#every time it snows I think about....them....

[hyukascampfire]

𝓐T 𝓢WA𝓝 𝓛AKE ﹐､﹒ c.bg ˏˋ੭ꠥ ¸ˎ

as both equals and opposites, white swan and black swan, it is paramount that you and choi beomgyu do not touch. the curse of your natures did not even make exception for incidental brushes. that was never an issue for you—not until the day the prince took it upon himself to break every rule you’d ever known. ⋆˛ ˛

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

⸉⋆ ᧔ 🦢᧓ ･ 10.3k

𝒫airings ˒ black swan prince!beomgyu 𝓍 white swan princess!reader

𝒢 ‎⍪ smut ˒ fantasy ˒ forbidden romance

𝒲arnings ˒ smut, angst and longing, unprotected sex, lots of teasing, jealousy…, yearning and yearning, he cums on her, theyre both desperate, pathetically in love!beomgyu, shes all he wants, virgin!reader, loss of innocence, he talks her through it, he gets a little whiny… hmm i can’t remember if i’m missing anything. this is not proofread!! i’m gonna nap first.

✎୭ ashlynn's note @hmusunoo … baby you did your big one with this. i can not explain to you how excited i’ve been for this one. this is absolutely my favorite. it’s just so me, u know me so well and i think we should kiss. THANK U!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

Around you, mist and delicate flurries sit over white, fluffy blankets. Where it sits over the lake, it turns the horizon of the lake’s expanse into an obscured uncertainty. If you hadn’t spent so much time right here, you might think that it goes on forever. 

It’s a beautiful, clear winter’s morning. Sparkling air wraps you in sweet and crisp tendrils, every breath to your lungs almost bitingly fresh. But in all its lightness, your chest only feels heavier. You had hoped that coming here would be a little, momentary respite. The air is so free around you, though, the weight doesn’t float away with it—it just leaves nothing but the feeling for you to contend with. No skittish wildlife rustle the foliage, and a thin film holds the crystalline lake from lapping at the bank. It seems that not even the wind moves. Just you.  

It’s not your tears that you hide here. Sadness is a soft, gentle thing; an acceptable thing for a Lady like yourself to indulge in. It’s what the people expect of their princess. The demure and always prim White Swan. Always correct, always just how you should be. 

Your tears are more like scalding, molten licks of fire than the slow, darling tears that are expected of you, though. They’re angry. It clashes up against the walls you’ve built up within yourself, against the role you’ve assumed. 

That’s why you’ve come here. Coarser emotions are unbecoming of you, and it’d be a shame to feel them in front of others. It’s a shame that you’re letting yourself feel it now, even. You summon a thin sigh, funneling up all the tangy bitterness on your tongue to let it fall out into the air before you. 

It doesn’t do much for you, really. This—feeling like this, so beyond the reach of your usual ways to shove down ugliness—is unfamiliar. Your entire life has been this, why do you struggle with it now? In the center of you, mingling with that anger, it’s as though a blackness blooms. Like a wretched flowering of some invasive plume, or perhaps the floating of inky black feathers through your bloodstream, you feel painted dark and unpleasant. 

Holding the dappled fur of your shawl closer, you decide to watch chunks of crystal white ice float on the water’s surface. Or maybe the on-and-off snowflakes that float down around you. Even tracing the lengths of barren branches, lined with white fluff so still and serene, with your eyes. Anything but delving into what that tainted tug inside is, or what it might mean about you.  

Snow crunches, or maybe a branch shifting, beckons your attention. But the foliage isn’t too thick, and trees are sparse around the lake, and there is always some small winged creature fluttering between branches out here. So, you brush it off. 

A tingling about your person, some sort of whispering premonition, whisps and tugs just around your person. You straighten up at another thick step crunching in the snow from behind you. This time, you can’t explain it away.  

A figure greets you. Dark, raven strands of silken hair fallen over eyes of the same, his skin so stark against it, black shoulder cloak on his shoulder flowing like velvet water against his billowing sleeves all ruffled and enamoring. He glitters like the frost, twinkling silver threads and black crystals sewn in to catch the light and make a show of him. Standing there, looking at you, he doesn’t look caught or frozen. 

But you are. Wholly still, all of you like a sculpture of frost, you gawk right at him. You’d never interacted with the prince, the black swan. Never even seen him. It was never in the cards. Fear like ice curls clawed fingers over your heart and grasps it.  

All your life, grand warnings of terrