door and went out onto the roof and jumped off.

Tobi must have stared at Takatomo after she fell in the courtyard. He couldn’t remember the details though. Takatomo was lying face down. But her face? Was it down, or to the side? Were her arms bent or straight?

When I close my eyes and try to think about it, my heart goes berserk. My chest hurts,

No, don’t think about it.

It was as if Tobi’s heart wanted to stop.

“...What is that?”

He heard footsteps. Someone came up the stairs from the second floor to the third floor. Tobi was sitting on the stairs leading from the third floor to the roof. He let out a sigh.

Tobi tried to get up.

“Ah.”

It was Shiratama that came up the stairs. Upon finding Tobi, Shiratama smiled.

“You were here, Otogiri-kun.”

“Well.”

Tobi lowered his head and sat down on the stairs. Shiratama stood in front of Tobi for a while. Neither of them opened their mouths. After a while, Shiratama sat down next to Tobi.

“Were you looking for Tobi, O-Ryuu?”

Baku asked. Shiratama nodded.

“Yes. I want to talk to you.”

“It’s boring, isn’t it? Talking to this guy. Unlike me, Tobi is a bad talker.”

“It’s not. It’s not boring.”

Shiratama was fiddling with the pochette on her lap.

“I’ve never felt bored while talking to Otogiri-kun.”

“It’s still just a little…”

While choosing his words, Tobi looked at Shiratama’s fingers as she played with the pochette. She had cleanly cut nails. There were no white parts at all.

“It hasn’t been that long since we started talking.”

“Speaking of which, it was…”

Shiratama then muttered, “I wonder.” What was the wonder? Tobi wanted to ask. He didn’t ask.

---

In the end, he didn’t really talk to Shiratama. It wasn’t that he was speechless. But they never had a conversation that could be called a conversation. Shiratama didn’t seem to be bothered by people walking by and staring at them like “what are they doing?” To be honest, Tobi was a little worried. As long as Shiratama was fine, Tobi was fine, and he gradually didn’t care.

The two of them were on the stairs of the special classroom building until just before the afternoon classes started.

They just sat next to each other, except for the occasional bland answer.

It was strange that he didn’t feel uncomfortable even if it was silent.

In the middle of fifth period, Asamiya Shinobu with the long bangs suddenly raised his hand.

“What’s wrong, Asamiya?”

The teacher noticed and called out to him. Even though Asamiya raised his right hand, he was drooping with both elbows on his desk. He wouldn’t say anything.

The classroom was noisy and then quiet. Asamiya finally opened his mouth. “I’m not feeling well.”

“I see. You shouldn’t overdo it. Who is this class’s health committee?”

When the teacher called out, Kon Chiami raised her hand.

“It’s me.”

“Kon, take Asamiya to the infirmary.”

“Understood.”

When Kon was about to leave her seat, there was a loud noise. It wasn’t Kon. The sound was made by Asamiya. Asamiya stood as if to push aside his chair and rushed towards the doorway.

Kon panicked and chased after Asamiya.

“Asamiya-kun!”

“Don’t come!”

Asamiya pulled open the entrance door and glared at Kon. It was a fighting stance. Kon was startled and backed away.

“I’m fine on my own…”

Asamiya added in a feeble tone that seemed like an excuse and left the classroom.

Someone whispered, “I’m scared….”

Various voices raised in a chain here and there.

“Be quiet!”

The teacher clapped his hands together.

“We’re in class. Kon should take a seat.”

“But…”

Kon alternatively looked at the classroom doorway and the empty seat of Asamiya. Was she worried about Asamiya?

Tobi somehow turned his attention to Masamune. Masamune had his hands clasped in front of his mouth. It might be a coincidence, but the creature on the top of his head made a similar pose.

When Kon returned to her seat, the teacher resumed the lesson.

Okay, Tobi thought. Should she have left Asamiya alone? Did Asamiya go to the infirmary alone?

Shiratama made eye contact several times. Shiratama frowned slightly and pursed her lips slightly. When their eyes met at the end of class, Shiratama moved her lips as if to say something. It wasn’t clear what she was trying to say.

---

When the chime signaled the end of fifth period, Tobi left his seat before the teacher could announce the end. Just before leaving the classroom, he realized that he had forgotten Baku.

“Hey, Tobi! Come on! You!”

Baku was yelling. Tobi ignored him and left the classroom. He wondered where he was going as he walked briskly down the corridor. He headed for the restroom, but it was useless. That wasn’t Tobi’s destination.

Tobi stopped in front of the infirmary. While he was on his own feet, he thought where was it?

It was here.

This was the infirmary.

Tobi had been worrying about Asamiya, was Asamiya in the infirmary or not? He wanted to be sure.

What should he do? He couldn’t help him. He had never spoken to Asamiya. He didn’t think he wanted to talk either.

Something was strange. Tobi was doing something strange. He found it strange. No, he hadn’t taken action yet. He could still get away. Just turn back.

“Otogiri-kun!”

If Shiratama hadn’t run out of breath, Tobi would’ve turned on his heels. When Shiratama came over, she was leaning forward and holding her chest.

“...I, I am also, ah, wondering about Asamiya-kun.”

“Even so, you didn’t have to run at full speed…”

“Ugh… Otogiri-kun, you’re really fast. . Oh, if I didn’t try to catch up…”

Shiratama took out a handkerchief from her skirt pocket, wiped her face, and said, “I’m sweating.”

“I wonder if there was a need for you to catch up…”

“I told you. Somehow, there was.”

“Umm…”

Tobi hesitated. Without a moment’s delay, Shiratama came closer with a “Hmm?” Tobi felt a little stiff, but he didn’t back down. He managed to step up.

“I, I have no contact with him, but…”

“I’m pretty good friends.”

“Ah, that so?”

“We were in the same class when I was in first grade. Our relationship is mostly occasional small talk.”

“Occasional small talk…”

“‘It’s sunny today, isn’t it hot these days?’ Or ‘Its so cold already.’”

“That's good…?”

“You can’t talk about weather with someone you don’t get along with.”

“...Is that so?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Well, I don’t know much about socializing. You’re correct.”

“Am I right?”

“Probably.”

“It makes me happy that you’ve affirmed my opinion.”

Shiratama looked embarrassed and put the handkerchief in her pocket.

With a skip, Shiratama entered the infirmary after saying “excuse me.” Tobi had never used the infirmary. But he knew that there was a school nurse in a white coat in the infirmary.

There was no school nurse.

Was there an alternative?

A girl wearing glasses was sitting cross legged on a chair with a backrest.

“That’s.”

When the female student looked at Shiratama, she blinked her eyes behind her glasses.

“If it isn’t Ryuuko Shiratama.”

“Shizukudani-san.”

Shiratama didn’t look surprised at all, but bowed and said hello. He completely forgot.

One of the class mates was attending the school infirmary. It was Shiratama who told Tobi about this. So naturally, Shiratama expected that student to be in the infirmary.

“You’re as polite as ever, Shiratama, aren’t you.”

Shizukudani smiled through her nose. She rested her elbow on the desk and spun a pen in one hand. Considering how she stopped going to school and then went to school in the infirmary, she seemed quite relaxed.

“I mean, Ryuuko Shiratama said-”

Tobi said softly, and Shizukudani stopped spinning the pen.

“What’s your name? You’re the transcendent eccentric of the three groups, aren’t you? Ah, Ryuuko Shiratama, don’t tell me, I want to remember on my own. I feel like I can remember. Yesss… that’s it, I know, that. Otogiri Tobi. Right?

“That’s it, but…”

“I’ll call you Tobi-Tobi from now on.”

“Ehhh….”

“Obi-Obi or Giri-Giri or Tobi-Tobi, which would you like?”

“...Well, I guess Tobi-Tobi.”

“Then it’s decided, Tobi-Tobi.”

“What is this person…”

“I’m Shizukudani~. I’m called ‘Ruka-chin.’ My full name is Shizukudani Rukana. You can call me Ruka-chin, but I find it annoying, so if you really call me Ruka-chin, I’ll beat you up. Nice to meet you.”

Shizukudani poked the tip of her pen in the sky and said “yeah!” Tobi didn’t want to be hit or stabbed. It seemed better to avoid calling her Ruka-chin. He didn’t want to use such familiar names.

Tobi glanced around the infirmary. There was one bench with no backrest. There was a round table, with a laptop placed on it. There were two chairs. The beds were separated by curtains. There were three in all. Only one of them had its curtain closed.

“Shizukudani-san, did Asamiya-kun come to the infirmary?”

When Shiratama asked, Shizukudani pointed with the tip of her pen to the bed where the curtains were closed.

“He’s there, but he’s resting. Something’s wrong.”

Shiratama looked at the ceiling and closed her eyes. She put her hand on her chest and sighed.

“...I’m glad.”

“Huh?”

Shizukudani turned her head and looked at Tobi. Why did she turn her gaze to Tobi? Tobi looked away.

The curtain opened and Asamiya appeared.

“Shiratama-san… Otogiri as well. Why did you come here?

Asamiya seemed to have a bad mood rather than a physical condition. Being glanced at with upturned eyes, Shiratama was terribly disappointed.

“Asamiya–”

Tobi said that much then hesitated. Should he add kun, ka, san? He had called Tobi “Otogiri.” Was that what he wanted?

“Hair.”

“...Huh?”

“Your bangs. They’re long.”

“Umm…”

“At the school gate in the morning, wearing the black-rimmed glasses–”

“Mr. Yagarashima?”

“I don’t even know his name. Won’t that teacher warn you?”

“Well, sometimes.”

“I guess.”

“Yes.”

“That’s all.”

Tobi thought after he finished, what was I trying to say? Tobi didn’t even know, then he left Asamiya more confused.

“...Seriously, what are you here for? Putting aside Shiratama-san, you’ve never talked to me, Otogiri, have you…”

“You’re right...”

“Hey, it’s not just me. I’ve almost never seen you talking to anyone.”

“Yeah…”

Tobi groaned involuntarily. If Tobi were in Asamiya’s position, it would feel very strange.

“Umm!”

Did he send for a lifeboat? Shiratama broke in somewhat forcefully.

“Asamiya-kun, how is your body? Do you feel pain anywhere?”

“...That’s why.”

Asamiya was sitting on the bed. He wasn’t wearing shoes. They were stripped to the floor. Tobi rolled his eyes.

What was under the bed? Did Asamiya not notice? Even though it was at Asamiya’s feet. Was it out of sight? If he looked down, he should be able to see it. It was not small. After all, it was about the size of a human torso. It was pretty big.

Its shape also somewhat resembled the upper body of a human being, and it had arms. Not two, though. It had four growing. It also had a head. Bald. He didn’t know what it looked like. It was like a human being, but it was also like another mysterious creature. It didn’t have a pair of eyes. It had two pairs of eyes. There were four.

Tobi vaguely looked at Shiratama’s expression. Shiratama glanced at Tobi and smiled. By making that smiling face, she must’ve tried to tell Tobi something.

Tobi was told about Shizukudani by Shiratama. The owner of the vacant seat in class 2-3. She goes to school in the infirmary. Shiratama was in the same class first year.

And she had a strange one with her.

Tobi’s Baku.

Chinuraasha, also known as Chinu, who was hidden in Shiratama’s bag.

He couldn’t say for Masamune.

Kon Chiami’s bat-like flying-squirrel-like guy.

Even compared to them, Shizukudani’s strange one was pretty weird. It was no exaggeration to say that it was grotesque. Almost a monster. Its appearance was eerie to begin with, and its movements were disgusting.

Shizukudani’s monster wriggled its four arms, wriggled its fingers, and began to move terribly across the floor. Apparently, it could even climb walls. It was like an insect. An insect of that size would be terrifying. Plus, it looks a little more human. It was a nightmare now.

Shizukudani’s monster moved along the wall to the corner of the ceiling, then cleverly shortened its four arms to fit snugly there. The four eyes were moving to and fro.

“Something strange.”

Asamiya said in a dark tone. Was he talking about Shizukudani’s monster? Tobi thought so for a moment, but Asamiya seemed to be talking about something else.

“My class. It’s strange. I can’t stand it anymore…”

“Strange?”

Shizukudani asked without asking anyone while spinning a pen. While asking the question, Shizukudani replied “Oh, I see” to herself.

“It’s that incident. The jumping incident. If it were completely normal, something like that wouldn’t happen, right? That's right. It’s bad, isn’t it? Ruka-chin is in the infirmary group, so the circumstances aren’t clear.”

Asamiya clicked his tongue and looked annoyed.

“If you don’t understand, don’t say anything.”

“Scary.”

Shizukudani shivered and hugged her shoulders. It was a deliberate tremor.

“Stop that? I was scared. It was at school. You are finally able to go to school in the infirmary, aren’t you?”

“Did you know? Miyu is unconscious and in critical condition. I wonder if she’ll survive…”

This time, Asamiya began to tremble. Unlike Shizukudani, his body really didn’t seem to stop trembling.

“Sorry~.”

Shizukudani put her hands together. It didn’t look like she was really apologizing.

“Speaking of Miyu. Who is she? Ah, Takatomo-san? Is it Takatomo Miyuki? That name. Is that Miyu? Huh? Are you dating?”

“Probably not… No. Our houses were close, so it was kind of like childhood friends. After we entered junior high, we didn’t talk much. But our parents knew each other.”

“It’s like a familial relationship, right?”

When Shiratama nodded in agreement, Asamiya raised his voice, saying “that’s why!”

“How many times do I have to say we’re not dating…”

“Asamiya, are you emotionally unstable?”

Shizukudani laughed lightly. The owner of the vacant seat with the monster didn’t seem to have a very good personality.

“But it certainly seems like there’s a problem with class 2-3. Ruka-chin  understands that you’ll be at the nurses office for five weeks. That’s quite a lot. Migumi-san comes here when she’s hungry. Isn’t that kind of thing caused by mental health? I’m not bragging by the way, but Ruka-chin knows a bit more. Just for the moment?

“...Miyu as well?”

Asamiya asked. For some reason, Shizukudani immediately replied, “yes” in English. Recently, she’s been here several times. Also, Yoshizawa-kun is also someone who decides to come here on the fly? He’s handsome. Also, Murahama-san and Shimomaeda-san used to come do work here for a while? Ah, they weren’t together, they were separate.”

Yoshizawa was the only person who’s face came to mind when Tobi heard those names. Handsome, Shizukudani had said. He was a refreshing and gentle handsome man.

“Murahama, Shimomaeda…”

Asamiya muttered and bit his right thumb.

“Both of them are close friends with Kon. Until recently, Miyu was also hanging out with Kon a lot.”

Tobi looked at Shiratama.

On Kon Chiami’s back, there was always something strange clinging like a bat or a flying squirrel.

So what happened?

He couldn’t explain it specifically, but it was very appealing.

Shiratama looked down and said.

“Kon-san seems to be quite shocked, but…”

In the second and third hours, Kon cried openly. Consoling Kon, the two female students must’ve been Shimomaeda and Murahama.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Asamiya held his head with both hands. He combed his hair.

“No matter who cries and shouts, Miyu won’t get better. I don’t even know if there’s any chance of her getting better. I don’t know. I wonder what it feels like to be unconscious. I wonder if she can hear sounds. Does that mean she can’t even dream? Alone in the hospital, doesn’t she feel lonely? She can’t move and it must be painful. Why didn’t I notice anything? I was wondering if something was wrong with Miyu. However, I hadn’t been able to speak to her properly for a long time. It might’ve seemed weird if I suddenly talked to her. So, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t care. I never thought it would turn out like that.”

Shizukudani was looking out the window and spinning a pen. Shizukudani’s monster did not move from the corner of the ceiling.

A chime rang.

Asamiya looked up and looked at Tobi and Shiratama with dull eyes.

“Don’t you have to go? Isn’t sixth period starting?”

“Is that so?”

Shiratama hugged her pochette with Chinu inside. Was she lost?

“Are you going to skip?”

When he asked Shiratama that as a test, Shiratama said “That’s ridiculous,” and shook her head from side to side in shock and shook her long hair.

“I’m not going to skip. That’s not it. Asamiya-kun.”

“What?”

Asamiya put his hand on the curtain.

“I want to lie down for a while. If you’re going to class, hurry up.”

“Would you like to visit-”

“....Huh?”

“Would you like to go visit the hospital where Takatomo-san is. If you don’t mind, Otogiri-kun should come too.”

“Eh?”

He was completely taken aback.

Shiratama was staring at Tobi with a serious look. Maybe it was that she was asking him.If it was not Tobi’s misunderstanding, then she was asking him. He didn’t think so.

A visit?

To the hospital?

Takatomo’s?

Why?

Wherever they went, it was not just a little sickness or broken bones. Takatomo was in serious condition. She was said to be unconscious. Wasn’t there also a refusal to meet? But Shiratama should know that. And yes, for some reason, she said she wanted to visit. Apparently, Shiratama was about to skip, and wanted Tobi to come along.

“...Well, that’s fine.”

---

After school, Tobi followed Shiratama and Asamiya to the hospital where Takatomo Miyuki was hospitalized. It took about fifteen minutes to walk to the hospital.

Asamiya negotiated with the general reception, but Takatomo was in the intensive care unit and was not allowed to see visitors. Even family members could only see her face for a limited time.

“That’s right…”

Asamiya fell down on the bench in the waiting room and sat down. Tobi and Shiratama did not sit.

“It’s fine to come here, but there’s no way we’d meet…”

“Takatomo-san is in the intensive care unit. Why don’t you go?”

Shiratama hadn’t given up yet. Why can’t she give up? Tobi didn’t understand. Asamoya also seemed confused.

“I won’t be able to go inside, and I think it’s useless…”

“Just in case.”

Shiratama seemed to be going to the end.

“O-Ryuu is surprisingly strong.”

Baku muttered. Shiratama glanced at Baku and loosened her mouth a little. She checked the hospital floor plan posted on the wall, and it seemed that the ICU was on the third floor of the main building. The third floor was accessible by the elevator. However, there was a door in front of the ICU, and it was locked. You can’t get in unless the hospital staff unlock it with their ID card or you ask someone to open it from the inside.

“That’s what I told you…”

Asamiya looked sad rather than angry. On the way back, they noticed that there was a small waiting room. A woman sitting on the bench called out to Asamiya.

“Shinobu-kun?”

That woman seemed to be Takatomo’s mother. As Asamiya approached, the woman became teary-eyed.

“Did you come all the way here? I’m sorry, Shinobu-kun. Miyu, she’s not in a state where she can meet with you…”

“No, I was prepared to not be able to see her… But I can’t sit still… 

He introduced Shiratama and Tobi to Takatomo’s mother as classmates. Takatomo’s mother bowed her head several times and thanked them for coming.

To be honest, Tobi couldn’t stand it.

He felt sorry for Takatomo’s mother. However, even she didn’t even really know how Tobi felt about Takatomo. Should he talk to Takatomo’s mother? Tobi witnessed the exact moment when Takatomo jumped off. He couldn’t stop Takatomo. He couldn’t stop her. Should Tobi apologize to Takatomo’s mother for that? He had to apologize. Did he feel bad? It was subtle.

Maybe they thought that Tobi Otogiri, who didn’t feel particularly guilty, might have a cold heart.

Why was such a cold-hearted person here? At the hospital.

Where Takatomo was hospitalized.

Shiratama lightly tugged on Tobi’s sleeve.

Asamiya was talking to Takatomo’s mother. Apparently Shiratama wanted to leave here. Tobi nodded.

Following Shiratama, they somehow ended up back in the ICU. Of course the door was still closed.

“You can’t enter.”

When Tobi spoke, Shiratama opened her pouch without answering.

A fluffy little animal came out of the pouch. It seemed to have two horns on its head. It was still hard to say. It was Chinu or Chinuraasha.

Chinu jumped from the pochette to Shiratama’s arm. It was not sluggish, but it was a little uneasy. Even so, Chinu climbed up Shiratama’s arm and finally reached above her right shoulder. Chinu, who turned their body towards them, was proud of something.

“Yo.”

When Baku casually greeted it, Chinu tilted his head and uttered a voice like “Uyuu.” He didn’t try to imitate Chinu, but Tobi tilted his head.

“...Eh? What?”

“Chinu.”

Shiratama shrugged her head and kissed Chinu. Chinu didn't even move.

When Tobi tried to open his mouth, he was stopped by Baku.

“Shhh. Be quiet, Tobi.”

The hell?

He could have protested, but even Baku wouldn't say such a thing without meaning. Tobi looked at Shiratama and Chinu.

Chinu’s eyes were round and mellow.

He looked like he was sleepy.

“Can’t you reach out here? What do you think, Chinu?”

Shiratama whispered to Chinu.

What am I not getting?

Chinu’s tiny mouth moved.

He heard it clearly. It was a voice. It’s not howling. It’s different from Chinu’s voice. Shiratama’s voice too. Of course, it was neither Tobi nor Baku’s.

“Why, my —My….”

It was not a man’s voice. It was a woman’s voice. Tobi got chills.

“...Wh—a? Who…”

“I�� why… did I have… a key… the key…”

Was it Chinu? Chinu didn’t move its mouth when the person spoke. However, it opens and closes its mouth that was so small it was too small. Did that mean Chinu could talk?

Why Chinu?

Was this Chinu’s voice?

“The key… to the roof... Key… In the desk… A key…”

It sounded like a young woman’s voice.

A key.

The roof key?

In the desk?

“Ah—”

Tobi shuddered. It wasn’t like he’d heard that voice before. Even in his same class, there were very few people whose faces he could match with their names. He didn’t remember the voice being anything special. So it could be, Tobi suddenly thought. Her voice comes out of Chinu’s mouth. Could it be Takatomo Miyuki? It didn't make sense. It was a crazy idea.

He thought it was Takatomo Miyuki’s voice.

“Somehow, it seems to reach.”

Shiratama said softly.

“The voice of Takatomo-san.”

It was a voice that shouldn’t be heard.

They shouldn’t be able to hear this voice.

She had suffered serious injuries and lost consciousness and was being treated on a bed in the intensive care unit.

“I can’t take it anymore…”

The word’s that Chinu uttered remained in Tobi’s ears.

That day, Takatomo had run out of class 2-3 and never came back. Meanwhile, she had cried:

“I can’t take it anymore!”

---

(1) “The Yark” is a children’s chapter book by Bertrand Santini published in 2011.

(2)  Asamiya’s name is spelled with katakana (アサミヤ) then in proper Japanese (浅宮)

[feminexisting]

The 13th Reality: The Journal of Curious Letters by James Dashner

I’ve presumably owned this book for several years now, but I don’t remember getting it. There is no price sticker on the book, so I don’t know where it came from or how much it was purchased for. Maybe it was one of the advanced copies I got in junior high? I chose to read this book because I thought it could be interesting and I liked the colors on the cover. 

The premise is that one day 13 year old Atticus “Tick” Higginbottom gets a mysterious letter in the mail, promising danger and adventure in the coming weeks and months, and that this can be circumvented by burning the letter, but at the cost of never finding out why the letter was written, or by who. Tick has to uncover the secrets of the letters to find out what’s in store for him so that he can eventually save his life and, potentially, the lives of everybody in the multiverse, along the way meeting new friends and making new enemies, all on the countdown to the coming adventure. 

If there’s nothing else I can say about this book, I can at least say that it helped remind me that I prefer science fiction over fantasy - well, I suppose this book might technically fall into the realm of science fiction due to its multiversal happenings, but it’s written so whimsically that that much is easy to forget. Listen... this book was. Fine. I guess. But it had nothing great going for it. Nothing really stood out about it. Sure, it had interesting parts, but, like, the writing style wasn’t great, the characters weren’t particularly endearing, and the journey wasn’t particularly enjoyable. It was just... a very middling book. 

While reading fantasy, it’s important to have a healthy suspension of disbelief. This is how you come to accept things like, for instance, being able to want something so badly you can alter a timeline just by thought, or by believing that preteens would be better for situations like this instead of adults. That said, some of the things in this book just couldn’t be overlooked. Mainly the fact that no children/preteens/teens have ever spoken Like That. I have to wonder if the author has ever been 13 or has ever met 13 year olds. I also have to wonder, based on Tick’s dialogue with his sisters (especially his older sister), if the author was an only child, because siblings Don’t Talk Like That. 

In every book, I allow myself a sort of wishlist, you know, the things that I want to happen. In this book, I hoped that Tick would grow up to be gay. Now, there were a few things working against me - namely, the fact that this book was written in 2008, and the fact that it was written for children. I know that the likelihood of Tick growing up to be gay is highly unlikely. That said, since we never saw a glimpse into the future (at least, not in this book), it could happen! And I want it to happen, because from the way Tick was written, it’s apparent that he really idolizes the men in his life while simultaneously not caring much, if at all, for girls. Even Sofia, the girl who is the most likely one for him to be interested in, was very firmly just a friend to him. Compare this to Tick’s interactions with, say, Sato, and I have to say, I see more romantic chemistry there than with her. 

I thought it was interesting how Tick opted to tell his dad everything about the letters. In most YA novels I’ve read, the protagonist doesn’t confide in their parents, and only occasionally in their friends, so the fact that he felt comfortable enough to tell his dad about what was going on was a really cool direction. That said, I kind of feared and kind of hoped that his dad would try to burn the letters when he learned about everything that was happening. I understand that he trusted his son, and maybe he thought Tick was the only person capable of stopping things, but... I don’t know, how can you see your child get viciously attacked by a swarm of metal gnats and then still send him on his way, y’know? 

I guessed that the Mr. Chu from Chu Industries was an alternate version of Mr. Chu from school before it was revealed. Not much to say about it, just that I was proud of myself for figuring it out, haha. One thing to note, though - at one point, while Tick was thinking about the Chu Industries Mr. Chu, he briefly considered whether it were time travel, but dismissed it because he didn’t think Mr. Chu would travel back in time just to antagonize his students. I have to disagree. If he were one and the same person using time travel, then in the future wouldn’t he have known about Tick’s involvement working against him? Wouldn’t it have been far easier to travel to the past and make Tick trust him, just so he would have a chance at getting him to join him or, at the least, throw him off his game long enough to beat him?

I didn’t like how everyone was being so unfair to Sato. Why shouldn’t he be suspicious of everybody and everything? Tick, Sofia, and Paul all had the luck to find each other online, but Sato didn’t find them, so he has no reason to trust them. Plus, he was whisked away from his home in the middle of the night to a strange and dangerous new place. Isn’t that scary? Isn’t it understandable why he would react like a cornered dog? And, of course, that isn’t even to mention his past and his trauma surrounding Master George and his family’s deaths (I didn’t mention this part because the kids weren’t aware of it, either, so I won’t blame them for it). 

There was one point, after everybody met up in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle, where Master George reveals that he was the one who set loose the Gnat Rat on Tick and played other tricks on the kids. The kids are, understandably, very upset and uncomfortable at this prospect, and voice their discomfort, only for George to belittle them for it. He explained that he only did it to weed out the people that couldn’t handle it, but, I don’t know, the fact that he screamed at them over it and tried to make them think it was completely understandable and reasonable to attack children like that... I don’t like that. Maybe George is the lesser of two evils, but I still don’t trust him at all. This is a moot point, I’m sure, because I doubt in the future he reveals himself to be evil or whatever, but it was a part that sat uncomfortably with me and made me wish I could grab the kids and run away from him, because who knows what he might say or do if they did something he didn’t like?

At one point, Sofia, the rich and presumably white Italian girl, calls Paul, the black boy who doesn’t have money enough to buy a flight to Alaska (beyond that, we don’t know his financial situation), a “talentless bum in every reality.” I really, really didn’t like that. She also was very unforgiving towards Sato, the Japanese boy. I don’t know, I don’t think we had to have her being so mean to the only two people of color in the book. 

I didn’t like that Sato chose to stay with Master George in the end. It felt kind of manipulative, George saying that he doubted Sato’s foster family would even notice he was gone. Sato accepted the invitation too readily, almost like he trusted George at that point, rather than wanting to stay close to keep an eye on things. I wish we knew more about Sato... and I wish he could get a therapist. At least he trusts Tick so much now, though. I thought it was sweet how comfortable he was around him after Tick saved his life. 

At the end of the book, I wish all four kids had shown a possibility that they could control the mysterious new power, rather than just Tick. I know he’s the protagonist, but I hope it’s something that everyone can eventually harness. 

One final thing I didn’t like about the book was the fact that Tick never dropped the nickname Tick and instead went by his real name, Atticus, and that he never stopped wearing his scarf, which covered his birthmark that he was embarrassed about. Earlier in the book, he had lost his scarf, but while sitting with Sofia, he realized he didn’t mind it, because she wasn’t treating him any differently, and he had explicitly thought to himself that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to leave the scarf off, only to crush his own spirit and tell himself that he needed to keep it. And, of course, the nickname is terrible; it was given to him by his school bully and instead of retaliating against it or hating it, he just accepted it and wants everybody to call him by it? Isn’t that sad? Isn’t it sad that his self esteem is so low that he can’t lose his scarf crutch and he goes by the name of a disease-ridden, blood sucking insect? Shouldn’t he, as the protagonist, be allowed freedom from these after a time? 

The book was... fine. That’s all it was. Not fine enough to be a true middle fine, but fine all the same. 2/5. 

My bookmark for this book was a lime green ribbed ribbon with knots at both ends.

[astroluvr]

One where reader and Jack have 4 daughter (9,7,5,3) and their having their first boy

hi, thanks for ur request! i hope it's what u wanted! enjoy!!

***

You had your hands full to say the least. You’d known Jack since you two were children and had been in love with him for almost as long. Your lives together had taken you on more adventures and experiences than either of you thought to be possible. Including becoming parents.

For Jack especially, it was heaven. Even though you guys agreed that you’d be done after your second daughter, Nova, was born, you still ended up welcoming your third and fourth daughters and prepared for your son with open arms. With the way they all grew up before your eyes, baby fever was always at an all-time high.

“Daddy!” Ava screamed from the living room and Jack left the nursery you were working on to rush down the stairs. “Daddy! Daddy, get your daughter!”

“Yo!” he yelled back, seeing the two of them with a piece of purple fabric between their hands. “Hey, quit it!”

“She won’t let me have it.” Nova, your five year old, whined, stomping her feet.

“Because it’s mine.” Ava, your seven year old, huffed, pulling back particularly hard and causing Nova to stumble forward.

Before she could hit the floor, Jack grabbed her and gave a stern glare to Ava. Every Harlow child knew that look. It was the same look that kept every single one of them in order over the years. The first time he ever did it to your nine year old, Grace, when he caught her drawing on the walls, it was like he found his super power. There hadn’t been a day over the past eight years that Jack hadn’t done it at least twice.

“Sorry, Daddy.” Ava said quietly, setting the purple dress down and Jack let go of Nova.

“And what do you say to your sister?”

“Sorry, Nova.”

“It’s okay.” she shrugged and whipped around to Jack like nothing happened. “Daddy, can I have-”

“No. No, you can’t have anything until you and Ava have calmed down.” he stood up straight and the two of them looked at him with shocked expressions.

“What? For how long?”

“Until I say so.” Jack pointed at the two arm chairs across the sitting room and they went to their respective places with crossed arms and furrowed eyebrows.

Before he could even make it out of the sitting room, Grace was chasing your youngest daughter, Lena, down the hall. “Hey, not in my house!”

At the sound of his voice, the three year old made a U-turn down the hall, just out of Grace’s reach, and ran straight for Jack. Grace was the only one who hadn’t inherited Jack’s long legs right from birth, so she was still mastering the art of running. Jack made a soft groaning noise when Lena squealed loudly and wrapped her arms around Jack’s own legs and laughed with her face muffled by the thick fabric of his sweatpants.

“Lena, what have you got?” Grace approached the two of them with frustration and Jack pouted slightly. Grace had been through the motions as the oldest and as much as you and Jack tried to keep her childhood stress-free, she still got a lot of recoil from her rowdy younger siblings.

“Got Gracie’s coloring book!” she pulled away and held up the sketch pad like it was a trophy.

“It’s not a coloring book.” Grace huffed, snatching it away from her sister.

“Careful, Grace.”

“No, Dad, she’s been in my room all day! She’s messing with my stuff all the time.”

“She just wants to be like her big sister.”

“Well, she has, like, twenty of them!”

“I love my sissies!” Lena squeaked happily and Jack lifted her to his hip.

“See.” Jack cooed, pinching his baby girl’s cheek and turning back to Grace who had a deadpan expression. “Alright, Lena, I know you love your sissies, but you have to be respectful, okay? If Gracie doesn’t want you messing around in there, you can’t, okay?”

“Kay, Daddy.” Lena responded softly. “I’ll be good. Promise!”

“Pinky?” Grace held out her pinky finger and Lena wrapped hers around it. “Thanks, Lena.”

“Welcome.” Lena unlatched her pinky and slid down Jack’s side in search of something new to explore and terrorize in the process.

“I’m glad we had you first, Gracie girl.” Jack put a hand behind her head and kissed her forehead.

Grace escaped her father’s embrace and ran back upstairs to her room. Jack was now stood in the middle of the hallway and enjoying what he hoped to be a few moments of peace. Nova and Ava were back to chatting in the middle of the sitting room and Lena was mesmerized by Moana. He took a deep breath and leaned against the wall for a moment, thinking of how the drama of the Harlow home might’ve passed. That was, until he remembered he was married.

“Jack!” your voice carried around the whole house, causing him to take a deep breath and pinch his eyes shut further. “Baby, come here now! It’s an emergency.”

With that, Jack made sure the girls weren’t on the verge of murdering each other before he trekked up the stairs. You were sitting in the middle of your shared bedroom with pout and messy clothes. Your swollen stomach was practically in your lap as you looked into the boxes of clothes you two saved of your daughters.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” he stepped over the boxes and placed a hand on the top of your head soothingly.

“Jack, none of these clothes will fit him.” your lip quivered and Jack could already sense the hormonal tears coming. He squatted down next to you and coaxed the side of your head into his chest.

“It’s alright, Mama.” he hushed, using the name your daughters had assigned you as a loving nickname. “It’s okay.”

“Nothing we’ve ever done will fit him. A son, I mean. Out of all those girls, none of them are remotely tomboys.”

“Lena tackles like one.” you let out a chuckle against your will, knowing it was true.

Lena had been scolded various times about running into you with full force since you’d gotten pregnant again. Although you knew your stomach was a little more resistant, Jack would have a heart attack every time.

“I’m just worried, Jack. I mean, we have a lot of girls and I know you’re a guy, but there’s no telling how much more active testosterone you have left.”

“This is literally my fifth time getting you pregnant and you’re questioning my active testosterone?” he pulled away from you and kissed the center of your forehead. “Baby, our son will be just fine. He might have to join a few tea parties or be a princess and the girls might have to throw around a baseball or pull tails off of frogs, but that’s fine. We have a huge, beautiful, healthy family that loves each other so much they won’t care.”

“You’re right.” you sighed, smoothing your hands over your belly. “I guess I’ve just thought that we’ve had the whole girl thing nailed down and then biology threw us a curveball. I’m very happy about it, though.”

“Me too. Another baby.” Jack hummed, leaning down to kiss your stomach. “A baby boy to free me from the women in this house.”

“Shut up, Jack.” you laughed as he lifted up to make eye contact. “After this, we’re having another girl.”

“Wanna get started now?” Jack asked softly, a smirk gracing your lips as Jack gripped your chin. You giggled and leaned back onto the floor before hearing distinctive running sound of children coming towards you. “Oh, my God.”

You pushed Jack off of you with a sympathetic pout as Lena rushed to your bedroom. "Hi, honey."

"Hi, Mama! What are you doing?" she inquired, stepping around the wall of boxes and into your lap.

"I was thinking about what your brother might be able to wear from the hospital."

"Can he wear this?" she reached into the box and pulled out a random yellow onesie that had Nova's name embroidered.

"No, this was Nova's." you chuckled and Jack smiled.

"Oh. This?" she pulled out another onesie and cocked her head.

"This is actually the onesie all of you came home in." Jack took it from her hands and examined it.

It was hot pink with frills around the thighs and arms. You smiled at the bittersweet memory. It was crazy to think that at some point all of your kids could fit in it. Jack was obviously thinking the same when he rubbed your thigh and gave you a timid smile.

As Lena continued to root through the boxes, Ava and Nova came walking by and stopped short. "Hey, what's going on?"

"I was looking through all of this stuff. Your brother might be the only one of you that doesn't get any hand me downs." you chuckled and rubbed your nose.

"Mama, are you about to cry?" Nova cringed and Ava raised her eyebrows in what seemed to be fear.

"Grace, Mom is about to cry!" Ava yelled and you scoffed.

"I am not about to cry." you said while Jack laughed from next to you and Grace came into the room. "I just really love being a mother, that's all. Having a baby boy is making me realize just now much things have changed and are going to change."

They all stared at you as if waiting for tears and when you just smiled and rubbed your belly, the bustle of the home came back. You rolled your eyes at them and watched as they kneeled in front of the boxes.

For a few minutes, you and Jack discussed what the articles of clothing meant to your daughters until Lena rushed off. "Where are you going?"

"I know what bubba can wear!" she answered and you stared at the threshold until she came running back in holding a cheap princess dress costume.

"What happened in that?" Nova asked expectantly and Lena grinned.

"Baby brother can come home in it!"

"That's for girls, Lena. Boys can't be princesses." Grace argued and you took a deep breath.

"Daddy is a princess!" she pointed at Jack who made a face.

"Uncle Urban said it's because he's whipped." Ava jumped in.

"What's whipped mean?" Nova scrunched her face in confusion.

"Okay, okay." Jack intervened, fighting off a chuckle. "Let's all simmer down. Boys can princess if they want to be, and I am not whipped."

"Can baby brother wear it, Daddy?" Lena asked hopefully and you pouted as Jack shook his head. "What? Why not?"

"It's just a little too big, Lena honey."

"Shrink it!" she screeched, falling to her knees in disappointment.

"You can't shrink it." Ava deadpanned, pulling out another onesie.

"Awe." she dropped her head and Jack pulled her to his lap.

"Sweetheart, how about when Mama has your brother, you wear your princess dress and we put him in a little prince outfit, huh?" you suggested, getting closer to them.

"How come he can't wear a tiny dress?"

"Because the Harlows are known for having baby girls and putting him in a dress might confuse the people. After he comes home, though, we can put him in a matching dress." Jack compromised and Lena smiled wide.

"Okay, Daddy!" you both exhaled out a chuckle and kissed her forehead.

She shot up out of his lap and ran out of the room with her dress. Her sisters watched, but returned to their treasure hunt over their infant years.

"You can't ever say you're not whipped." you said, pulling Jack close and kissing his lips.

"I just love my babies. What can I say?" he shrugged and you giggled.

"Love me enough to run and get me McDonalds?" you made a grand gesture to your stomach and behind you, every Harlow girl perked up.

"McDonalds? I want some." Grace started.

"Me too."

"Me too."

Jack made a weary face and you smiled expectantly before he gripped your stomach and whispered urgently against the skin. "Get out of there as soon as you can, buddy. They have no mercy!"

"Six piece with a large fry." you requested, leaning down to kiss the back of his head. He groaned as he looked up at you. "Please."

Jack stood up wordlessly and looked at his daughters who were bearing wide grins. "Let's go."

"On the way there, can you tell us what whipped means?" Nova requested, jumping onto Jack's back and hanging onto his waist.

"Means I put up with you people for way too cheap!" he growled, turning around and throwing Nova over his shoulder masterfully before chasing the other two out in a fit of squeals of giggles.

With an amused smile, you left two hands on your stomach and looked at the ground where memories sewn into onesies laid sprawled around.

[always-andromeda]

My Lucky Star | Pierre Bezukhov x fem!Reader

Pierre Bezukhov x fem!Reader

Word Count | 4,192

Summary | After an overwhelming society party, Pierre struggles to understand how you feel.

Author’s Note | this one. this one is so special to me. you all know how much I melt for wholesome interactions with Pierre...also please indulge in my poetic porn once again lol.

Warnings | smut (MDNI), fingering, reader is depressed, anxious, and overwhelmed socially, bits of angst and fluff sprinkled throughout, nothing else I can think of!

You'll never get used to these society parties. Never one for conversation, you stand off to the side, glass of white wine in hand. Your eye finds him, hands waving as he smiles and explains something you're too far away to hear.

Though Pierre is typically as useless as you are at socializing, he loves talking. Loves recapitulating entire passages from books he's read. His interests shift every once in a while but that twinkle in his eye remains. And based on the fuss he seems to be causing, you guess this time it's an interest that causes him to voice a problematic opinion. You're well aware that he is excellent at that by now.

Maybe if you poured back your drink, you could shed your insecurities; storm over to the group that's grimacing awkwardly at Pierre as he digs himself deeper into a conversational hole. You'd have the gall to grab onto his arm and signal to him that perhaps it was time to go. Yet you stay, frozen in place.

Why they continue inviting you and him to these gatherings, you'll never fully know. Your presence barely has any value outside of your title. Countess Bezukhova. You turned the name around in your head at least a dozen times a day. No matter how many angles you observed it from, it didn't make sense.

As much as Pierre stood out like a sore thumb, he wasn't a complete outcast. He had friends. In a way? Andrei tolerated him at the very least.

You, on the other hand, suffered through conversations with your peers. They asked about the most superficial things. Your hair, your dress, where you had everything made, and how much it had cost your husband to dress you in such fineries. Then came the questions about children.

It's only been a month since you’d married him and already came the burning query as if you’d be showing by then. That’s why you simply ignored it this time. Smiled dryly and sipped on your glass, hoping that was enough of an answer to get them off your back.

Part of you wishes you were pregnant. Not only because having Pierre's child would be fantastic, but because at least you could claim that some sort of morning sickness ailed you and perhaps you would be allowed to skip these events entirely. But no, the tension in your bones isn't from carrying new life, but from harboring a clouded mind.

When his eyes catch yours across the crowded room, you feel a bit younger again. Shyly maneuvering your way through all the important people and heated discussions, you'd always made it to him. He'd talk your ear off and you wouldn't mind it. Because not only was he intelligent, but he was particularly handsome when gushing about whatever new book he had read.

It's part of the reason why you had fallen so hard for him. Why he could still twist up your insides after all this time. Every day felt manageable yet...new. Like diving into a lukewarm pool and sinking directly into the deep before finding that you could breath perfectly fine.

You search for that familiar fervor in his gaze; hope that he can see you crumbling to pieces under the scrutiny of those around you. All he does is smile and raise his glass to you. Absolutely oblivious.

Your nostrils flare with hot air and you turn on your heel. So much for cosmic connections and true love and all of the beautiful things that Pierre whispers in your ear at night. If he can't even notice when you're clearly drifting off in the sea...how attentive could he really be? Normally you'd feel guilty for thinking terribly of him. But you're already faded into the gray and pushing past your supposed peers.

Surely, a few of them would recognize you. Then they'd really talk about the fuss Countess Bezukhova had made earlier in the evening. You could practically hear their sneering voices. 

"Really, what is the matter with her? I guess marrying a count isn't enough, is it? She always insists on stirring up drama wherever that man brings her."

"Perhaps it's the pregnancy."

"She won't even do that for him."

"She's not pregnant?"

"Of course not. What kind of man would willingly impregnate such a beastly woman?"

The imagined ruthless chatter only makes your head scream more. The tears want to flow as you struggle to hold them back. You can't cry in front of these people. Mustn't let them see you weaker than you already are.

The safety of the carriage soothes you marginally. It's isolated. Keeps you feeling contained within its walls as you pull off one of your fine gloves to run the bare palm of your hand across the velvet seat. You wish the seat would absorb you. You could simply drown in the plushy, warm comfort of the luxurious fabric as the tears fell freely. Anything would be better than the wretched party and all the masked monsters in attendance.

The stifling silence is interrupted by the other door opening and closing with a thud. You don't dare even look at him as you wipe away the evidence of your despair with your still gloved knuckle.

Fiddling with the satin glove, your attention shifts to your lap.

"Are you alright?" Pierre is the first to speak. His tone simply...confused. Perplexed with the sudden state of chaos that had fallen over the evening.

You manage to reply weakly, "I'm just tired."

Pierre searches your slumped posture for some hint at your predicament. In the time since he'd separated from you, what had he missed? From the side, he can see one of your eyelids drooping; the weariness in your hand as well as the sag of your normally tight shoulders stick out. Regardless of what ails you, it troubles Pierre enough that he decides to tell the driver that it's time to head on home.

This heavy silence with you is unnatural. He's used to secretive giggles and your hand clasped in his after a night like this. The conversation is lively and thick with the alcohol you'd both drank. It would take everything in his power not to kiss you deeply. He would do his best to keep his hands to himself as he didn't want some poor servant to catch you in some dishonorable state of undress when the carriage arrived back at his estate.

Now, he'd wager, it was all the more difficult to do that when you wouldn't pay him any sort of attention. His gut instinct would've been to scoop you into his arms and hold you until you told him what was wrong. But something about your aura radiates discomfort even though it's just him with you now.

Your small voice makes Pierre's ears perk up. "I don't understand why we must go to these things."

He hardly thinks about it before arguing, "If we don't make an appearance they'll ostracize us. My father made the Bezukhov name into something important and I can't ruin that. You know that, dear."

"I'm well aware of your family name, Pierre." You spit back.

"It's not just my name." Pierre doesn't like the bitter tone that he returns to you, "It's yours now too. And I'd wish you'd be more understanding of the expectations it comes with."

"Trust me. I understand completely."

Getting indignant, Pierre gets straight to his point, "Have I hurt you?"

"No. I'm quite alright." Your tongue is prickly when you reply, throat dry as you force some sort of neutrality to his query. Very rarely did Pierre snap. But when he does, it makes you clam up. Has your gaze fixed at the scenery outside the window of the carriage.

The sunset is stunning. You're sure Pierre is squinting through the golden light reflecting off his glasses. You can practically feel his stare watching the back of your head. A knot forms in your stomach, wondering how this little tiff will be resolved before the end of the night. Because it would have to be resolved at some point before you both turned in; Pierre hates going to bed while fighting.

"Don't lie about this. Please, darling."

"I assure you. I am completely fine. I can deal with it on my own."

Pierre knows well enough that even though you can take care of yourself...he'd be a fool to leave you to lick your wounds. He just wishes he knew. If someone said something--God forbid--he would threaten them; he would do everything in his power to make sure you were comfortable by his side.

Normally, you seemed so self sufficient. So contained. Able. What was different about tonight that made you so...unable?

The second you arrived home, your maids whisked you away. Pierre was almost jealous of them. They seemed to understand. There had to be some unspoken direction between you and them with how swiftly they had brought you to your personal quarters and insisted that he let them take care of you for the night.

He didn't like it. Didn't like how that door stayed closed for hours as he couldn't hear a word of their concerned voices as you exchanged conversation with your maids. Pierre bets they know everything about you; perhaps it was some sort of womanly intuition they had.

He also didn't like how they looked at him with knowing eyes as they finally left for the night. He feels like a child, being left out of some joke that he couldn't possibly understand.

Pierre felt plenty of that even now, as a grown man, surrounded by peers who simply laughed at his wild notions. But you were never one of them. His wealth and his name can't have morphed you into one of those uninterested and unfeeling creatures that he had to play nice with. His heart shatters, imagining your adoring expression contorting into the snarling features of his first wife. Her alluring eyes and traitorous tongue, all consuming your face with a sickening curl of deception.

He barges in through the double doors, not bothering to announce his presence as he storms through the room, searching for you; hoping that you are indeed the you he remembers. But his boldness falters the second he steps beyond the threshold of your bathroom. The extravagant porcelain tub drawn in the center of the room, directly facing the large window that took up almost the whole wall. The view of the sprawling land over his estate had been one of the reasons you'd chosen it for yourself.

The air catches in his chest when he catches sight of you, sitting in front of the vanity mirror on the other side of the tub. He steals a glimpse of your face in the mirror, eyes puffy and lips pulled tight as you brush out your hair.

Your maids had tried their best to cheer you up. They told silly little jokes and offered to bring you some snacks from the kitchen. And as generous as they all were, you insisted that you just needed some time to yourself. Which was indeed true. You’d cried your eyes out enough for them but it only made you feel more guilty.

Silly, privileged countess, sniveling over a measly party. 

That was the wretched thought that made you send them away.

You hear something shift behind you and your head raises. You see Pierre in the mirror, standing behind you. He stares with wide eyes like a kicked puppy.

Turning to face him in your stool, Pierre studies you for a moment. He drinks in the deep red wine coloring of the satin robe you wear and relishes in the way it dips between the hills of your chest. Maybe it's just the candlelight above, but you seem to glow under it.

Pierre tunes back in to hear you ask in a reluctant tone, "Yes?"

"I-- I came to..." he trails off, not knowing exactly what intention he entered with.

You say, "If you don't have anything to say then you might as well go. I think I'll stay in my quarters tonight."

Crestfallen, he begins to turn. Pierre can't remember the last time you'd actually stayed a night in here. The week before your wedding, you couldn't help but stay away. He'd told you to simply take whatever room you wanted. There were plenty of them in his home. So here you'd been for a whole week, organizing through the possessions you'd taken with you from your own home and preparing for the wedding. So close but so far from the bed he yearned to share with you.

Though that had only been a month ago, he quickly found himself thrown into the depths of this brand new but all too familiar despair. He circles back around and blurts out the only thing he can think at the moment.

"I love you."

The simple sentence has you softening already. Frustration still bubbles in your chest at his insistence. But it's easier to manage here, with just him. None of the people that overwhelm your senses. Just Pierre and his desperation as he steps closer, hands rubbing your shoulders. You lean into his touch. Your muscles ache fiercely from having to push them back all night.

Pierre hears you moan softly. It urges him forward even further.

"I love you. So dearly." 

Your hand wraps around his forearm tenderly.

"What happened tonight?" he tries again.

You rise from your seat and hunch over, palms flat on the surface of vanity as you think. How you can even explain the inner workings of your mind escapes you. How can you explain to him how overwhelming it all can get? How you feel almost inconsolable even with him inches away. But you can't turn him away again. You can't let the wall rise up and separate you from him.

"Pierre, I despise them. I despise how those people belittle me everywhere we go. It's almost as if I've got no identity outside of being your wife and future mother of your children. And you...you don't say a word. You just-- you just let them walk all over me."

He agrees with almost every word you say. He just hadn’t been able to put it into words. How the weight of the superficial nothingness bothered him. He longs to bring you to his father’s land in the countryside. Far away from the ballrooms and prying eyes and the pressure of performance. Somewhere where you and him could truly breath.

"I understand what you mean, darling." he pleads and attempts to reach for you again. 

Wrenching away from him, you cry, "You don't. Not exactly. It's different when you're a woman. I'm always there for you. Every single time one of those pompous aristocrats looks down their nose at you when you talk about politics, I've always been there. And I thought you'd--" you stop to amend the acrid sentence immediately with a sigh, "I should've known better."

Pierre finally catches you by the shoulders, "No, you're right, dear. I should've known something was wrong."

The energy settles in your bones as Pierre holds you, hoping that you'll give him the mercy of a simple look.

"I can't expect you to read my mind." You say, sneaking a small glance at his hopeful expression.

He grins toothily, "While it's dreadfully unfortunate that I can't just look into that beautiful head of yours...I can always stand to try a bit harder."

His puffy cheeks and comforting hold has you on the brink of blushing as you tease, "Don't you start."

"I mean it. I love you with all of my heart. And I promised myself that I would take on anything that came along with it. If that means paying more attention to you and giving you more flack for nights like these, then so be it."

"I really am hard to love sometimes, aren't I?" You groan.

"Not at all. However, I have always been...quite clueless."

You object immediately, "You're not clueless. You're just a little..."

Pierre interrupts with a chuckle, "You can say it. I'm well aware how much of a fool I am."

"Then I'm glad you're my fool." Lovingly, your hand caresses his cheek. Pierre is far too hard on himself. In that moment, you may have been upset with him. But you’ve never been more sure of his dedication to your wellbeing.

A moment of comfortable silence passes before he kisses your palm and asks, "May this fool perhaps join your bath? We could use a bit of a cleanse after the night we've had."

"The fool is welcome to join me anytime he pleases." you reply coquettishly.

As soon as Pierre discards the thick layers that cover him, your eyes rake over his portly figure. His long legs, sturdy arms, and broad shoulders have you transfixed as he settles into the bathtub. He can't even pretend to hide his eagerness when you linger on the edge. Suddenly, you're self conscious as you swirl the bubbly water with your fingertip.

He loves you. Loves every single part of you as you shyly untie the robe and let it fall to the floor. Pierre smiles faintly; you slide up against him, rubbing his leg as you situate yourself between them.

Soon, you feel him sponging the lukewarm water along your shoulders, washing you of the night's quarrel and all of its bitterness. While the suds don't eradicate your worries entirely, it's enough to stave it off for a little longer.

Pierre's voice is beside your ear as he whispers, "Those people; they hardly know you, darling."

"They hardly know us." You correct him.

"And what a beautiful thing their lack of awareness is. Because there's no one else in the world who knows how lovely my countess is. I'm afraid if they did...they'd only steal you away." He growls playfully as his lips find your pulse, laying leading kisses over your fatigued flesh.

Inclined to giggle over the way he tickles you, instead you manage to mumble under your breath, "So selfish..."

"Only for you...always for you..." He kisses the side of your head.

"Besides, even if the whole world was in love with me, I wouldn't want anyone else."

He agrees solemnly, "Neither would I."

Pierre's hand remains at your side, lathering up your arms and abdomen with soap. Water shifting, you raise your hand, grab his and bring it to one of your breasts. Pierre takes the mound gently, notices the warm water beginning to chill in the open air as it hits your skin. With two fingers, he caresses over the nipple and tugs it gently. It still sends just enough heat directly to your core.

Under the water, you feel like you’re pulsating. His dutiful ministrations make bubbles form on your soft skin. You sink back onto his chest, his pudgy stomach making a wonderful pillow for your aching lower back. 

You're not sure if he understands what you're trying to start. Part of you is a bit too nervous to even say it out loud. To have the audacity to beg for him to touch you even more than he already was. He still hadn't moved from your breast. It wouldn't be the first time he'd made you finish like that. But you craved more pressure.

Hesitantly, you lead the large hand between your legs. Make his deft fingers plunge right into your center. His cheeks turn an almost blistering pink upon feeling the warm hearth. And when you sigh so softly and push yourself deeper into his body, he swears he could weep. You're so lovely. So trusting of him. So open.

"Is that what you need, my love?"

Your hands fall away, instead going to drape over his thighs as he hesitates to take complete control until you give him permission. Fingers gripped tightly around nothing but water, you already want to let go of every worry in your mind. In the porcelain tub, the universe is composed of you and him; nothing more, nothing less. You nod gently, already feeling your eyelids threaten to flutter shut.

If it was his hands you needed to take the tension away, he wouldn't hesitate. Prodding deeper into your cunt, you rut against his hand almost immediately until he eases up on the pressure.

Whining at the unfair treatment, Pierre hushes you, “Steady now, my lucky star. I’ll take you to the moon and beyond. But only if you can sit still.”

His words are promising. Nestled between his thighs like this, the obvious choice is to take his lenience in stride. So you melt. Rest your head back on his shoulder as Pierre continues his drawn out strokes.

For a few, throbbing seconds, all you want is more and more when he speaks again.

"Look out that window."

Though you swear you could doze off, your eyelids struggle against the weight of relaxation.

The night sky is dark and clear from this little room. You feel almost as though you're a passenger in a sky-fairing ship with Pierre being your captain. He steers you through the twists and turns of pleasure that threaten to make you release earlier than you're wanting to. But Pierre with his masterful touch keeps you balanced the entire way; letting the slow burn make your legs quiver.

His voice is almost absentminded as he maintains his pace. "I read a book the other day. It said that those stars...they're all hundreds of thousands of miles away. Yet, they shine with such intensity that we get to see them all the way from here. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Pierre, please..."

Your lovely fool continues on, "I like to think that they do that all for you. There's no other person I can think of that deserves to witness such a wonder. That deserves to get even a taste of what beauty this world has to offer."

You're squirming now, trying to keep yourself still and focused on his rambling.

"I wish I could show you every constellation in that sky. Ramus Pomifera is a branch bearing apple." Pierre itches at the inside of his head, trying to remember the names before settling on the most romantic one he could think of: "Rosa; that one is a rose. I think I'd show you that one."

You envision the cluster of stars and how you'd draw the lines that could connect them. Each one sends you deeper into the night, completely submerged in stardust.

Pierre whispers, “All of those other stars. Those beautiful, bursting balls of light…you’re brighter than all of them. And you're going to fly so much higher than all of them." His fingers curl deliciously, making you cry out as he grazes the sensitive spot inside you. "My dear, you're going to reach the heavens."

You certainly feel the clouds of paradise surrounding your head as he lifts you. It's all white fluff surrounding your vision and fragments of stardust as you throw your head back and cry out his name. You must keep still. Must let him follow his intuition to get you exactly where you need to be.

Pierre is almost struck with disbelief at how you writhe on him. The water only seems to add an extra layer of wetness that has the pads of his fingers circling your clit with little resistance. All you hear is the continuous slosh of that warm water, droplets splashing on your stomach and freezing in the cool air. The bubbles having subsided, you can see Pierre rub furiously, building the tower that'll take you to God himself.

Just as you think you might be able to see his glorious face, you're tumbling right back down to the Earth with a soul-splitting sob. No star nor angel nor asteroid could go where you'd gone and live to tell the tale. But Pierre made sure you got there. He worked you through the immense waves of pleasure that make your hips jolt sharply, disrupting the water and creating jutting waves that mean to spill over the edge of the tub.

"That's it, my love. Don't be afraid to feel all of it," Pierre coos, still toying with your numbly aching clit. Your eyes close.

Body buzzing from the descent you hear him coax you one last time, "I love you, my lucky star."

Finally, you return the promise, “I love you too.”

Minutes pass before his fingers retreat, allowing you the relief to breathe and completely come down.

“We should venture to the countryside soon. It would do us both some good having all that space and fresh air.” he suggests, “We could look at the stars every single night out there.”

You hum in delight, “Really? Will you show me those constellations you’ve been reading about?”

Pierre smiles to himself. You always listen to him. Are always there for him. The least he can do is take care of you in return.

“Of course, my lucky star. Of course.”

[daily-dose-of-writing]

For your 1-year anniversary, how about a fill of this prompt:

You gain the power to travel to fictional worlds, so you immediately decide to travel into your favourite novel, only to then find out that you’re the inter-dimensional evil they’ve been foreshadowing for the past 3 books

Only if you want to ofc, no pressure, please and thank you! 💖

First of all, I’m so sorry I got really carried away with this and it’s about three times longer than I initially intended, so I’m literally going to have to post it in three bits because it’s too long for one post, and I also got a little bit carried away with the plot of the favourite novel. Secondly, I hope you like it!!

[tw: a bit of violence and blood mentioned, childhood trauma and what I guess is very mild psychological horror]

———

She never meant to end up there, that much is true, but she most definitely wanted to. Reading has and always will be a form of escapism; therefore it should not be a surprise that everyone who does it may wish to disappear into the world inside those pages. This is, of course, just a fantasy. Wishing to be in a world born from someone else’s imagination is nothing more than a fun thought experiment; something to waste time while you’re riding the bus. It has never been an achievable feat. That is, until a few months ago.

The pages of her book fluttered half-heartedly as another train rushed past. Her hair was not so well secured, so it swam irritatingly in front of her eyes, forcing her to turn her attention away from the words on the page in order to swipe it away. She scowled.

It was not as though she were at a particularly interesting point in the book yet, but the interruption was still as unwanted as they often are. She returned her gaze to where her thumb held the book open at the spine. It was still in the developing portion; none of the major action had occurred yet, but something was brewing. Something had been brewing for a while, by then.

The book was the fourth and final instalment in a series that she had practically gobbled up. It was a wonderful story. The books revolved around five people who had all been the heroes of their own stories long ago, but had long since been forgotten as all but children's bedtime stories. They were ageing and greying and fiercely protective of each other and their thankless world who did not notice their help.

Each enemy they had faced thus far had known a frankly concerning amount about each of them, yet had refused to reveal their source. The similar information and attitude had led the group to theorise that they were all from a single group or organisation hell bent on what, they weren’t quite sure. It unnerved them greatly.

Despite everything, they concluded their adventures successfully. Although, there was a refreshing sense of realism to the story; as you could easily sense how much each fight was grating on them. They were being consumed by their own narrative.

They had surpassed the horizon of their own stories many years ago and were becoming nothing but hollow shells and reanimated corpses, dragged through a story they had never meant to inhabit. The desperation of the cause, of being meaningful, was all-consuming and slowly devouring them. Their paranoia — of a greater enemy that they knew only the outline of; from shambled, half-false scraps of information and near-forgotten folk tales of shadow people in shadow worlds — was driving them insane. Weariness was a constant companion to their souls.

Another train rushed past in a flurry.

She continued to read. One of the characters was becoming aware that there was something in the dark and she was almost certain it was observing her. Yes, she thought, something is most definitely brewing.

At last, her own train arrived and she stood from her seat on one of the platform benches. A crowd was massing around each of the doors to what she could see were also rather full carriages. It was going to be a long day.

She opened her bag and began putting away the book when she overheard someone pleading to get onto the train. She looked up to see a rather ramshackle-looking man half off the platform, trying to get into the already packed carriage.

Distantly she heard one of the accusing voices within the train call the man “grimy,” and frowned. He was obviously desperate to get onto the train; they didn’t have to be cruel about it.

At last, someone gave a great shove and the man went tumbling backwards. Instinctively, she lurched forward to stop him from smashing into the concrete, catching him just before he hit the floor. The doors of the train snapped shut and a moment later it sped off into the dark, leaving her attempting to haul the man onto his feet.

“Sorry about that,” she said, still in shock of the other passengers, “I can’t believe they did that. I — I should report them, they assaulted—”

“Thank you,” the man proclaimed sincerely, breaking her rambling train of thought, “However can I repay you?”

“Oh, uh,” she scrambled for a reply. In her peripheral vision she could still see the receding tail end of the train and winced, “Give me the ability to run off into a fantasy world where I don’t have to go to work this morning,” she joked, thinking of the look she knew that her manager would be wearing when she attempted to excuse her third late arrival that week. Something inside of her twisted at the thought.

“Alright.” The man replied, a flat tone to his voice and a sincere expression to his gaunt features. “As you wish.”

“You— what?”

Another train rushed past, drawing her attention away. When she turned back, the man had disappeared into the encroaching crowd waiting for the next train. Her brow crinkled and her lips parted lightly, but more and more people were arriving and she had already lost sight of the man.

The next train was equally as crowded as the first, but miraculously, she had managed to snag a window seat. The glass was cool against the clammy skin of her forehead and it soothed the encroaching headache from the hustle and bustle in the carriage. She supposed that the headache was also, in part, to do with the strange man who had offered she the ability to run into fictional worlds. Perhaps he was mad.

Absentmindedly, she began to wonder what it would be like if she could disappear into the world of one of her books. She wondered who she would be, an antagonist or a hero or no one at all. She wondered if she would reinvent herself or be painfully truthful to her own nature — of which would make her more trustworthy. She wondered if it would be fun, or if she would wind up as the same, hollow, shell of herself that the characters did; if she would return as somebody entirely different.

A heavy exhaustion suddenly began to weigh on her chest, a pressure that squeezed her ribs like an enormous pair of hands or a snake constricting around its prey. With heavy-lidded eyes and a gently throbbing head, she let the comforting lull of sleep sweep her away.

Sunshine tickled delicately at her fluttering eyelids. It was soft and warm against her face, reminiscent of summer picnics during childhood spent lying on a hillside looking up at the vast, blue sky — the sort that were more dream than memory. Licks of grass brushed against her neck almost reverently, soft and dry but prickled just enough to make it tickle. The coolness of glass and the odd softness of the synthetic seat material of the train was entirely replaced.

She opened her eyes and sure enough the sky was very blue and she was very still atop a hill of wild grass.

Dreaming, she concluded, was what was happening at that moment. It was simply a very, very, vivid dream. A light wind brushed across her cheeks and the delicate scent of the wildflowers, mixed with the cloying smother of midday heat invaded her nostrils. She could hear a cricket somewhere in the underbrush and cars shimmying along a road somewhere down below; the whooshing rather similar to that of a violent river or cacophonous wind. A very, very vivid dream.

She got up brusquely and looked about herself. At the top of the hill was a squat, white building with a slated roof and what appeared to be gold writing embossed on its side, but which was too far away to read. Curious and with little elsewhere to explore, she made her way swiftly up the hill.

The long grass pulled and caught on her boots as she walked and she tried determinedly not to think of the disturbingly realistic quality to it. Slowly, the building grew closer and closer, and the words began to become increasingly clear. “The New Inn,” they read. Absentmindedly she remembered someone telling she that words in dreams were incomprehensible and began to wonder why those were not.

‘The New Inn’ was a pub similar to any that she had seen before: thus she decided that it was simply her subconscious taking old memories of random pubs and recreating them. The bar was the first thing that she saw when she walked in through the door; it stretched the length of the first room with an array of colourful bottles behind it and empty cups upturned on the work surface. Each of them had the signature brand label on the front but none of them were recognisable to her. Similarly, the alcohol all seemed to be completely unknown brands.

The bartender: a young man with dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses looked up at her arrival and asked if they could be of assistance.

“Where am I?” She asked dumbly, tongue thick with disbelief and utter confusion.

“This is the New Inn,” he answered quickly. He had a deep voice, rumbling but soft; it didn’t quite suit him.

“What town though? Where are we nearest to?”

He frowned curiously and recited the name of the three surrounding towns. She almost laughed in his face. The towns that he had named featured heavily in the first two books of the series that she had been reading. The author had wanted to create a world that was similar but not quite the same as her own and had thus made up the names of each of their towns and cities — as well as avoiding references to pop culture.

“Are you sure?” She asked him.

“Quite.”

She reminded herself that she was surely dreaming and left quickly the way she came. A sudden thought crossed her mind; if it was indeed the world within her books that she currently resided, then she could probably catch the protagonists hanging around somewhere. It depends on the date, she thought.

Suddenly very curious, she slipped quickly back into the pub. “Sorry, yes, and er, what’s the date?”

The bartender offered her and increasingly exasperated glance but answered anyway. “August 4th.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, “Year?”

“Ye- you don’t know what year it is?”

“Humour me.”

The bartender sighed and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “It’s 2026.”

She grinned feverishly. She was standing right at the beginning of the narrative; the first day of the story, just before everything began to come together. “Cheers,” she exclaimed and dashed out of the door once again, leaving the bartender gawking in her wake.

She knew exactly which town to go to in order to observe the unfolding story and thankfully there were road signs outside of the pub. As she walked, the strange man from the train station and the sincerity of his words returned to her, almost like a warning and they rattled around inside her head. Perhaps it wasn’t a dream. She laughed; of course it was a dream. It had to be a dream. This is just what you get from binge-reading something, she thought.

It was only a short walk, ten minutes or so — or at least what felt like ten minutes; in a dream state that could have been hours. She remembered the church being a particularly well embellished monument within the opening description of the scenery, so that was what she headed for. It was a great, towering structure that loomed over the surroundings with a watchful eye. The ancient clock settled below its domed roof counted backwards for a reason unknown to anyone at all, yet had never been fixed for that was how it had always been.

It was about half an hour before she spotted them; bespectacled, with freckles spattered across their face like constellations, hair and eyebrows just starting to go grey — the spitting image of how the book had described them. She grinned.

Behind by about a hundred and fifty metres, she followed them to the small shop where she knew would be the scene of the first skirmish of the book — as well as the reader’s first introduction to their character.

As to not be injured by the impending fight, she waited outside, watching through the window. A punch was quickly thrown, then another, then she barely had time to step aside as the offending party was thrown through the front window. The offender sputtered and staggered in the broken glass and peered up as a hand gripped hold of their shirt and wrenched them up. She winced. Despite knowing the offender deserved to be put in place for harassing the cashier, she couldn’t help but pity the for the beating they were getting.

A few others had come to watch. Beside her stood a tall man in a black suit, his hair was gelled back and he looked as though he was going somewhere important. “You know,” she murmured conspiratorially, “They were a hero once.” The man raised his eyebrows above the dark glasses that she hadn’t noticed he was wearing in a questioning manner. She took that as her cue to continue. “Yeah, years ago by now, but they’re still trying to do their hero stuff,” the offender’s back thudded against the wall and she winced again, “as you can see.”

“Pray tell, do you know much more about them?”

Excited, she began to babble. “Oh, yes! This is Sam Wallace, no one really knows them much anymore but they saved god knows how many people back when they were a kid and recruited by one of those dodgy ‘superhero’ agencies — you know, those ones that got shut down because they really mistreated their employees and recruits, by like, locking them in rooms with rats and whatnot to scare them into submission? They live just up the road from here, they’re really cool.”

The man smiled to himself and turned away, “Thank you ever so much for the information, I’m sure I will find it vital in future.”

Too caught up in watching the fight, she waved the man off with a quick, “sure, anytime,” without any deeper inspection of the odd comment.

The police arrived soon after to take the retired superhero away, but so did a suspicious-looking, black SUV with some obviously government employees inside — who told the police that it was under their jurisdiction from then on. She couldn’t stop smiling; everything was happening just as it was in the book.

Over the following two weeks, she followed the group of retirees and half-forgotten legends through their escapades, until they finally discovered the antagonists base of operations. It was a rather decrepit warehouse in a forgettable corner of a generic industrial estate. Wide and squat, with a jutting roof and signature damp, concrete floor, it was by no means conspicuous. The unassuming nature of the building made it rather perfect as a lair.

The antagonists name was Ryker, or at least that was what he called himself. She crept in after the group in order to get a good look, hidden by the shadows of the towering, metal shelves. It worked. He was a tall man, half his face was cast in shadow, accentuating the angular properties of it and his sleek, black hair was swept backwards and gelled in place. He looked oddly familiar, but she put it down to reading his description in the books.

[jessmalia]

heartless | 01. operation smile

pairing: henry mills x oc  a/n: henry's aged up for this story. he's just two years older. so he's 12 in season 1 and 16 in season 6. also the last scene was kinda rushed together because i was tired sorry not sorry.  wordcount: 2858 warnings: none for this chapter, but this book includes heavy themes of ptsd and emotional abuse. reader discretion is advised.

masterlist || next>>

"Smart kid." Emma sighed as she looked through Henry's empty email account. "He cleared his inbox. I'm smart too," she said, fishing her go-to USB from her jacket pocket and holding it up so that Sheriff Graham could see. "A little hard disk recovery utility I like to use."

  By the way Graham looked at the thing, you'd think it was a spaceship or something. "I'm a bit more old-fashioned in my techniques," he said uneasily. "Pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, that sort of thing."

  Emma rolled her eyes as she plugged the USB into Henry's computer. Out of all the towns she had to be dragged by her long–lost child into, why did it have to be one where the Sheriff was stuck in the 1950s? "You're on salary. I get paid for delivery. Pounding the pavement is not a luxury that I get," she said coolly, scrolling through Henry's refilled inbox. "See, just as I thought. He's been emailing a girl called... Maxie Collins. Do you have any idea who that is?" she asked, turning back to look at Regina.

  "No." She shook her head, leaning closer to read the messages on the computer. "Henry has never mentioned her before."

  "Well, he told her about his plans to seek me out, so she might know where he is," Emma said as she went through their most recent conversation. "And she lives at..." Emma felt a sudden lump in her throat as she read the address on the webpage, "...Storybrooke Orphanage," she finished quietly.

  "Great," said Graham, slapping his hand against the tabletop and standing up. "Let's go visit this girl then."

–––

Graham quickly knocked on the door to room 18 as they approached, then stepped back as they all waited for an answer. Emma felt extremely uneasy being in the building. This was certainly not how she had wanted to spend the day. Merely standing in a place like this again brought back old memories that she'd prefer to keep repressed. These types of buildings, whether orphanages or foster homes, all had the same depressing feel to them. As if the despair of the lonely children was sucking all the colors out of the room. 

  The door was finally opened by a young girl who looked to be around 13 years old. She had long tousled blonde hair, a braided leather necklace with a green gemstone woven into it hung around her neck, and she was wearing a hooded black leather jacket that was easily three sizes too big for her. However, the thing Emma noticed first were her eyes. They were big and green, but that wasn't what stood out to her. Emma saw herself. That look in her eyes... the despair. It was the same one she had when she was in the foster system. It was the look of an orphan.

Maxie Collins looked up in surprise at the three adults standing by her doorway. "Am I in some sort of trouble?" she asked, eying the Sheriff and Mayor particularly. Emma opened her mouth to tell her that she had nothing to worry about, but Regina spoke before she could.

  "That depends on how you answer our questions," she said, marching past Maxie into her room. The girl looked annoyed but said nothing. Instead, she gestured for Emma and Graham to follow her.

  There wasn't anything too remarkable about Maxie's dorm. The walls were beige and there was a plain and unassuming bunk bed in the corner, but there was no indication that the top bunk had been slept in. There were barely any personal belongings there at all, except for a couple of CDs on a shelf in the nightstand, an old laptop and a couple of school books resting on a rickety wooden desk, and a single potted plant by the window. It was like the girl was afraid to make this place her home.

  Maxie sat down in the rolly-chair by her desk, closing her laptop that seemed to have been open on a barely-started school assignment. "Shall we get on with the questions, then? Because I have no idea what this is about," she asked, turning towards the adults.

  "I'll tell you what this is about," Regina fumed, stepping towards her. "I want to know what you want with my son."

  Her statement left an awkward silence in the room.

  "Huh?" Maxie finally said, eyebrows furrowed.

  Regina's scowl deepened, her patience already running thin. "My son has started acting out and disobeying me, and I'm guessing you have something to do with that. I want to know what you want with him."

  "Um, nothing. Henry's just my friend," Maxie said in an aloof voice that clearly showed that Regina's anger had no effect on her whatsoever. "If your son refuses to listen to you, I'd venture a guess that the fault is yours, not mine. You should actually talk to him instead of going around throwing accusations at people for something that's clearly just a result of your bad parenting." 

  Emma was surprised at how well spoken the girl was, it didn't seem to match the rest of her character very well. She looked towards Regina, whose eyes were flared with rage, and decided it was probably best to step in before things got out of hand. "Look, Maxie–"

 "Actually, people call me Max."

  "Okay... Max. Henry has run away, and we don't know where to find him. Do you have any idea where he might be?"

  Max let out a long sigh, leaning back in her chair. "Henry's fine. He'll come back soon enough. My suggestion is to just wait him out. He should be in Boston by now, so there's no way you can find him."

  Emma shook her head. "No, you don't understand. He's already been to Boston, but he ran away again." 

  Max's eyebrows knit together. "Wait..." she murmured, eyes squinting as she looked over Emma, eyes slowly dissecting every part of her. "Are you Emma? Henry's birth mother?"

  Emma nodded, her mouth pulling up in a thin-lipped smile. "Yup. That's me."

  Max's face visibly softened, but she still didn't give them any worthwhile information. "I'm sorry. I don't know where he is now."

  Regina groaned, grumbling something about a "waste of time" before grabbing Graham and dragging him out of the room. But Emma didn't follow. She had some questions of her own she wanted to be answered first.

  "Do you know anything about this storybook Henry's always talking about?" she asked, taking a seat on Max's bed.

  "Oh, that?" Max inquired, raising her left eyebrow. "Our teacher, Ms. Blanchard, gave it to him. She's a really good teacher. Smart too."

  "Do you have any idea why she gave him the book?"

  "She says that stories are a way to deal with our world at times when it doesn't make much sense," she said, looking out of the window, a wistful look washing over her big green eyes as she spoke next. "Henry's a great kid. I mean, really. He's kind and smart... but he's also very lonely. Until I came around, which was only about a year ago, he didn't really have any friends at all. And even now, we don't get to spend that much time together since I'm in the grade above him. And then there's the fact that his mom keeps such a strong hold on him." Max paused, biting her lip. "Ms. Blanchard gave him that book because she thought it would give him hope. And it has." She paused again, this time making eye contact with Emma for the first time during her answer. "Henry needs that book." 

  Emma nodded, breaking eye contact with Max for a moment as the weight of what the girl had just told her was too much. But even though it all made her feel very guilty, it also clarified that Max cared immensely for Henry and seemed to know him better than anyone. Emma didn't need her superpower to know that she had been lying to Regina earlier. 

  "You know where he is, don't you?"

 Max looked down at her lap, an appreciative smile pulling at her lips. "You might wanna check his castle."

–––

Max stood by the entrance to her school, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall, waiting for her best friend — her only friend — Henry Mills.

  When the boy finally arrived, he immediately ran towards her, smiling whole-heartedly for the first time in a while. 

  "Hey, kiddo," she greeted as he reached her. Henry rolled his eyes.

  "Don't know how many times I have to tell you — I'm only a year younger than you."

  Max ignored his comment. "I see Emma decided to stay for a while," she said, nodding towards the spot just outside of the school where Emma stood talking to Ms. Blanchard.

  "Yep!" he exclaimed, much enthusiasm in his voice. "I managed to convince her to stay for at least a week, but I think she's going to stay for longer. I told her all about Operation Cobra and she's totally in!"

  Max smiled at his excitement. "That's fantastic," she said. "Have you found me in the book yet?"

  If she had to be totally honest, Max didn't believe any of this fairy tale business that Henry was so obsessed with. It just did not feel real to her. But she would be damned if she ever let that show. Max may not be able to fix anything about her own shitty life, but she could help Henry with his. She would do just about anything to see that smile on his face. And in one way, she really wanted to believe Henry. She wished she did. Like, really... a fairy tale land with magic and wonder, where the bad guys always lost and the good ones always got a happy ending — who wouldn't wanna believe in that?

  Henry nodded enthusiastically. "Actually, I have!"

  Max raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Really?" she asked. She really didn't think Henry was going to find her there. Nothing about her that she could think of connected her to any sort of fairy tale. Like, Ms. Blanchard she got — that woman was basically Snow White come to life. But she was different. And on the off chance that this was real, she was convinced that she wouldn't be important enough to mention. She'd probably just be a background villager or something. "Who am I then?"

  "I'll show you," he said, grabbing Max by the hand and dragging her away. He ran until he found a spot on the west side of the building. The spot was cornered off on two sides, leaving only one side open, which was covered by a large bush, completely cloaking them from any outside eyes. 

  "Well," Henry started as he lifted the book out of his bag and started flipping through the pages, "I couldn't connect your story to any specific fairy tale. My first guess would've been The Little Mermaid, but there's already an Ariel in here and–"

  "Wait, what?" Max stopped him in the middle of his rant. "Are you telling me that I'm a mermaid? I don't even like swimming!" It was true — for as long as she could remember, Max had hated swimming and anything to do with the water. Weirdly, she was extremely good at it, though. A useless skill, really, but she was better at swimming than any of the other subjects in school! Although, that wasn't really saying much.

  Henry nodded. "Yeah, I know. But it fits," he said, finally stopping his flipping as he found the page he had been looking for, showing it to Max. "You didn't like being a mermaid! You wanted to be a human." 

  "Sure sounds a lot like The Little Mermaid," Max mumbled, looking down at the page in front of her. It contained a drawing of a young girl, or rather, a young mermaid. She was sitting on a cliff in the middle of the ocean, gazing longingly towards the land in front of her. The girl did look like her (though, one might say that about any girl with white skin and blonde hair), but she was a few years younger. "It does look like me, but that girl looks to be around ten years old."

  "Well, you've been ten at one point in your life, right?" said Henry. 

  Max rolled her eyes. "Yeah, of course I have. But this must've been a while before the curse then, right? So is there anything in the book about what I did around that time?" 

  "No, nothing at all. It's a bit strange," Henry said, frowning as he examined the page for what was probably the two hundredth time since he found it last night. "This is the only time you're mentioned." 

  Of course, just like she thought. She was not a main character by any means. "What's my name then?" she asked instead, hoping to change the subject to something that would make Henry smile again. "Maybe that can help us determine which fairy tale I'm from."

 "Actually..." said Henry slowly, "your name has always been Max."

  ...

 What?

 Max quickly ripped the book from Henry's grasp, examining the page with narrowed eyes. He was right. The girl in the picture was indeed referred to as Max in the text. And it did look a lot like her...

 This truly was very strange. 

–––

Max had been sitting in her usual armchair just outside of Dr. Hopper's office for roughly twenty minutes now. She was concentrated on the phone in her hand, using the down time to try and beat her high score in snake. She was interrupted in her gameplay when rapid footsteps echoed throughout the hall. Max looked up, eyes meeting with Emma's, and she didn't hesitate before standing up and blocking the door. 

  Emma brows drew together in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

  Max glared at her. "I always wait for Henry after his sessions so I can walk him home," she said coolly. "What are you doing here?"

  Her eyes flickered to the floor. "I need to see Henry."

  Max scoffed. Wasn't the fact that she was blocking the door enough of a message? "Yeah, I don't think that's the best idea after what you called him. Why don't you leave taking care of Henry to the people who actually believe in him?" 

  Emma sighed. "I know I made a mistake, alright. Please, just let me in. I'm here to make it right."

  Max hadn't planned on relenting, but the look on Emma's face surprised her with how earnest it was. She sighed, before stepping aside, and Emma let out a deep breath.

  "Thank you," she said and opened the door, stepping inside. 

 As they walked in, both of the rooms's residents turned to look at them, and as soon as Dr. Hopper's eyes met with Emma's, he jumped out of his seat. "Miss Swan, I can explain. The Mayor forced me to–"

 Emma didn't let him finish. "I know," she said, holding up her hands as a gesture for him to stop. "Don't worry about it. I get it." The shock spread across the man's face was almost comical, but Emma promptly ignored it, instead walking towards her son. "Henry, I'm sorry."

  Henry was sitting dejected on Dr. Hopper's sofa, with his cheek leaning against the side. Worst of all — he was frowning. "I don't wanna talk to you," he mumbled, staring at his lap. 

  Dr. Hopper tried to interject. "Miss Swan, if she knew you were here–"

  "To hell with her." Emma said with much conviction, leaning down in front of her son. "Henry, there is one simple reason I stayed here — you. I wanted to get to know you," she said. 

  "You think I'm crazy."

  "No," Emma objected, "I think the curse is crazy. And it is..." She paused, taking a deep breath. "But, that doesn't mean that it isn't true."

  Not much changed in Henry's expression after her words, but his eyes did turn to focus on his mother's face. 

  "It is a lot to ask someone to believe in. But there are a lot of crazy things in this world. So what do I know? Maybe it is true."

  Henry wasn't convinced, his voice raising slightly when he said, "But you told my mom–"

  "What she needed to hear! What I do know... is that if the curse is real, the only way to break it is by tricking the Evil Queen into thinking that we are nonbelievers. 'Cause that way, she's not onto us. Isn't that what Operation Cobra was all about?" Emma looked around the room for a moment and up at Max, who had a warm smile stretched across her face. "Throwing her off the trail?"

  Henry sat up, eyes shining as he beamed at his mom. "Brilliant!"

  Max had never seen Emma look so relieved. 

  "I read the pages, and Henry, you are right. They are dangerous. There is only one way to make sure that she never sees them!" She stood up, walked towards the roaring fireplace, and threw the pages into the flames. "Now we have the advantage."

Henry ran up to hug his mom, that shining grin back on his face. 

Operation Smile was complete.

–––

heartless taglist: @jochase​

[semperama]

okay, i know you said mistletoe but mistletoe with fake dating/arranged royal/noble/whatever high society you desire charles/pierre (cut whatever part you like bc it's probably too elaborate for a drabble)

The wind moans across the eaves, and Charles tosses and turns in bed, wishing he had a match to light the candle on the bedside table. He could ring for the housekeeper, but she’s a severe woman, and he’s ashamed to admit he is a little scared of her—not as scared as he is of Mr. Gasly, but scared all the same.

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and their relatives—his and Gasly’s both—should be arriving in the morning, but Charles wonders, with the weather, if that will be possible. He imagines Christmas stuck here alone with Gasly and the housekeeper and the butler, and it makes him feel ill. It’s only been one month since the wedding, and he and Gasly—Pierre—have barely exchanged two words to each other since. Gasly’s quarters are on the other side of the chateau. He takes his meals at different times. When he sees Charles on the stairs, or in the library, he nods silently, his jaw clenched like it pains him.

Charles knows this marriage is not what either of them wanted, but he expected to at least be treated cordially. His family and the Gaslys have been close for generations. When they were children, he and Pierre used to play together, which was a great deal of the reason the match should have been ideal. His family’s money saved Gasly’s estate, while Gasly’s reputation saved Charles’s face after one too many scandals abroad.

Sighing, Charles gets out of bed and grabs his dressing gown off the chair. If he’s not going to sleep, at least he can find himself some milk in the kitchen. He pads out into the hallway, tiptoeing over creaky floorboards.

He’s passing by the drawing room when he sees the door is cracked, the orange glow of a fire beyond. Quietly as he can, he moves closer, peeks in, and sees Pierre sitting in front of the fireplace, chin resting on his hand, staring into the flames. A book is open on his lap, but Charles can tell he hasn’t been reading it, not really.

He doesn’t know what makes him push the door open wider and knock on the doorframe. Pierre—Mr. Gasly—Pierre looks up, eyes round in surprise, but when he sees Charles standing there, he sighs and relaxes again, looking away. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

“The wind,” Charles says. “I was going to see what I could find in the kitchen.”

“You should have rung for Mrs. Bonham. That is her job,” Pierre says. “You are also a master of this house now, you know.”

Charles nods. It isn’t as though he’s unaccustomed to servants; his own parents have triple the number that Gasly has, and double the number of houses to run. But he doesn’t feel welcome here. He doesn’t feels as though it’s his home. So what is he to do?

“I apologize,” he says. “I’ll return to bed and leave you be.”

“Wait.” Pierre closes the book in his lap, sets it aside, and gets to his feet. As he comes closer, Charles must resist the urge to shrink away, to turn and run. They haven’t been this close since they stood at the alter. Pierre has no jacket, and his shirt is unlaced at the top, a dark thatch of hair showing through the open collar. Charles can’t seem to look away from it. Not until Pierre’s fingers come to rest on his chin.

“Mrs. Bonham is incorrigible when it comes to Christmas,” Pierre says, then nudges Charles chin until he’s looking up. Above the door—as at the windows and over the fireplace—is a garland of evergreen and holly. But this particularly garland has another feature, and Charles stomach flips when he sees it. A cluster of white berries.

“Mistletoe,” he says, feeling his cheeks flush.

They haven’t kissed each other since they stood at the altar either, and then it was perfunctory, almost chaste, Pierre pulling away from him before Charles could even taste him.

This time is nothing like that. Pierre’s arms are around him suddenly, like bands of iron at his waist, and Charles melts into Pierre’s chest just as Pierre claims his mouth. Charles clings to Pierre’s shirt, then spreads his fingers out to touch the hair he was so fascinated with before, the softness of it under his fingers making his blood sing. Pierre’s tongue delves past Charles’s lips, and he feeds a groan into his mouth, undone in a way Charles has never seen him, a way Charles would never have guessed he could be. All these weeks of Pierre avoiding him. All this time, and they could have been…they could have…

When Pierre finally breaks away, he’s breathing hard, two spots of color high on his cheeks. He brings his hands up to Charles’s face and stares hard at him, his eyes black in the dim light.

“Go to bed,” he says, though Charles wishes he would take him to bed instead.

“But—”

“We will be busy tomorrow,” Pierre says. He sweeps his thumbs across Charles’s cheekbones and then steps back, the stoic facade he’s worn these past few weeks suddenly back in place. “Get some rest.”

Charles can’t—he won’t. If the wind wasn’t bad enough, now his heart is pounding, and his thoughts are confused. But Pierre turns away and goes back to his chair. What choice does Charles have?

Quietly, not wishing to anger him, Charles says, “Merry Christmas, Pierre.” Then, he backs out of the room drawing the door shut behind him.

Just before it closes, he casts one last look at Pierre’s face. In the flickering firelight, he thinks he sees a smile on his lips.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

De Amore

My fic for @aceomenszine is finally available on AO3!

Aziraphale has come to Paris to find the answer to an important question: What's it like to be in love? Crowley's not sure why he wants to know, but he's willing to discuss it to make his angel happy. Full text below!

--

“What’s it like to be in love?”

Crowley stumbled to a stop on the Paris street, glaring at the angel beside him. Aziraphale stared straight ahead, walking with his usual expression: calm, poised, slightly arrogant. As if he were talking about the weather.

“Dunno. S’a human thing, isn’t it?” He scowled at a few gawking peasants, hurrying to catch up. “Romance. Lust. Sex. Nothing to do with us.”

“You could say the same of hunger, or exhaustion, or boredom.”

“Yeah, and I’d be right.” Crowley held out an arm to stop Aziraphale from walking directly into a produce cart. “Neither of us gets exhausted. You’re never tired, and I just like a good nap sometimes.”

“Really?” A flicker of that mocking bastard smirk. “How many nights did you sleep this past week?”

“Nrrg. Five or six, but that’s not the point.” They started walking again, Crowley tossing an apple he’d snuck from the cart. “I could stop if I wanted to — I’d miss it, but s’not the same as being tired. Same with you and eating.”

“But if I desire a food, so strongly I can already taste it, surely that’s…if not exactly hunger, a close approximation?”

“Don’t think so.” Crowley offered the apple, but Aziraphale shook his head. “Spend a couple days in the city, you’ll see what hunger looks like. S’not about pleasure or wanting a particular food. It’s need, desperation. And we just don’t experience that.” He tossed the apple towards a group of children, and a girl in a ragged dress caught it. “Boredom I’ll grant you. I’ve definitely been bored.”

“So, we might enjoy things as humans do, but never desire them the same way,” Aziraphale mused, smoothing his hands down the front of his stolen jacket. “But is love the longing for a connection with another, or the pleasure of that connection?”

“Doesn’t really make a difference to us, does it?”

He waited for Aziraphale to respond, but the angel simply continued walking, hands folded behind his back, eyes more distant than usual.

“So?” Crowley prodded after nearly a block in silence. “What brought this on?” Aziraphale shrugged. “Let me guess. Reading novels again? Sappy poetry? Getting…ideas?” He stepped ahead of Aziraphale and walked backwards, to ensure the angel saw his suggestive eyebrow wiggle. No response. Crowley shrugged, falling back into step. “Look, f’you want to try falling in love with a human, s’your business. Let me know how it goes. Just do it back in London, I don’t need that…drama getting back to my bosses.”

“That’s not it,” Aziraphale snapped, wringing his hands. “It’s not — it doesn’t even work that way, Crowley. Humans don’t just decide to fall in love!”

“They don’t cross an ocean and charge through a revolution for a snack, either.”

“Oh, never mind. Clearly you’re the expert here.” Aziraphale froze, glaring at a shop just ahead, and threw his hands up in disgust. “And now they’ve closed my favorite creperie! Why do I even bother? Might as well return to England and feast upon whatever lumpy brown bread the first tavern I pass serves.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Crowley hissed, turning down a side street and gesturing for Aziraphale to follow. “If you get locked up again, I’m not rescuing you a second time.” The angel’s lips twisted sourly. “Look, gourmet crepes aren’t really in demand right now, but I know a place. Might still be open.”

“I suppose that will have to do.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and glared at the sky, thin grey clouds veiling the sun. He should probably just let Aziraphale stew in his own sullen displeasure. Might even give him an advantage — a distracted angel was easier to outsmart.

But Crowley hadn’t been in the business of thwarting Aziraphale for over a thousand years. Why oppose each other, when they could work…not together, but in tandem? Ensuring all their duties were fulfilled, their paperwork properly filed.

It was better this way. Less fuss all around, less inconvenience. Pleasanter conversation. More time for trips to the theater or quiet meals, either of which was a far better way to spend an evening than any sort of elaborate espionage.

He’d been looking forward to griping about his job over a mug of cider while Aziraphale worked his way through a plate of crepes, smiling and wiggling in his seat. Watching Aziraphale get excited over something was, in Crowley’s opinion, one of the best ways to pass the time.

Only the conversation had left Aziraphale annoyed, pouting and…Crowley studied him carefully, dark glasses imperfectly hiding his eyes. More than anything, Aziraphale looked hurt. A sight that always made Crowley’s stomach twist painfully.

He sighed, tossing back his head. “‘Love is an inborn suffering, proceeding from the sight and immoderate thought upon the beauty of another, for which cause above all other things one wishes to embrace the other and, by common assent, in this embrace to fulfil the commandments of love.’”[1]

“I beg your pardon?”

“Look, I don’t know. You asked me—!” Crowley walked faster, face growing hot. “It’s from some old treatise, right? Love, he says, is seeing someone beautiful and wanting sex. Then, when you have your fill…” he waved his hand vaguely.

“I see.” Aziraphale adjusted his sleeves. “I suppose that…makes sense.” But he still looked grim.

Up ahead, not quite along their path, stood one of Paris’s parks, gates now open to the public. Apart from some rubbish cluttering the entrance, it seemed well-maintained. Crowley tipped his head, inviting.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up and he nodded, the first hint of a smile on his face. It always made Crowley feel light, that smile, however briefly it appeared.

They wandered in silence up the path, lined by trees here, flowerbeds there. Leaves had turned yellow and the grass was edged with brown, but the roses were still in bloom. Crowley paused to pluck a particularly well-formed bud.

As they crossed a bridge over a small watercourse, Aziraphale suddenly said, “Do you think it’s true, though? That — that treatise? Because it rather sounds like he didn’t see any difference between lust and love.”

“Mmh.” Crowley paused, gazing downstream, where a group of ducks swam contentedly. “As a demon? Yeah. Fits the party line. Humans don’t think of anything but their own pleasure, always wanting what they don’t have. Jealous, possessive, until something better comes along. Then it starts all over. If love and lust aren’t the same, well, they’re pretty close, right?”

“I see.” Aziraphale stepped beside him, holding out his red cap, now filled with grains of barley and cracked corn. They each took a handful and tossed it down. The ducks swam over eagerly, bobbing to catch the seeds before they drifted away.

“But as a being who’s been in the world nearly six thousand years?” Crowley threw another handful, then leaned against the railing, crossing his arms. “Not so sure. Humans do too much that can’t be explained by simple pleasure. Besides, I’ve seen what they do when overwhelmed by lust, and what they do when overwhelmed by love and…dunno. S’not the same.”

More handfuls of grains as a second group of ducks approached.

“What d’you think, Angel?” Crowley prodded. “Must be something in all those books you read.”

“Oh, quite a lot,” Aziraphale assured him. “Much of it contradictory. Many poets will only talk about their beloved’s face, or eyes, but if it were simply a matter of beauty, surely everyone would fall in love with the same beauties.”

“Sometimes they do.” Crowley rolled some seeds between his palms. “S’where the jealousy comes in. But yeah. Gotta be more to it than that.”

“I hope you’re not planning to make those poor ducks sink.”

“What? Nk — no. Course not.” He threw the grains down and the ducks quickly swarmed, turning bright shades of pink and blue and violet as they ate.

“Crowley.”

“Oh, it’s not hurting anyone.” He glanced sideways to see Aziraphale pressing his lips together, struggling not to smile. Grinning, Crowley tossed down more enchanted grains. “Go on then.”

“Hmm? Ah, yes. Well, the overall impression is that love is…transformative. Changes the way one thinks and feels at all times. They speak of, oh, the sun shining brighter, foods tasting sweeter, winter blossoming into summer. Metaphors. Others speak of — of attraction, quickened pulse, sudden heat and so on, but that’s a passing thing, part of a — a particular moment of closeness. Surely, no human could maintain such a state for an hour, never mind weeks or years!” Aziraphale offered Crowley the last handful of grain in his cap. “And once that moment passes…”

“Back to the metaphors.” The ducks below were now spotted, striped, every color of the rainbow. One bore pure white wings, beside another with midnight black. Aziraphale chuckled, very softly, which made Crowley feel immensely satisfied. Dusting off his hands, he circled the angel and continued walking.

“Yes,” Aziraphale hurried to catch up, cap twisting in his hands. “I get the sense that the feeling is so obvious, so…universal, they never think to describe it.”

“How inconsiderate.” Crowley thought it over. “So, flash of heat, racing heart, sun gets brighter, then ten pages about the color of their eyes? That about it?”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale rubbed a finger across his lip. “Not always beauty, though. Some appear drawn by their partner’s clever mind, or acts of kindness. Some praise stories of bravery or great deeds, others fixate on meaningless symbols of wealth. But still, those only tell why one falls in love, not what it feels like.”

“Sounds like a sort of obsession.” Crowley furrowed his brow. “That treatise had a list of…sort of rules of love. Mostly about jealousy, really, don’t think the author thought much of women, but… ‘Every action of a lover ends in the thought of his beloved.’”

“I see…so that, together or apart, one cannot help but think always of the other. That certainly aligns with the evidence.” He started to replace his cap, then paused, looking inside. “Anything else of use?”

“‘Love can deny nothing to love.’” Beside him, Aziraphale turned pink and a brilliant smile broke across his face, like the sun after a storm. He pulled from the cap the bright red rosebud Crowley had hidden within.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale slid the flower into his buttonhole, drinking in the way the delighted shiver ran across his shoulders. Then the angel looked up, hitting Crowley with the full force of his smile.

Stunning. Blinding. It stole Crowley’s breath away, wiped every thought from his mind.

One day, that smile would destroy him, and he wouldn’t mind at all.

“So, this creperie — are we close?”

“Ngh. Smh. Unh. Nearly. Another block or two.” The park’s gate stood just ahead, half shut, the bustling street beyond. Crowley quickly stepped ahead, pulling it open for Aziraphale. “You, ah, find the answer you needed?”

“I…think so, yes.” He rested his fingers on the gate — so close to Crowley’s he could feel their warmth — then quickly pulled away, folding his hands behind his back. “I’ve been trying to work out…well…whether I’m in love with you, Crowley.”

“Oh.” What was he supposed to say to that? “Oh.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale’s eyes darted nervously and he began to pace. “I-I want you to know, I don’t desire you. I’ve never felt that sort of attraction. And I’m not jealous by any means. I’m not even certain who I’m meant to be jealous of. But…” He turned back, tugging his jacket. “I think of you. Constantly. Every action, every experience reminds me of you. I go to a concert, and I can’t concentrate on the music, only whether you would enjoy it. I hear a joke and I imagine how you would laugh, or roll your eyes, and I can’t know a moment’s peace until I’ve shared it with you. And last month…when I was reprimanded…for days afterward I could think of nothing but how I wished you were there. When I finally found the strength to venture out, it was only from my determination to come here.”

“For…crepes?” Crowley offered stupidly.

“No, you silly creature, for you.” He stepped forward, reaching up as if to straighten Crowley’s lapels, but once again his hands dropped. “I hear your voice and no matter how dark my situation — no matter how absurd you look in the current fashion — I just…feel happy again.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and lifted his eyes — hopeful, fearful, vulnerable — to meet Crowley’s.

“Oh.” Something more was probably needed. “Yeah.”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

“Well.” Aziraphale’s eyes dropped and he turned, trying to hide his expression. “Yes. I thought you should know.” He ducked his head and hurried through the gate. “Where — where is this creperie? We should try to arrive—”

“Me too.”

Crowley hadn’t meant to say anything. His mind was still ten minutes behind, struggling to catch up, but the pain on Aziraphale’s face hurt him like a blow to the chest.

The two words stopped Aziraphale in his tracks.

“I…I think about you, too.” Crowley stepped halfway through the gate, gripping the bar so tight it began to bend. “When I wake up, or fall asleep and…and away from you, here, I just…I miss you…but you — you idiot, with your crepes and your — your execution and…and then you smile and I just…” Blast! How could Aziraphale be so eloquent? Crowley swallowed and started over. “Look, m’trying to say…don’t think I can deny you anything. And. If that’s love…yeah. Me too.”

All this time, Aziraphale stood perfectly still, his back to Crowley. But now he turned, blue eyes furiously blinking. “That’s…ah…thank you. I know y-you hate being thanked but…” Aziraphale took one step closer, then another, until only inches separated them. “Thank you.”

“Nh.” He could so easily reach across that last bit of distance. Crowley didn’t know what that would accomplish, what he’d even do, but he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything. “Now what?”

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale’s gaze fell. “It…doesn’t change anything, does it? You’re still a demon, and I’m—”

“I don’t care,” Crowley hissed, shocked at the fervor in his own voice. “We don’t need to play by their rules. We could — run off, or—”

“We can’t. Crowley, both our sides would — they’d find us, they’d destroy you.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” He reached for Aziraphale’s hand.

“I’m not.” The angel jerked back, putting more distance between them, eyes wide. “Crowley that’s — that’s not a chance I’m willing to take. I’m sorry, but no.”

“Fine,” Crowley growled, pulling away. “What do you want?”

“I want…” Aziraphale shut his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. “I want a shop in London, where I can surround myself with books and foods and everything I enjoy. I want my superiors to trust me, let me bring good into the world my own way, without sending me all over Creation at a moment’s notice and — and punishing me for a few miracles to make my life easier. I want us to go to plays and gardens and balls together, not for clandestine meetings but because we enjoy them. To be openly in each other’s company, without fear of reprisal. And…I’d like you to visit my shop and bring me flowers or sweets. I’d serve my very best wine and…we’d talk all night about…everything and nothing. And laugh together.” His eyes fluttered open and for the first time Aziraphale looked sure of himself. “I want what we already have. Only I want more of it.”

This time he didn’t move as Crowley reached out. Long fingers carefully adjusted the rosebud, standing it straighter in its buttonhole. “Yeah. I…I’d like that, too.”

“And you don’t want anything…physical?”

Crowley snorted. “M’not a human.” But he wondered if Aziraphale’s cheek was as soft as the rosebud’s petals. “I’d like to touch you. Your hand, your face. Your wings. Hear your voice as I fall asleep. Feel your fingers in my hair. Is that…too much?”

“No.” Aziraphale smiled gently. “That sounds perfect.”

“Maybe…” Crowley fidgeted with his glasses, shuffled his feet, but refused to step away. “If we’re careful…”

“The Arrangement is already dangerous enough. You must understand…”

Crowley closed his eyes. “I do. Nothing changes.” Except there were words now, to the feeling he had when he thought of his angel. And that changed everything. When he looked again, Aziraphale nodded, as if he felt the same.

“Right then.” Crowley circled around Aziraphale, sauntering back to the main road. “Let’s see if these crepes are worth risking the guillotine.”

“My dear fellow,” Aziraphale easily kept pace. “One bite of true Breton crepes will silence your doubts forever.”

“Breton, huh?”

“Oh, yes, far superior to any others.”

“If that’s so,” Crowley smirked, remembering Aziraphale in his cell, “s’a wonder you came to Paris. Particularly in such a…controversial outfit.”

“The city has…certain other attractions.”

Something warm and heavy wrapped across Crowley’s shoulders, invisible to his eyes, though he could feel the individual feathers tickle his neck. Aziraphale strolled beside him, hands clasped behind his back, eyes forward, as if nothing were amiss.

Carefully, trying to look natural, Crowley scratched his shoulder, brushing his knuckles down a long flight feather, softer than any mortal bird’s.

Aziraphale smiled ever so slightly and flexed his wing, holding Crowley a little more tightly. An embrace that no one could see, no one could know about, except them.

“Dunno,” Crowley said. “Still seems pretty risky.”

“Yes. But I’m an incorrigible old fool. Sometimes I can’t help myself.”

“Suppose I can understand,” Crowley said as he extended his own wing, wrapping it around Aziraphale’s waist. The angel’s composure broke as he wiggled, burying himself in invisible feathers. Crowley smiled, heat running through him, a warm spring day after a long cold winter. “After all, we’re not so different, you and I.”

[1] De Amore, Andreas Capellanus, c. 1190

So happy to finally share this!

[extremelyblackandwhite]

into the woods

PAIRING: alpha!bucky barnes x innocent omega!reader

WARNINGS: age gap (reader in her 20′s, bucky in his mid to late 30′s), smut, a/b/o dynamics

A/N: this has some acotar vibes because i was reading it while writing this but i hope you enjoy it. have fun xx

The High Lady of the North, is what they called her, or at least what they refered her. to whenever they spoke of her as seeing the daughter of one of the most powerful men in all the land was a rare sight. Those who knew her, knew her from her time at school and those who didn’t merely gossiped about her. They knew what she was, an omega, the first omega born in a family of alphas who had ruled over the land for centuries. Her birth had been celebrated as a gift to fertility yet, the most desired omega in all of the land was yet to participate in one of the Spring Celebrations where omegas going through their first heat would be chased by eager alphas into the woods. Y/N absolutely hated the mere idea of being thrown around like a piece of meat for alphas to go after and she was thankful that as years went by no sign of a heat was yet to come. Servants at the mansion would comment maybe she was an infertile omega while some commented she was merely buying her time. However, despite all those comments and all those titles thrown at her by people who did not know her, one person did know the reason why the omega High Lady was kept apart from everyone else. That person was James Barnes, Bucky for short. He, like everyone who surrounded her was an Alpha yet his task was merely to look after her whenever she wanted to venture around, not that she enjoyed to be out of her little walls for long.

He was quiet, a far cry from how loud every Alpha she knew was yet in his quietness and lonely demeanor, he had a power that kept everyone else at arms’ length. He wasn’t a brashy young Alpha who couldn’t control his nature, no, his inner wolf was always restrained with just enough of a facade that kekpt everyone else away. No one dared defy James Barnes unless they wanted to be beat to a pulp. That reputation had earned him a reputation which led to the job he had occupied for the past 3 years, starting during her 20th birthday. It hadn’t taken him too long to grow attached to her and her little quirks. Yet again, he was an alpha and she was an omega so he guessed biology played a role in it. 

She herself wasn’t much of a outgoing omega, instead keeping to herself with her piles of books and flowers. However, recently, she was even more hidden from everybody, staying in her room covered by her blankets and vanilla candles and god blessed anyone who attempted to bother her. As the days went by, it became perfectly clear to everyone what was happening; the 23 year old omega was starting her heat. 

     - I don’t need to be coddled! - she snapped at Bucky as he stood by her side. He wasn’t closer than he usually was, actually, he was even trying to keep his distance. Despite his control, he knew how strong first heats were and he knew how easily they could trigger a rut even in the most experienced Alpha. However, he couldn’t help but find it amusing how irritableshe was. 

     - I’m sorry, m’lady. - he chuckled. 

     - You find it funny? - she crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side in a menancing manner; yet, she merely looked like an upset child in that ridiculous periwinkle dress. - I’m to be bait for horny alphas and you think it’s funny. 

    - You’re being overdramatic, you’re not going to be bait. Everybody does it.

    - You didn’t do it.

    - I’m not an Omega. 

    - You didn’t join the other alphas either. - she noted, continuing her distance from him. - It’s sexist!

    - No one is going to touch you if you don’t allow it. You can’t force a mating bond onto someone, m’lady.

    - Call me m’lady one more time. - she rolled her eyes. 

    - Sorry, Y/N. - he smiled and she couldn’t help but forgive him and he couldn’t help but not take it seriously. He knew she wasn’t sleeping, way too overwealmed by pre-heat and preparations for it. Just last night he’d seen her carrying more pillows into her bedroom along with a full supply of food. - You still remember how to mask your scent?

    - Yes. 

    - Then they won’t even be able to detect you. They’re young alphas and will go for the omegas whose scent is stronger, you’ll most likely spend the night by yourself. 

The two continued to walk past the meadows, her eyes never leaving the woods close to her childhood home where she was certain to be thrown into the next night. She wondered if Bucky was right and that would be enough. Maybe he was right about forcing mating bonds but she knew they could force something else ... she wasn’t naive. 

    - You’ll be okay. - he reassured, noticing how lost in thought she was. - I’d never let them harm you.

    - You think I’ll smell bad? - she changed the topic.

    - No. - he chuckled at her question. - Omegas always smell sweet. Haven’t meet an Omega who didn’t. 

    - Even the one you brought to your room last week? - he had unbelievable control but he was still an Alpha and a very desirable one. While he’d gotten used to having a few ruts every year, lately it appeared as every month he was going into ruts and after an Alpha goes into rut, well, they need to mate. He expected her not to have noticed, her room was very far removed from everyone else’s, standing in the highest floor, far removed from every Alpha and Beta in the house. Yet, he should’ve known how attentive she was, how observant, how no detail went unnoticed. 

   - I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble.

   - You didn’t. - she didn’t look at him, continuing her walk around the gardens of the grounds she had grown up with. Roses of various colours were starting to bloom once again, creating a palette of soft hues which reminded her of soft spring paintings which hanged in the big halls of the old house. - They’re expecting me to find one, you know, a mate. They say they’re not but I know they are. 

   - Y/N ...

   - You could go. - she argued, the same thing she’d been trying to convince him for the past days. - If you go, no other Alpha will try to even go after me.

   - I’m too old for even participate in those things, besides you can take care off yourself. 

She decided not to rattle him, childish crushes set aside, she knew he could be the one to keep every other young and power hungry Alpha away from her but Bucky was a hard one to convice. He was in his mid thirties and despite his good looks, he remained unmated, mostly hanging around with Omegas and Betas whenever his ruts were particularly bad. Staff would tell her he probably had no mate due to his actions in the war years ago, but Y/N didn’t really believe them. Nevertheles, he remained set in stone in the idea of not even attending the event, always saying “An Omega’s first heat close is way too dangerous”. She’d always retort if it was dangerous then he should be the one to protect her, yet he shrugged it off. So, she was once again back in her own and as the hours passed faster and faster, she found herself staring at her own reflection dressed in white. The same features as her mother’s stared back at her, yet she was no Alpha woman and her own biology reminded her. Her skin was starting to boil hot, a reminder of what was yet to come. She hoped it wasn’t as bad, she hoped she could bathe in the river coursing through the woods for the evening.

She emerged from her house, walking up hill just to beginning of the the woods. Several other new omegas were around, much younger than her, eager to take this new step and find their omega. Y/N, on the other hand, felt like this was merely another joke from the world yelling in her face that she was an omega. She, the daughter of an Alpha leader, the lady who’d inherit all the estate including the woods, the High Lady of the North, was an omega. There was only one reason why they were excited about a heat, it meant she could produce children, alpha children to continue the bloodline. She was merely a dark weak branch in the tapestry of her family. Her eyes scanned the Alphas who were about to participate, no Bucky in sight. She didn’t know why she had hope he’d come. Part of her understood it was dangerous, after all Bucky was fresh out a rut, his rut having started around the time her pre heat started so it was no good to have him around. Nevertheless, she wanted him here. Her hands clutched the lotion Bucky had given him as she ran into the woods with the other omegas, their white dresses disappearing into the dark green. 

Bucky watched her from the crowd which had gathered to see the High Lady’s first attempt of a Spring cerimony. They clearly had nothing better to do, he thought to himself. How come her heat was that important? She was still a bright, intelligent woman who no question would well suceed her father as leader of the North court. 

     - You think she’ll come out mated? - one of the maids who’d come to see the spring cerimony asked.

     - Don’t think she wants to. - he commented, mostly out of politeness. The last thing he wanted was a rookie Alpha laying a claim on his omega. 

     - I surely hope so. We were so blessed when her pre-heat started so sudden 5 nights ago.

    - I thought it didn’t start up to 3 days ago. 

    - No, it was definetely 5 nights ago.

Shit.

Y/N continued to run through the woods, rubbing the lotion onto her scent glands in her wrists and junctures between the neck and shoulders. However, no matter how much her mind wanted to keep running, the heat was starting to overtake her and her legs were growing weaker and weaker until she tumbled onto the ground. Her head hit the ground, her eyes looking onto the stary sky as she heard the sounds of mating and footsteps. She just knew it was only a mere of time til someone found her and took her, but they only never be her alpha. No, it wasn’t the alpha she wanted. 

She clenched onto the locket which was the only relief against her own skin, praying she could gain some strength to get up and continue to run. She didn’t want this, she didn’t want any of the alphas she’d seen. They weren’t her alpha. They’re not alpha, her mind yelled at her. They’re not Bucky. 

The footsteps got louder and she reached for a sharp rock, preparing herself for whoever attempted to go after her. However, the person who emerged was someone who she had not expected. Standing away from her was Bucky, breath ragged and sweat covered forehead. Once his eyes set on her, his nostrils flared and he took a step back, faltering in his movements. 

    - Yo...you scared me. - she hiccuped, trying to move from the floor. 

    - Why aren’t you wearing the lotion, omega? - he’d never called her omega, he’d never dare to call his lady anything other than what she wished, yet Y/N couldn’t complain about being called omega by him.

    - I am. - ever the argumentative, she showed him the empty tin of lotion yet Bucky could still smell her, and how fucking sweet did she smell. - Bucky, I don’t feel good. 

     - Shit ... - he shut his eyes. Control yourself, he told himself over and over again, but her scent was just intoxicating. It filled every single sense, every crock of his brain, telling him to take her, to take his omega, the same omega that was laying on the ground. The omega whose mere pre-heat had trigged his rut.   

    - Bucky ... - she clenched her stomach. It was bad, very bad. Her skin felt like it was burning and her inner thighs were starting to get wet due to the slick which just kept appearing. She didn’t kknow what to do, no one had told her what a heat felt like, no one had told her how to calm down. Looking at Bucky only made it worse, her mind yelling at her to be near him but his eyes were clear, don’t get close. - Alpha, please. 

That name. Being called by his title by her of all people made him want to take her right there. No matter how hard he tried that’s all he could see in his head, making her feel better, knot her. 

    - It hurts. - she cried out. - I don’t know what to do.

She had heard from other maids who were omegas what to expect but she didn’t exactly know what to do. She was an omega in a family of Alphas; her father was an alpha, her mother was an alpha and so had their parents. She was the first omega to be born and it wasn’t her parents didn’t care about her they just didn’t know how to exactly raise an omega. It didn’t particularly help that she didn’t act like a stereotypical omega, or what an alpha family expected, so she was treated no different. Bucky also didn’t think her family talked much about mating; she was a high lady after all, the one who’d continue the family line. He wanted to help her, he really did but everytime he looked her, his inner wolf wanted nothing to but to lay his claim on her. 

His mind was overwhelmed with thoughts of helping her clashing with doing what’s best for her. Bucky, an old alpha, definetely was not the best for her and he wasn’t fit to be the mate of the high lady, he wasn’t fit to be anyone’s alpha much less someone’s mate. 

    - I want it to stop. - she took him of his thoughts. In the absence of his attention, she’d managed to lean against a tree, her hands pulling at her dress, attempting to get some cold air.

    - Not gonna stop for three days. - his voice was lower and she couldn’t help but feel entranced by him. She’d never seen him like this, acting like a pure alpha whose voice dripped dominance. His eyes shut again as her smell surrounded him once more. God, why did she smell so good? 

    - Make it stop. - she begged him. Him, out of all alphas, some sons of high lords themselves and here he was, the lower of the lowest born alphas. - Alpha.

    - Don’t call me alpha. - he would lose it if she called him alpha even just one more time. He was barely keeping himself away from her, despite how much he wanted her. God, he wanted her. He’d always wanted her. The other alphas weren’t enough, no one would ever be enough for her. 

His mind race with ways to help her. He could always try to lead her out the woods through the other side and sneak her back into her nest so she could go through her heat away from any eager alphas; yet, he doubted she could walk much at this moment and carrying her was not an option, not when she’d be so close to him, her skin touching his would end it for him. Yet again, he’d rather be damned than not help his Y/N. He couldn’t bare having her go through this when she didn’t want to. She deserved better than this, she deserved all the choices that were offered to her ancestors, no matter what biology dictated. Bucky would rather watch the world burn than to let her go through this a second longer. 

With his mind set on taking her back to his bedroom, he told himself he could control himself. He was in his thirties, he’d had ruts before and he could conttrol himself. He took a deep breathe in before getting up and walking up to her. Her scent got stronger and stronger but his mind wanted her well, wanted her to be completely and fully happy. The alpha put his arms around her and picked her up, her legs dangling from the his arms. Intuitively, her nose rubbed against the scent gland on his neck. Her body slightly cooled down and she cuddled against him, happily surrounded by the scent of pinewood and ash dust. Despite her being much calmer, he himself could feel his blood boil. Her scent was starting to morph with his and all he could think about was her being absolutely owned by him. Yet, he had to keep those thoughts quiet. This was his lady after all and he owned her vasalage. 

The night had dawned in and the once familiar woods were dark, filled with noises he knew too well and the sound of the creek passing by. He held her close to him, attempting to make his way through the darkness and out of the woods. A sudden noise had him stopping in his tracks. She looked up at him, with those eyes which just screamed trust within him, and a feeling of overwhelming possesiveness took control of him. He held her tight against his chest as his eyes zoomed onto the figure which made their way straight at them. He knew him. He was the son of a lord ruling over the south and Bucky absolutely hated him. He’d heard way too much about the young alpha to want him to stay away from his omega. 

   - Evening, m’lady. - he looked at Y/N, completely ignoring Bucky. She rolled her eyes, gripping Bucky’s shirt as much she could. - Bought Barnes with you?

   - Move along, Michael. She’s not interested. 

   - I didn’t know you spoke for her now. - he took slow steps towards them, stalking them like a predator to a prey. - Unless you’re thinking about taking her just for yourself. 

   - Go away. - Y/N managed to speak through her heat, although even speaking made her uncomfortable. 

   - You stink, Barnes. - he snickered. - Yet again an omega in heat and an alpha in rut is never a good match is it?

   - It’s none of your business. 

   - If you change your mind m’lady, just let me know. - he winked at Y/N before disappearing into the greenery. 

Bucky’s eyes grew darker, his insticts taking more and more of his thought process. He wanted to hurt him for even daring looking into his omega’s way but her mewling had him back on his mission to take her back to her bedroom, back to her nest.

Y/N, however, had her eyes set on Bucky. Was he on his rut? He didn’t look like he was on a rut and she had grown up in an house of alphas. She knew what a rut looked like and she knew no omega wanted to be near an alpha in rut. But Bucky wasn’t acting domineering, he wasn’t angry, he wasn’t making advances, he was just stoic. Maybe she wasn’t enough of an omega for him, people always told her she wasn’t enough of an omega. She wasn’t enough for him. He probably looked at her like a silly rich omega and the mere thought of it made her heart ache.

   - What’s wrong? - he stepped outside the dense greenery, seeing her house in the horizon. 

   - Is Michael right? Are you on your rut? - Bucky was pensive for a while. He didn’t want to scare her but he also didn’t want to lie to her. - I thought your rut was finished.

   - Got triggered. - he replied. - I’m not gonna hurt you, I’d never hurt you.

   - Does it hurt? 

   - Not my first rut, sweetheart. 

   - Is it because I’m not a good omega? - he snapped his head towards her harshly. No, his mind yelled out, you’re my omega how could you not be the only thing in this whole world which was good and bright. - Am I just not enough?

   - What are you talking about, sweetheart? You’re being delirious.

   - I know how alphas act around omegas, any omega. - he grip grew loose on his shirt as she looked down, unable to look at him. - Am I just ... not enough?

   - Y/N ...

   - You don’t need to sugar coat it for me. Nobody wants me. My parents didn’t want an omega, no one wants me to rule and not even the type of person biology dictated would want me wants me. 

   - You think I don’t want you? - his eyes grew dark, the baby blues replaced by dark blue all consuming. - You’re all I fucking think about ever since I met you. Ruts without you are a fucking nightmare because all I keep thinking is to find you and mate you. You’re my only omega. 

   - Then why won’t you mate me?

   - I’m not good enough for you. 

   - You’re my alpha. It hurts whenever you bring another omega to your room because all I want to do is be your omega and now, now you’re pushing me away. You don’t want me just like everybody else.

   - Don’t you dare say that. - ever. - Don’t you dare ever tell me I don’t want you.

   - Then do something about it.

She was just being defiant now, a sparky little omega. One of the many qualities which he adored about her; yet again he loved everything about her. He knew she was his omega, she had triggered his rut way too easily and based on the timing of his last rut and her pre-heat it wasn’t stupid to assume he’d triggered hers. Nevertheless, he was not the right person for her. She already had a tough time trying to get people to take her seriously as high lady, if she sported his mark on her lovely neck, it’d only make it harder. He wasn’t a particularly good partner to have, much less for a high lady. Nevertheless, those words stroke a chord on him. How dare she think she was not enough? Looking back at her, he could see it clear as day, the heartbreak scetched onto her lovely features. His instincts finally got the upper hand over his better consciousness and suddenly his lips were on hers. Strawberry laced flavours had him growling for more, for her body yearning for him and then the innocent kiss started to descend as he tasted her skin. 

His touch was soft and rough at the same time yet all she could think of was of him, having him. Her alpha. Her skin grew hot and cold in waves, his touch alone making slick run down her legs. 

   - You want this, omega? - he nipped at her scent gland in her neck. - You gotta tell me.

   - Please, Alpha. 

She leet out a small moan as he pushed her dress up, his fingers wandering close to her core as his lips kissed her skin leisurely. She wanted him, she wanted him so badly. His knee lodged between her legs, close to her pulsating core as he laid her down on the grass. She looked tempting, like a gift wrapped in white tafeta. How could he say no to her? How could he say no to his omega? He looked at her with lust filled eyes, head cocked to the side before leaning down to place a slow kiss on her lips, his hand massaging her breast, thumb teasingly rubbing her pebbled nipple.

His other hand replaced the pressure from his knee against her core, finger separating her folds as he started to circle her clit, his kiss silencing all her slow and earning moans. Her nails digged on his shoulders as she attempted to mutter a faster between his long kisses.

   - Shush princess, alpha is going to make you feel all better. - his voice was low, almost mocking how yearning she was. 

   - I want you inside of me, please.

   - You don’t need to beg, omega mine. I’m all yours. 

His hand moved to hold her waist as he aligned his cock with her entrance. His eyes searched for hers, wanting to look at her before he did it yet as he looked into her eyes all he found was love and trust. Someone loved and trusted him. His omega loved and trust him and that was all he could ever want. He leaned in to kiss her again before fully slipping inside of her. He went slowly, watching the way her face contorted with pleasure just for him, listening to her little moans before he was fully sheathed inside of her. The two moaned in unison and he stilled, looking for any sign of discomfort in her face.

   - Move, alpha. Move. - she begged, nails dragging up and down his shoulders. 

   - Whatever you want, sweetheart. - he leaned to kiss her again as he started to move in and out of her. She moaned out a breathy moan, hands holding onto him as he moved to kiss her neck, her scent making him drunk with pleasure. 

She was filled with him and all that yearning only seemed to heighten everytime he moved. He was her alpha and she was happy being filled by him, being his. He nipped at her neck, continuing his movements so he could hear all those lovely moans. God, he was drunk on it, her scent and her moans. He moved his hand to feel himself against her stomach. God, she looked pretty, so owned. Those waves of heat were back again as she started to clench around his cock. His movements quickened as he let out a groan against her skin, his thrusts were no longer controlled and merely looking for release until she let out a high pitched moan. 

   - Fuck, omega. - he growled, before biting her skin as ropes and ropes of white painted her walls. His knot inflated, keeping them connected. He didn’t think he’d be able to ever leave her. - Fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry.

   - You marked me. - she looked at him playfully, kissing down his jaw. - You’re stuck with me. 

   - I think it’s the other way around, m’lady.

   - High Lord James Barnes, it has a ring to it. 

   - Don’t say that. - he hide in the space between her neck and shoulder, licking the fresh mark on her neck. - I should take you back to your nest, sweetheart.

   - You’re joining me right?

   - A heat is three days, omega. We’re going to have fun. 

taglist: @kitty4860​

[redrobin-detective]

all is well

Death is nothing at all, I have only slipped into the next room I am I and you are you Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. ~ Henry Scott Hollard

AO3 link

______________

He hadn’t meant to say it, that much was clear. As much as she wanted to hate him for it, claim it was some sort of cruel manipulation; she knew he was just as distressed as she was. The ghost boy had covered his mouth, bright green eyes wide with panic as his misspoken words brought their battle to a screeching halt. Even the ghost the three hunters had been fighting stopped and stared before flying off. No one moved to stop them. Phantom looked at her fearfully, then over at her companion before vanishing without a trace.

It was a slip of the tongue, an accident, so why did the ghost boy calling her Mom make her blood run so cold?

“I’ve knew a kid who called the teacher Mom one time but I’ve never heard it from a ghost,” the Red Huntress said with a sarcastic chuckle. But her shoulders were tense and it was clear the situation made her uncomfortable too. “You okay, Mrs. Fenton?”

“My son isn’t dead,” Maddie said quietly. She would admit there were times where she’d look at Phantom and see Danny overlaid on top of him but those moments were becoming more and more rare. Maddie liked to think it’s because she could find more differences than similarities between the two but honestly, she couldn’t say who her son was anymore. She saw this damned ghost more than she saw the child living in her own house.

“I know, I’ve seen him around,” Huntress said with steady conviction. It made Maddie pause, as it always did, to wonder just how old Amity’s other human ghost hunter really was. Or how young rather. “It was a mistake, he’ll probably avoid you for a bit out of embarrassment but then things will go back to normal.”

“Yeah, a mistake,” Maddie muttered to herself, finally lowering the gun even though the fighting had ended several minutes ago. Why was this whole thing so unsettling to her? Phantom had said much worse things to her, called her a fake scientist and more obsessive than a ghost. He’d even called her a bad mother once when he’d been particularly riled up. She remembered how offended and angry his unnatural eyes had been as they’d glared accusingly into her.  

“You know his parents are still alive,” Huntress said suddenly. “I found out by accident a little while ago.” She was still standing on her hoverboard about 3 feet off the ground, her gaze was trained away from Maddie. “They don’t know that he’s a ghost, that he’s Phantom,” the girl’s head was still turned away from Maddie but she had a feeling she was being watched none the less. “Maybe you remind him of his mother.”

Maddie felt liked she’d been slapped.

“And why does that matter to you?” she questioned defensively to cover how much the conversation was shaking her - they didn’t know how could they not know, how could they not miss - “I thought you hated him as much as we did.”

“I don’t like him,” the Huntress said vehemently. “He’s annoying and acts like he’s the only hunter in this town who can actually do the job. But I,” she paused, “I think I understand him, just a little bit. Enough that I’ve been combing through Amity’s missing children files in my spare time. Of course, it’s no good if no one reported him missing in the first place. Phantom doesn’t want me prying but it’s not right for a kid to die and no one to care.”

“He’s just a ghost,” Maddie said, her words weak even to her ears. Was that why Phantom was stuck here? Because he died forgotten and unmourned? The thought of one of her children, her babies, dying without her knowing... she was going to be sick.

“Yeah, he is,” Huntress nodded, “but he wasn’t always. And humans deserve to be remembered, even if they don’t want to be.” That said, the girl sped off into the setting sun, the varying shades of orange glinting off of her suit. Maddie stood in the middle of the street for a little while longer, gun pointed limply at the ground as her whole world spun.

She drove home slowly, taking the long way around to try and put her conflicting feelings into words before she talked to her husband. When she and Jack first began their research into ghosts, they told themselves that they had to divorce themselves from the people the ghosts had been before. If you focused on the lingering traces of humanity in every monster then they would never be put in their place. But she was human and she had kids around the ghost boy’s age, despite her attempts to stick to logic her heart ached with sympathy.

“And you call yourself a mother,” the Phantom in her memory spat at her, filled with hatred but underneath it all was grief. “Where are your kids now? All you care about is the dead but when are you going to care for the living?” Maddie tightened her grip on the steering wheel to keep her hands from shaking.

“Mads! You’re home!” Jack grinned enthusiastically as she quietly entered the house. “Jazzy has her nose in her books and you know Danny, in and up to his room without a word so I made us grilled cheese!” He held her a plate with a flourish, “they’re ghost shaped!” The world tilted itself a little more onto it’s proper axis, no matter how crazy things got, Jack would always be her true north.

“Gracias,” she said accepting the plate. “Can we talk, privately?” She gestured her head down to the basement. Conversations from the kitchen could easily be heard upstairs and she really didn’t want her children to overhear her asking if she was a bad mom. She didn’t want their confirmation that she was right.

Jack’s goofy grinned smoothed out into something softer and he put one hand gently on her back as they walked down to basement. He kicked her usual stool her way and they sat in silence while they ate their dinners, staring at the swirling vortex of the portal.

“You remember that time Phantom called me a neglectful mother?” Maddie asked quietly after a few minutes.

“Mads, you can’t let that sneaky spook get to you. Everyone knows you’re a great-”

“Jack,” she interrupted harsher than she needed to but she didn’t need comfort from a husband but the unbiased opinion of a fellow scientist. “He accidentally called me Mom while we were fighting today, I don’t - I don’t think he meant it, he looked more scared then I’ve ever seen him before he ran off. Huntress was there too, she said.” Maddie gripped her plate tightly in her hands. “She said that Phantom’s family is still alive, that they don’t know about him.”

“Not know? You mean about him being-”

“Apparently,” Maddie squeezed her eyes shut to fight off the unwanted sympathy she felt. “He’s always been the Ghost Boy, the Ghost Kid. I never - I never fully absorbed what that meant. He looks,” Maddie set the plate aside and dropped her head into her hands. “He’s about Danny’s age.”

“Maddie,” Jack said softly, setting aside his own plate and wheeling himself closer. “Whoever that boy was, he’s gone now and all that’s left is an echo, an obnoxious and powerful echo but he’s not... he’s not a child. Not anymore.”

“But he remembers,” Maddie gasped, angry she was letting herself get all worked up over a stupid ghost. “He called me Mom, Jack. Huntress, she said maybe I reminded him of her and,” her eyes filled with tears now. “He’s comparing me to someone who didn’t even notice that he’d died. What does that say about me? About my relationship with our children? I feel like all I do is argue with Jazz these days and god knows where Danny goes to half the time-”

“Maddie, don’t do that to yourself,” Jack said softly, tilting her face up towards him with a gloved hand. “Once you go down that rabbit hole, there’s no digging yourself out. I think it’s just part of being a parent, always worrying that you’re not doing things right. Sometimes,” Jack gaze dropped, troubled. “Sometimes I enter the room and Danny looks at me and freezes like he expects me to do something terrible... He’s just easily startled but it still hurts.”

“Phantom is an echo, not a child,” Maddie nodded quietly to herself, trying to fall back on her usual logic but it tasted wrong in her mouth. He was a ghost... but also a child. “I wonder what he was like when he was alive? His personality seems remarkably preserved, he must have been a vibrant young man.”

“Or his death was particularly traumatic,” Jack mumbled. “Painful deaths usually leave powerful ghosts. And most healthy teens don’t just drop dead for nothing.”  A chill fell over the lab.

“How could they not notice?” Maddie whispered with horror. “What sort of parent wouldn’t see that their child was dead, what? Now two years in?”

“Not everyone is as good a mom as you are, Mads,” Jack said, pulling her into his chest. “Neglectful parents are a dime a dozen sadly. He could’ve been a runaway too, ran off and died leaving his folks still holding out hope that he’d come home. Or maybe...” he frowned, “maybe he’s pretending he’s still alive.”

“No, he couldn’t keep the charade for this long,” Maddie gasped but the horrible idea had been planted none the less. Phantom always seemed in such a hurry, like he had somewhere else to be. Was another woman tapping her feet as she waited for her boy to return like Maddie often did, not knowing her child was long gone?

“He’s a wily one, incredibly solid for a spirit. Sometimes I look at him and swear I see his chest moving like he’s breathing. Dampen his glow, dye the hair, change his clothes, he could probably pass as human so long as you didn’t look too close.”

“Jack,” she pulled back and looked at her husband in a panic. “Jack, if he’s pretending to be human when he’s not fighting then there’s a good chance he goes to Casper.” Her and Jack’s eyes widened with realization at the same time.

Their children’s high school has had an unprecedented amount of ghost attacks since the portal opened. They could never figure out why the ghosts targeted that school and ignored the other elementary, middle or even the other public high, Wendy. “What are we going to do, should we pull out Danny and Jazz? Even just until we figure this out.”

“That might tip the ghost off,” Jack said evenly but his teeth were biting into his cheek with worry. “We don’t want to set him off, who knows what he’d do if his cover was blown.” He might look like a harmless teen but Maddie had seen first hand how devastating Phantom could be when threatened. “I think we should tell the kids.”

“What? Why? You know they’re supportive of him!” Well Jazz certainly was, differing opinion on Phantom seemed to be the cause of half their arguments. Danny, truthfully, she didn’t really know his opinions on the ghost boy. He always looked so uncomfortable talking about ghosts with them so they just didn’t.

“Supportive maybe but they’re smart and observant,” Jack countered. “They could be our eyes and ears inside the school. They know better than to provoke a dangerous ghost,” Jack let his eyes drift over to the portal. “Besides, if the worst comes to pass, I want them to be prepared.”

“I don’t like it but you’re probably right,” Maddie grumbled. “If it keeps them safe then I’d do just about anything.” Jack smiled and leaned forward to kiss her gently, his lips a perfect match for her own.

“And this is why you could never be a bad mother,” he said. “Come on, let’s talk to them before they go to sleep.”

“Or Danny sneaks out again,” Maddie said to herself as she followed her husband up the stairs and heard him call for a Fenton family meeting.

It went about as well as Maddie had expected. Jazz alternated between being angry and anxious, telling them emphatically that Phantom wasn’t hiding among them at school and wasn’t a bad ghost to begin with. Maddie didn’t know what had come over her but she hardly recognized this irrational and emotional young lady as her daughter. She hoped it was just Senior year stress and hormones and not some ghostly influenced. Danny, as usual, sat there like he was a piece of the furniture and didn’t say much at all.

“Danno,” Jack said gently as he interrupted Jazz’s rant to engage their youngest. “You would tell us if you noticed anything unusual with one of your classmates, right? You know we’re telling you kids this because we trust you, love you and want to keep you safe.”

“Have you considered that keeping guns around the house, threatening to hunt and torture ghosts doesn’t make me feel very safe?” Danny said quietly, looking down at the table. “So what if he sometimes goes to school, maybe he wants to have something normal in his life. All I know is that if I was Phantom, maybe I would want to hide too. So people like you didn’t find me.” For the second time that night, the words of a teenage boy stopped her cold.

“Danny, what do you-” Danny didn’t elaborate and instead pushed his chair back and headed towards the door.

“Young Man, where are you going? It’s almost curfew and we’re not done here,” Maddie scolded even though she knew that neither her or Jack were in the control of the situation. Danny opened the door and didn’t look back.

“I won’t be long, just a lap around the block. I just, I just need some air, okay?” The house became quiet, no one quite knowing what to say. Jazz excused herself a moment later and walked back up to her room. She slammed her door shut. The ticking of the clock was the only sound to be heard in the suddenly silent kitchen.

“Is that how he sees us?” Jack asked quietly, looking down at his large hands. “Danny used to think what we did was so cool, when did that change?” When did he change? was the silent, unasked question. Or maybe they'd all changed, grown apart so slowly that no one had really noticed. Maddie stood up abruptly and stalked towards the door, strapping an ectogun to her hip as she went.

“Mads, maybe you should give him-”

“You know as well as I do that this is the peak time for ghosts. Danny, he might not trust us but I won’t let a disagreement get him killed.” It was full dark outside and she was halfway down the block before she realized she didn’t know which direction Danny had gone in. The night air was chill for mid-April as it shook off the last dregs of winter. She was feeling cold in her protective hazmat; Danny had left in short sleeves. Maybe she should run back and get his jacket for when she found him.

“Nice night for a walk,” Maddie jumped at the voice to find Phantom lazily floating in the air above her. His posture was casual but his eyes were sharp, searching as he always was. Green eyes glanced at her gun before meeting her eyes. “Looking for someone? Perhaps chasing someone who doesn’t want to found?” No way was she going to let him know her son was out here, alone and vulnerable.

“You actually,” she lied. He raised a disbelieving eyebrow but didn’t call her out. How could he be so expressive and so hard to read all at once? Against her better judgement, she thought again about the ghost as a human. “You called me Mom earlier, I want to know why.”

“What, you’ve never called someone something dumb by mistake?” Phantom flinched, crossing his arms defensively. “It was an accident, I’m just as upset as you are, believe me. Now if you don’t mind, I was trying to have a nice flight to clear my mind. Good luck finding whoever you were really looking for.”

“My husband thinks you’re pretending to be alive, that you’re lying to the town, going to school.” She searched his face for some sign that she was wrong but his expression was still as stone. “You’re putting people in jeopardy, I thought you wanted to play the hero!”

“I’m not doing anything,” He growled, his eyes flashing ominously in the dark. “I’m just doing the best I can, okay? If I go to the Nasty Burger or sit in on English Poetry when there’s no ghosts to fight then who’s hurt? Only me for trying to hang onto something real, something normal!”

“But the ghosts-”

“News flash! The ghosts would be here with or without me because of your stupid portal! I can’t even legally drive and yet you blame me for everything.” He scoffed and looked away, “you really are just like my mother.”

“So I do remind you of her,” she stated. “Your mother.”

“That’s a great thing to say to some kid you shoot at regularly,” Phantom said, icily, his green gaze boring into her over his shoulder. “What do you want me to say? Yeah, you do. It’s not just your voice or your face but the way you look at me like I’m nothing but a disappointment. How you make me feel like I’m some damaged child you need to hammer into shape.”

“You can’t - I’m not disappointed,” she said before she could think otherwise because how else could she react to such a charged statement? What kind of abusive, miserable home had he come from? Her heart clenched again to be compared to this woman.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Phantom snapped at her sarcastically but, like the time when he’d called her a bad mother, underneath the anger was sadness. “None of this matters, we’re both going to keep doing our own thing without each other’s approval. We’re enemies so let’s just forget this all happened and go back to you shooting at me while I beg for you just stop and listen for one second-”

“Alright, I’m listening!” Maddie shouted back, frustrated and sympathetic against her better judgement. “What is it you want to tell me so bad?” Phantom froze, like he hadn’t expected her to just stop like that. His shoulders hunched and his eyes were wide and he looked so much like a lost teenager that it pulled painfully at her heart. God, why did this one ghost bring out so many contradictory feelings in her?

“I want,” he stopped, swallowed and floated to the ground so they were near eye level. Sometime in the last year, he’d gotten taller than her. She hadn’t realized ghosts could grow, could age. Phantom was always the exception to every rule they had. “I want the same thing you want. I don’t like seeing ghosts coming through and hurting people. Before I was Phantom, I was nobody, I couldn’t help anyone. I can now and keeping people safe, it gives me a purpose I didn’t even have when I was human. Ghosts might just be the untethered remnants of dead people but we still love and feel and value things, just differently than you do. I want to keep ghosts from attacking people but without damaging them, we’re not all evil just... trying to find our own way to the finish line. If you’d just, not attack on sight, I could show you.”

It was perhaps the most she’d heard Phantom say all at once. He was rubbing his gloved fingers anxiously against his thigh and there was a desperate bit of want in his tragically young face. He wanted her to believe him, like a child looking to their mother for approval. As more time stretched on without her speaking, his hopeful look fell into a kind of sad acceptance. He looked like Danny had at the kitchen table not 15 minutes before.

“Okay,” she said finally. “We can give it a try for a bit. It’s not a truce exactly but so long as you’re not causing harm, Jack and I won’t shoot at you.” It wasn’t much but the boy looked like he’d handed her the moon and then some. He floated up a little, his boots jittered with excitement. She gaped when he reached forward and grasped her hand only to shake it enthusiastically. His hand was chilled but solid in her own.

“Yeah, you got a deal! Don’t worry, Mo- Ma’am you won’t have to worry about me, I’ll be a good little ghost, scouts honor! not that I was, uh, ever in the scouts. If things go well, I’d be happy to tell you more about ghosts and the Zone. I’ll even give you a tour if you’d like.” His smile was infectious and she bit her lip to resist the natural urge to smile back.

Maybe Phantom was a ghost, a sad child who’d died far too young but he was also someone’s son. That woman, however, hadn’t been able to protect him, to support him. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give the ghost boy a chance and maybe Maddie could fill in something his other mother couldn’t. Perhaps she could even learn how to give her own children what they needed too.

“We’ll see,” Maddie hummed. “Now, you were going to go flying and I need to find my son before he catches his death, that is, if he’ll even talk to me.”

“He will,” Phantom said softly. “My mom messed up, hurt me sometimes but I knew she loved me and I love her. I don’t know your son but I do know what it’s like to be a son and your mom is... whether you’re living, dead or in-between, she’s always your mom. Maybe he’s worried you won’t love him, the things he’s done or believes in.” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck, “Of course, I don’t really know you and your family. Usually try and avoid you guys, being ghost hunters and all. Even your daughter is pretty scary.”

“That would be pretty weird, a ghost surrounded by hunters,” her lips twitched upwards despite herself as she imagined Phantom chatting with Jack and Jazz in the living room. The image wasn’t quite as strange as she’d initially thought. Who knows where this shaky truce would lead them? Phantom took that as his excuse to leave and flew off into the night. Maddie watched him go, she started up the block when she got a series of texts a few minutes later.

Danny: I’m home, sorry for running off like that Danny: I don’t like the way you talk about ghosts the way some people talk about race or gender. I want to make opinions based on facts and understanding, not half baked theories Danny: I’d be willing to talk more, if you’d stop being so stubbornly certain you’re right and just listened for a change Danny: I love you, Mom I don’t think I say that enough. Sometimes I feel scared to, like you won’t understand Danny: Jazz came down and Dad brought out the special fudge Danny: Come home, its cold out

Maddie brought her phone to her lips, looking up in the sky as if she might see Phantom still flying around. That boy still loved his mother, the mother who’d hurt him. She didn’t want to be like Phantom’s mom: distant, cruel, unwilling to listen. If she could hold out an olive branch for her enemy, then she certainly could for her son.

Mom: I love you too, baby, never doubt that. I think I'm ready to listen now. Mom: I’m on my way home, save some fudge for me.

I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, Just around the corner. All is well.

[cherienymphe]

Unrequited (Thor x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, loss of virginity, side of Loki x reader, reader has it bad for Loki

➥ {page breaks done by @firefly-graphics​ }

summary: you, a servant, are in love with Loki, your prince. He’s never noticed, and while that’s unfortunate for you, it is much to Thor’s delight because he has noticed. And he can’t stand it.

~

You stood along the wall with the rest of the servants, waiting as patiently as ever. The other girls beside you had been fidgeting for a while, Ingrid huffing for the fifth time in minutes, and you supposed that you couldn’t blame them. The feast had commenced hours ago, and it seemed as if an end was nowhere in sight. You, however, were more than happy to wait.

A familiar hand lifted into the air, long fingers snapping to beckon you over. Without hesitation, you answered the dark-haired prince’s call, feet hurrying to take you to him. You knew what he wanted as soon as he lifted his goblet, and you were extra careful in pouring him more wine. You’d hate to spill any on him.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he absentmindedly said, the words falling so easily from his lips.

You’d heard them probably a thousand times, and just like before, you always asked:

“Is there anything else I can do for you, my prince?”

And just like always, he said:

“No, that will be all.”

You kept your smile in place as he waved you away, heart sinking as you turned to join the rest of the servants on the wall. Your fingers scraped along the pitcher in your hands, and you let your eyes fall to the ground as a particularly loud laugh climbed out of the king’s throat. You cringed at the grating noise, lip trembling as you forced your beating heart to still.

Your eyes finally rose again, landing on the prince, and your heart clenched in your chest. His dark hair shone as it brushed along his broad shoulders, long fingers dancing along the rim of his goblet. He stood out amongst the rest of the rowdy guests, his quiet disposition a stark contrast in the rowdy room. He was always quiet though.

That’s what you loved about him.

Prince Loki didn’t care to be the center of attention…just like you. He spent his time reading and writing. Occasionally, you’d walked in on him drawing a sketch or two. On most days, he was subdued, preferring to observe those around him. You noticed that he took his time when talking with people, seeming to really mull over his responses before voicing them. He was such a breath of fresh air from-.

Your thoughts were cut short by that laugh again, and you winced. King Thor bellowed, completely tickled by something Hogun had whispered to him. You straightened and glanced away from him with a small sigh.

You had no ill feelings towards the king…none of consequence anyway. Everything about him just seemed to overwhelm you. He was too loud or too big or too abrasive. He was just too much. For as long as you’d known him, he was loud and demanding and a bit spoiled. Not to mention impulsive. He and Loki were so different that you often found yourself wondering how the two could even be related.

Fortunately for you, it seemed that Loki had finally grown tired of the antics, waving you along as he stood. You set the pitcher down and rushed to follow him, trailing behind him like a pet would. Sometimes you thought that you should feel embarrassed at how completely devoted to him you were, but you couldn’t find it in yourself too.

The prince was beautiful, and not just because he was a god, but because he was Loki. His green eyes sparkled like emeralds, and his pink lips had never once formed to say anything to hurt you, the opposite in fact. His voice could soothe even the crankiest of children. Prince Loki had never been anything but kind to you, even allowing you to borrow his books.

You were irrevocably in love with him.

You knew it was silly. He was a prince, a god, the highest caliber of royalty there was, and you… You were a servant. He would never look at you the way you looked at him, but you knew that his brother had a reputation for pulling servants into his chambers through all hours of the night. Heat settled into the pit of your stomach as you thought of Loki doing the same to you.

It became clear early on though that he was not like that. At first, you thought that it had just been you, and disappointment and sorrow had eaten away at you for weeks, but you soon realized that no one was warming his bed. You hoped that one day that would change. Even if that was all the prince wanted from you, you’d happily give it to him.

You’d do anything to please him.

“Draw me a bath,” he tiredly murmured just as you closed his chamber door behind you.

“Of course.”

You breezed past him, and through his bedroom, making your way into the bath. Loki didn’t like his bath water too hot, and you waded your hand through it many times to make sure it was just right. You added some soaps to it, grabbing the bowl of flower petals you’d placed beside the tub this morning. You were seated on it, tossing them across the water just as he made his way inside. You set it down, hurrying to help him undress.

“Thor was more energetic than usual tonight,” he said, sighing as he eased into the warm water. “How do you always manage to get it perfect?”

That last part was said so softly that you wondered if you’d imagined it, and you knew that it must have been said more to himself, not meant for you. You smiled anyway.

“Did you enjoy yourself, my prince?” you genuinely wondered, resting your arms and chin on the large bath.

His head was leaned back, eyes closed as he soaked. A small smirk danced along his lips, and you eyed it.

“As well as to be expected, I suppose. I’ll never understand why Thor demands my attendance to such trivial gatherings. Nothing more than a self-congratulatory circle jerk,” he sneered.

You swallowed a laugh at his crude language.

“Pardon my wording,” he apologized.

“It’s alright. Would you like for me to wash your hair?”

You were already moving as you asked the question, but his soft ‘please’ warmed your heart. Your fingers were gentle in combing through his locks, massaging his scalp. A low moan rumbled deep in his throat, and you ran your eyes over him as he relaxed under your ministrations.

When you were done, you cupped some water in your hands a few times before letting it run over his hair. You swallowed when he began to rise, and as much as you didn’t want to, you looked away.

“I’ll go turn back your bed,” you told him as you turned around to give him some privacy.

As you pulled his sheets and covers back, you couldn’t stop yourself from running your fingers over the cool material. You wondered how comfortable they were, how cool they’d feel against your skin. How cool they would feel while the prince had his way with you…

You snatched your hand back like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. You swallowed down your wanton thoughts as Loki exited, fully dressed for bed.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, my prince?”

Your voice was soft as you asked the same question you did every night, hoping against hope that he’d finally say what you wanted to hear. That he’d ask you to stay, ask you to share his bed, ask you to please him…

He threw you a smile, so small it was barely there, but you knew him so well that you could easily spot the subtle change in expression.

“That will be all. You’re dismissed,” he told you.

With a shaky nod, you turned and left. The minute you were in the corridor, you pressed your back to his chamber door, tears in your eyes. The desire that coursed through you should have terrified you, but it only fueled the hope in your heart. You had to hope that he at least desired you half as much as you did him.

When you finally got your legs to move down the hall, you passed the king’s wing. A feminine giggle echoed down the hall, and you turned your head just in time to see his chamber doors slamming shut, the tail end of a flowy dress nearly getting caught.

You blinked, lips parting as your shoulders sagged.

Your fingers ghosted over the beauty products before you, brows furrowed in confusion. You knew that it was wrong of you to sneak into Ingrid’s room, but you were desperate. You only wanted to borrow a few things that she wouldn’t even notice were gone. She had so much.

You bit your lip, wondering if this was even the right thing to do. What if he laughed at you, thinking you silly for this? What if he didn’t take you seriously after this? What if he thought less of you? What if you were only making a fool of yourself? With a sigh, you dropped Ingrid’s rouge just as her door opened.

There was a frown on her striking features as soon as her eyes landed on you. It was late in the night, and her hair was perfectly mussed, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. You had suspicions that she was the one you saw going into the king’s chamber earlier.

“Never pegged you for a thief, Y/N,” she chuckled, closing her door.

“I wasn’t stealing…only borrowing,” you replied unconvincingly.

“Uh huh,” she brushed you off, nearing you to see what you had.

She took it and turned it over, a small smirk gracing her lips.

“…and…just who are you trying to get all prettied up for?”

Your mouth opened and closed, words failing you as you pondered over whether or not you should tell her the truth. Deep down, maybe a part of you wanted to get caught. Maybe you wanted to ask for her help? You doubted that she’d help you without the truth though.

“Don’t tell me… You’re trying to gain the king’s favor…?”

Her voice was colder, eyes hardening as yours widened.

“The-the king?” you exclaimed, eyebrows rising.

She scoffed, running her eyes over you.

“I already have to fight for his attention with just about every other woman in this kingdom. I’d hate to have to put you in your place because you got way in over your head-.”

“No, no, heavens no,” you said, frowning in disgust. “I am not trying to seduce the king.”

The thought made your stomach turn. She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes on you as you slowly rose to your feet.

“Well, then who? Because a girl like you doesn’t go rifling through other people’s things just to seduce no one,” she argued.

“Well, trust me, it is not king Thor. He’s all yours. He’s not exactly my taste…”

Her frown deepened.

“Who is?”

A soft sigh escaped you, and again, you wondered if you should be truthful or not. Ingrid would probably press you for details, and you weren’t ready to embarrass yourself further by admitting you were hopelessly in love with prince Loki. Your eyes reluctantly met hers again, and her face evened out as her eyes lit up.

“The prince,” she whispered, a genuine smile on her face, a light scoff escaping her. “I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet… I am. You were right. The king isn’t your taste.”

You swallowed.

“Can you…help me?”

“You sweet summer child,” she tsk’d. “You do understand that while the prince is definitely no Thor, he is still a man. There’s a very high chance that he’ll only want one thing from you.”

You rubbed your arm, gently shaking your head.

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “I just…want him.”

She let out a long exhale, eyes softening as she eyed you.

“I see. How…cute, but I’ll help you.”

She grabbed your arm, pulling you along.

“You wait on him hand and foot. I always thought you were just being a dutiful servant, maybe even a bit of a pushover, but now it all makes sense.”

“You don’t have to tell me how silly I am,” you mumbled.

“I’m not,” she chuckled, placing a finger under your chin, lifting your head. “I’m commending you.”

You were sure the confusion was clear on your face.

“The prince has seen how wonderful a servant you are. I’m willing to bet that he has never had one complaint about you. He thinks you’re perfect, and now you will show him that you have even more to offer.”

Her smile grew, and so did your nerves.

The night was spent with Ingrid teaching you everything she knew. How to walk, how to smile, how to speak. You hadn’t realized that seducing required so much work, and you suddenly realized that it was going to take more than you thought to get what you wanted.

When morning came, she helped you dress, whispering words of encouragement to you. She assured you that you could do this, could have him right where you had wanted him for years, and with her guidance, you left to go down to the kitchens to gather his breakfast.

You breezed into the prince’s chambers like you did every morning. You walked through his receiving room and laid out his breakfast before making your way to the large windows on the far-left side of his room. You pulled the drapes aside, letting the sunlight in just as a groan sounded from behind you.

“Is it morning already?”

His voice was always husky in the morning, deep and groggy from sleep.

“Yes, my prince. Do not forget that the king requested you join him this morning for a meeting regarding the-.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he sighed. “Heaven forbid Thor tend to his duties as a king should without me by his side to guide him.”

When finished, you turned to help him out of bed. All of his movements halted as you neared, and you avoided his eye as you went to turn the cover back. You could feel his eyes on you, and your body grew warm under his scrutiny.

Ingrid had lent you one of her dresses. It was the typical cream garment that all of the servants donned, but the neckline sat lower, showing off a tasteful eyeful of cleavage. Where your regular dress had loosely flowed around you like water, this one hugged you, accentuating your curves.

You were startled when Loki’s hand found your wrist, stopping you. You finally looked at him, brows furrowed ever so slightly as he stared at you, a small frown on his own face. Your arm trembled at the feel of his hand on you, and he noticed, quickly letting you go. Much to your disappointment…

“Thank you, Y/N, but I can take it from here,” he quietly told you.

You nodded, backing away.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

For the first time, his reply did not come quickly. There was a brief pause, hesitation that had never been there before, and butterflies fluttered in your stomach. He cleared his throat, shaking his head.

“…no.”

Your heart sank, and you nodded, turning away.

As usual, the king was the last to arrive, everyone else having long taken their seats. Loki had been one of the first to arrive, and you had happily served him water while he waited. Thor strolled into the hall like there wasn’t a care in the world, taking his time in sliding into his seat before beckoning one of the servants over.

Your eyes did what they do best and fell on the prince. Other than his perusal this morning, nothing had changed. For a moment there, you had thought that he finally saw you as you saw him, but whatever you thought you saw was gone just as quick as it had come.

Did he hate the look of the dress? Your face? You had applied rouge to your cheeks and lips, keeping your hair simple. Ingrid had assured you that you looked ‘good enough to eat’, and yet… Your shoulders sagged as a stifling sadness fell over you.

What if it wasn’t a matter of getting him to notice you? What if he already did and simply…did not feel the same way? The thought of Loki never returning your affections because you did not appeal to him made your heart hurt, and you blinked back tears just as the prince beckoned you over for more water.

As you refilled his glass, you felt the odd sensation of being watched. Against your better judgement, you glanced over only for your gaze to connect with that of the king’s. You quickly looked away, topping off Loki’s drink just as the blond spoke.

“Brother, you do not think to introduce your servant to her king?”

You frowned in confusion, and so did the prince as you both looked to Thor. His blue eyes were on you still as a secretive smile graced his lips. You tilted your head at him.

“As many years as Y/N has served me now, you’ve never thought to formally introduce yourself,” Loki told him, frown deepening.

A spark of recognition flitted through the king’s eyes as he gazed at you, and a chuckle left him.

“That would explain why she’s looking as if I’d asked her why the sky is green,” he jested.

As he pointed that out, you worked to even out your face. You nodded at him before dismissively turning to Loki.

“Will that be all?”

“Yes. Stay close though. I have a feeling Thor will drag this meeting far beyond what’s necessary,” he complained.

You nodded at him, eyes lingering as you hovered for a moment before your feet reluctantly moved you back to the wall. Loki offered his input throughout the meeting, but it seemed that the king never liked whatever the prince had to say. You could see him growing more taut by the minute, and you longed to place your hands on his shoulders, easing his tension.

You wondered if this was all you’d ever be to him. A servant. The possibility of that seemed to be growing by the minute, and you started to feel so silly for thinking you could ever be anything more. You considered being bolder, possibly even just confessing to him, but you didn’t want to think about the humiliation if he rejected you.

Or worse.

What if he was so affronted that he dismissed you for good? You couldn’t truly imagine such a thing happening, but your mind was running wild with the possibilities. When you came back to the scene before you, Loki was rising, voice clipped.

He was angry, you realized, and you frowned. You took a small step forward as you eyed him, hating the way his face was twisted. He seemed to be scolding his brother, and when you looked to the king, you found his blue gaze already on you. Your frown deepened, and you hurriedly looked away just as Loki pulled away from the table, waving you along.

Without a second glance to the king, you hurried to follow him. He was grumbling to himself when you caught up to him, running a hand through his hair.

“What is my purpose of being there if he isn’t going to listen to a word I say?” he wondered.

“My prince, you know that your brother has always done what he wants to do,” you softly told him.

He slowed to a stop, shoulders heaving as he sighed. You reached for him before thinking better of it, pulling your hand back.

“You are right, but it does not mean I have to like it.”

You hated to see him so bothered, and you stepped closer.

“Would you like something to eat from the…?”

You swallowed the rest of your words as heavy footsteps approached, and you both turned to watch as the king neared. You took a few steps back to stand behind the prince, quietly acknowledging Thor. Your eyes landed on Loki again as his frown deepened at the sight of his brother.

“Loki, the meeting was far from over, and there is still much for us to discuss,” Thor boomed, a frown of his own covering his features.

The dark-haired man heaved a sigh.

“I’d hardly call it a discussion, brother if you aren’t actually listening to a word I say,” he complained.

Thor opened his mouth to say something when his eyes caught yours. He appeared to think better of it, blue eyes quickly running over you just as Loki turned to look at you as well. You frowned at the king’s perusal.

“Fetch something from the kitchens for us, and then bring it to my chambers,” he softly ordered, rolling his eyes.

You bit back a smile at his evident irritation with the king before nodding.

“Right away, my prince.”

As you walked past the king, you felt something catch along the fabric of your dress. You turned with a slight frown, but both the king and the prince were already walking away. You blinked, writing it off as you made your way to the kitchens.

It took you no time to put a platter together, grabbing some ale. When you returned to the prince’s chambers, he and Thor appeared to be locked in a stalemate. You set the tray down between them, filling their goblets as they glared at each other. You felt a bit awkward, so you touched Loki’s shoulder.

“My prince…”

He blinked, finally looking away from Thor before reaching for the platter with an angry huff.

“Thank you, Lady Y/N,” Thor said.

You sent him a quick smile in return, barely sparing him a glance before turning your attention back to Loki. His green eyes found yours, and they softened.

“Thank you, Y/N. You’re dismissed for the rest of the day. Thor and I have much to discuss indeed it seems,” he murmured.

You bit your lip, and you could feel the king’s gaze searing into the side of your face.

“If you’re sure. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”

He shook his head, and reluctantly, you stepped away. With a quiet sigh, you left his chambers without a farewell to the king.

The days that followed were…odd, to say the least. The king seemed to be around Loki a lot more, and by default, that meant he was around you more as well. You didn’t know how to feel about it, but you didn’t think you liked it. Not only was his presence upsetting the prince more than usual, and therefore upsetting you, but the king tended to stare a lot.

Having always been strictly a servant for the prince, you hardly interacted with Thor, but the few times that you did, you didn’t remember this being a part of his behavior. His ever-watchful eye unnerved you, and you soon started to wonder if he knew how you felt about the prince. You prayed not, because he didn’t strike you as the type to keep it to himself.

Unable to hold your tongue regarding his hard to ignore presence, you brought it up to the prince one night.

“It’s all rather tedious,” he sighed. “It’s nothing that I believe truly requires my input. That’s excluding his grand idea of me finding a wife.”

Your chin had been resting on the tub, fingers running along the smooth surface, when he spoke. You froze, feeling as if someone had taken a knife to you as you slowly lifted your gaze, eyes landing on him. He was leaning back with his eyes closed, the perfect picture of relaxation, a contrast to you at the moment.

“…what?”

Your voice was small, but the worry must have been evident, nonetheless. Loki chuckled.

“Do not fret,” he told you, finally opening his eyes. “No strange woman will be coming here to demand things of you anytime soon. I’m merely humoring him. Although, I will admit that he does seem to be rather persistent upon the idea.”

He moved to rise, and you looked away.

“It’s preposterous if you ask me. He suggests I began looking for a wife when he has yet to find a queen?”

You didn’t laugh along with him, knowing that the king had a rather annoying habit of getting whatever he wanted. The rest of the night was spent in silence as you helped Loki prepare for bed. If he noticed your strange behavior, then he did not comment on it, and for that you were grateful.

After quickly leaving his chambers, you found yourself amongst the rose bushes in the garden. Your shoulders shook as tears kissed your eyes, chest clenching at the thought of the prince binding himself to someone else forever.

A part of you had always known that this day would come, but you had never wanted to acknowledge it. You had hoped that something would happen before then. Of course, how could you expect that to come true when all you did was stare after him like some lovesick fool? A tear skipped down your cheek, and you hurriedly wiped it away just as you heard footsteps.

You thought nothing of it, knowing that many people ventured into the gardens throughout all hours of the day. However, when the footsteps stopped behind you, you had no choice but to turn. Surprise and confusion filled you as your eyes landed on none other than the king. Unlike before, you couldn’t get away with ignoring his presence.

“My king,” you greeted, standing.

You worked to school your features as he looked over you, a crooked smile on his lips.

“It is rather late for you to be frolicking about all by your lonesome, is it not?”

You frowned at his tone but brushed it off.

“I just wanted some solace and fresh air to think,” you told him.

He hummed, and you moved to leave.

“Goodnight, my king.”

He stopped you, and you looked to him with a small frown.

“It is late and dark. Allow me to walk you back to your chambers,” he offered.

You shook your head.

“I appreciate the offer, my king, but there’s no need. I’ve walked these dark halls alone many times before,” you replied.

You went to step around him, but again, he was there. You swallowed down your annoyance, biting your cheek.

“I’d feel much better if you allowed me to. I’d rest easy knowing you made it back safe.”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you nodded, choosing to pick your battles with the almighty Thor. He rested his hand on your back as he walked you out of the garden, and you stepped out of his reach. The walk back to your room was filled with silence, but you were not bothered. Your mind was too crowded with thoughts of Loki.

He said that he was only entertaining Thor, having no intentions of taking a wife anytime soon, but that could easily change. The king had a way of getting what he wanted one way or another, and for some reason, he wished for his brother to be married. Your frown deepened.

“I’m sorry for my odd behavior at the meeting the other day. You did not look as I was used to seeing you,” the king said after a while with a small chuckle.

“It’s quite alright,” you sighed.

There was a brief silence before he spoke again.

“I do hope everything is alright. You appeared rather upset in the gardens…”

You shook your head, somewhat annoyed at his uncharacteristic behavior. You had never known Thor to be so observant of another unless it affected him. The only time you’d notice him pay so much attention to a woman was when…

Your lips parted, and you looked away as realization hit you. Your eyes slowly looked to him, and you found his attentive gaze already on you. You pursed your lips, annoyance filling you.

“If it appeared that way then I apologize. It wasn’t my intention. I merely have a lot on my mind,” you told him, voice clipped.

“Such as?”

“Nothing of importance.”

Your tone left no room for questioning, and you heard him huff. Relief filled you when your door came into view, and you bowed to him with a quiet ‘thank you’ before walking away. You felt him grab your arm, gently, but it still startled you, nonetheless.

You looked to him with wide eyes, brows furrowed. He stepped closer, and if it weren’t for his hold, you would have stepped back. His gaze was intense, sparkling with something you had seen all too often, and disgust filled you.

“If my brother is mistreating you in any way, you are always more than welcome to serve me instead,” he quietly said, voice thick.

Your frown deepened, and you pulled your arm away before stepping back, watching as his face fell.

“Why would the prince be mistreating me? He has never been anything but good to me.”

He cleared his throat.

“I just worry that your behavior might have something to do with him-.”

“As kind as that is, it is not necessary. As I said, I merely had a lot on my mind. The prince could never put me into a foul mood. Goodnight, my king.”

You swiftly entered your room before he could reply, and you placed your ear to the door. He seemed to stand there for a while before finally leaving with a huff. You only sighed in relief when he was gone, quickly ridding yourself of your dress.

You quickly slipped into one of the night shifts Ingrid had lent you, feeling naked in the flimsy fabric. You felt like you were crossing a line, but you couldn’t allow the king to get his way and have Loki married. The night air felt even cooler as you stepped out of your room.

You felt scandalous, but so many of the other women had done what you were currently doing a thousand times before. There was no need to feel ashamed or weird about it. Still, if anyone caught you, you’d have to come up with something.

The walk to the prince’s wing felt long. It wasn’t late enough for him to be asleep, that much you knew. He usually had his nose buried in a book at this time. You slowed when you got to his door, heart surprisingly steady in your chest. With a deep breath, you smoothed the fabric before knocking on his door. You could hear his footsteps approaching, but with a frown, you realized that his weren’t the only ones you heard.

You looked over your shoulder just in time to see the king approach, his wide eyes taking you in. Your own widened just as the door opened behind you, and you felt your body grow cold at the predicament you found yourself in.

“Y/N?”

You spun around, facing Loki as confusion filled his features. He ran his eyes over you, a myriad of emotions swirling in their depths just before he finally noticed his brother.

“Thor. What is the meaning of this?”

Your mind whirled, and you blinked.

“I…believe that I must have been sleepwalking, my prince. I’m so sorry-.”

“Nonsense. Here, the nights are colder these days,” he said, taking off the robe he was wearing before covering your shoulders with it. “What are you doing here, Thor?”

You too wanted to know the answer to that, and it was hard to keep the irritated frown from your face as you looked to him. His own eyes were on you, and you knew then that he saw through your lie. He cleared his throat.

“I came to discuss something with you, brother,” he said.

Loki let out an exasperated sigh.

“Well, surely it can wait until the morning. I must walk Y/N back to her chambers to ensure she makes it to bed safely,” he told him.

You smiled at him at him as he pushed you along.

“Thank you,” you told him.

You caught the frown on the king’s face, but you ignored it as Loki rested his hand on your arm.

“You’ve never been known to sleepwalk before,” the prince murmured.

“I know. Well, at least not that I know of. I’m not sure what happened,” you lied.

“Anything could have happened. You could have fallen down the stairs, or one of the unscrupulous characters who roam these halls could have happened upon you.”

You sent him an appreciative smile. His hand was warm on your arm, and you inhaled, breathing in the comforting scent of him. You basked in his presence, but all too soon, you reached your door. You took off his robe, handing it back to him, but when he grabbed it, you didn’t let go.

A frown was on his face as you tugged on the fabric, pulling him closer. You blinked at him, smile widening as hope filled your eyes, unable to miss the way he ran his eyes over you.

“Stay,” you finally whispered.

His eyes widened, face falling as you made your intentions clear. Realization bled into his gaze.

“You were not sleepwalking…were you?”

Reluctantly, you shook your head. He heaved a sigh, and your face fell.

“Y/N…you are my servant. A good one. I cannot use my authority to-.”

“Why not? The king does it all the time-.”

“I am not Thor! I refuse to be,” he said, and your lips trembled. “I will not take advantage of you.”

You grabbed his shirt, pushing yourself against him. You watched his throat bob, a look in his eyes that you had always prayed to see.

“I want you to,” you quietly said, hurrying to continue when you noticed that he was about to protest. “My prince, I would do anything for you. I would give you anything you asked of me.”

He exhaled, and it was shaky, and you smiled. He hesitantly leaned in, and your nose brushed against his. He whispered your name so softly, the sound going straight to your heart…and stomach.

He kissed you, and you moaned against his lips. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and one of his hands pressed into the wall, the other going to your waist. Your heart soared, and you felt like you were floating as he moved his mouth against yours.

“Take me,” you breathed into his mouth.

He froze, and you could have cried. Your heart sank as he pulled away, his chest heaving, and lips swollen and red. He smoothed down the fabric of your night dress.

“I…am giving you the day off tomorrow,” he murmured, and you frowned.

“What?”

Panic filled you, but he hurried to ease it.

“Do not fret. I merely have much to think about and…I cannot do so properly when you tempt me so.”

Embarrassment filled you, and you looked away as a deep chuckle escaped him.

“Things are starting to make sense, and I’m realizing that you have been tempting me for days,” he whispered.

“I would do it again,” you said, kissing him.

He hummed into the kiss before pulling away and opening your door. He gently pushed you inside, green eyes sparkling in a way you’d never seen before.

“Sleep well for I shall not abandon you.”

You smiled at him, biting your lip as he turned to leave.

“Loki…”

He paused at the use of his name, looking over his shoulder. You sighed, lashes fluttering.

“I love you.”

He blinked at your confession, lips parting. He took a step towards you and kissed you one last time. You watched him walk away, and when you closed your door, you slid down to the floor, the happiest you’d ever been.

Your happiness only increased the next morning when you noticed a folded slip of parchment that had been slid underneath your door. When you opened it, Loki’s handwriting greeted you, and your eyes widened as they skimmed over each line.

He wanted to meet you tonight in the master chamber of the abandoned wing. You briefly wondered why there, but his next few words informed you that Thor’s presence had been rather persistent lately, something you too had noticed, and he did not wish to be interrupted.

You spent your entire day off in a daze, wondering what tonight would entail. You remembered everything that Ingrid had told you, even some of the things that had made you squirm, and there was a very high chance that you would be doing those things tonight.

When the night finally came, you felt your nerves increase like no other. It was late, and the corridors were empty, bare feet walking on the cool floor. You wore nothing underneath the robe, body bare and clean from your bath earlier. You weren’t afraid. You trusted the prince more than you trusted anyone else in the world.

The room was empty when you entered it, but light was cast onto your features from the candles placed around the room. The bed was made, but you wasted no time in turning it back, robe slipping from you, a whisper of fabric in the quiet room. It fell to your feet, and you slid into the bed, pulling the sheet to your chest as you waited for Loki.

You didn’t wait long, and you sat up when you heard footsteps approaching. A soft smile danced along your lips, excitement filling you as Loki approached. You watched as the handle turned, but when the door creaked open, it was not his form that filled the entryway.

Your heart dropped to your stomach, a frown taking over as confusion and fear and anger filled you. Thor’s eyes met yours, and you felt your breath pick up, chest heaving as he shut the door behind him. Your lips were parted, at a loss for words as you fought to voice your thoughts.

“Well…this is a first,” his deep voice hummed. “A woman has never been disappointed to see me before.”

“…wh-what? What is the meaning of this? Where is Loki?”

He did not answer you right away, and your frozen frame finally moved as he took a step forward. You hurried off of the bed, clutching the sheet to you as you reached for your robe.

“I see the way you watch him. Such devotion in your eyes,” he murmured, almost in awe. “What man would not envy such loyalty from a woman such as yourself?”

You froze again, jaw clenching and fingers tightening as the truth hit you.

“You tricked me,” you quietly spat, glaring at him.

You didn’t bother to school your tone, king or no king. You were disgusted with him. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse in his features, and your anger grew.

“How else was I to get you alone? Your eyes only ever see my brother,” he said.

“So you take it upon yourself to use deception to get me alone with you? Because that’s the only way I’d ever do so.”

His own jaw ticked, and he narrowed his eyes.

“You practically fall on your face to get away from me, but him you throw yourself at like a common whore,” he sneered, finally exposing himself.

You surmised that he saw you and the prince last night, and your stomach turned. You took no offense to his statement for it was true. You’d do anything for Loki.

“It’s okay for women to act that way as long as its for you,” you said. “I would do anything for the prince…and you can’t stand it.”

You shook your head at him, watching his face twist into anger.

“You’re like a child,” you said in disbelief. “You get anything and anyone you want, and still, you know no satisfaction.”

“You will watch how you speak to me,” he ordered, taking another step forward.

“You have tricked me! And for what? Because I want your brother and not you? You’re despicable,” you threw at him.

“One more word of disrespect, and I shall have your tongue,” he threatened.

“The prince would never allow such a thing to happen,” you smugly replied.

He straightened, and he knew it was true. You threw the robe around you, only allowing the sheet to fall once it was secured.

“You do not spare me a glance,” he finally said. “It is as if I am not there.”

You snorted.

“What does it matter? I have always shown you the proper respect, my king, but you are angered because I’d rather fall at the prince’s feet than yours? There are lines of women in this kingdom ready to do your bidding. Leave Loki and I be,” you snapped, flurrying past him.

He stopped you, and you sharply inhaled.

“Surely you could be just as happy giving me what you so desire to give him.”

You frowned, offended. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that Thor was hurt by your rejection. You shook your head at him, disbelief coloring your tone.

“You do not understand. I love the prince.”

You watched his fall, lips pressing together as he registered your confession.

“My loyalty and devotion to him is because of my love for him. I am in love with Loki. Do you get it now?”

He took a step back, letting go of you as he blinked, realizing that this was no matter of fleeting lust.

“That look that you envy so much is love, not desire. It angers you so because you have never known it,” you told him.

He glared at you, and you returned the look. You watched as he picked at a piece of lint on your robe, lip curling over his teeth.

“Then I will simply have to make you love me as well.”

He yanked you towards him, and you yelped, kicking at him. He pressed his mouth to yours, forcing a kiss on your lips, and you pushed your hands against his chest. He tore at the robe that covered you, and fear gripped you, a scream bubbling in your throat, but he swallowed it down.

You had always thought that Thor was too much, a list of things falling under the vague statement, and too strong was quickly added to it. He had you naked before him in no time, and you bounced against the bed as he threw you onto it. He fell over you, hands pinning your wrists down as he took his fill of you, eyes tracing every curve of your body.

“There is a part of me that regrets taking you away from my brother, especially like this, but the part of me that wants you all for myself already won.”

He kissed you again, and you only started to cry when you felt him moving to release himself. You had been prepared to ruin your reputation for the prince, risking the fate of marrying a second son or marrying no one at all. You loved him, but you would never risk such a thing for the king. Yet here he was, taking that choice away from you.

You screamed for Loki, desperate and afraid, but Thor’s lips covered yours once more, swallowing your cries. His beard tickled your skin, and his blond locks brushed over your face. You could feel the tip of him brush against you, and you trembled beneath him. He ignored your cries and your please, pushing into you so swiftly that the pain didn’t even register until moments later.

You yelped into his mouth, and he moaned into yours, trembling at the feel of you wrapped around him. Tears spilled from your eyes, anger and sadness paralyzing you. The king was in heaven…while you were in hell.

“Loki,” you sadly murmured, chest hurting at the thought of never being with him.

This angered Thor, and he snarled just before pulling his hips back and snapping them against you. You gasped in pain, nails digging into his arms as more tears ran down your face. His lips kissed at your cheek and neck as he thrust into you, low moans leaving him.

You turned your head away, anger increasing at the extent of Thor’s selfish nature. You hit at him, slapping his shoulders and face, curses flying from your lips. He quickly grew tired of your antics and grabbed your wrists, slamming them down beside your head. You sobbed in frustration.

His heavy breathing filled your ears as he slammed into you, every thrust making your heart clench in pain. You struggled to get your arms out of his harsh hold, but he only tightened them. You knew they would be sore in the morning.

Against your will, your core grew slick under his ministrations, the sound of his assault reaching your ears, making you cringe. He tried to kiss you, but you kept moving your head, refusing to give him what he wanted.

“You shall grow to love me as well,” he murmured.

You shook your head, and he pressed his lips to your jaw, groaning against your skin.

“I wish for you to show me the same devotion that you give to my brother.”

His thrusts grew slow, gradually pushing into your slick walls until you were forced to feel every vein and ridge of him. He moaned, a low sound from deep within his throat. You felt him shudder, and you did as well as warmth filled you, his cum slowly leaking out around his cock. He softened, but barely so, and fresh tears spilled.

He forced another kiss on you, grinding his hips into yours as he fucked his cum into you, the wet sound reaching your ears.

“I can give you the world too,” he groaned into your mouth. “I shall not rest until you look at me like you look at him.”

~

tags: @mcudarklibrary​ @darkficreposter​ @xoxabs88xox​ @harryspet​ @readermia​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @nickyl316h​ @captainchrisstan​ @sebabestianstan101​ @villanellevi​ @lokislastlove​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @coconutqueen21​ @hurricanerin​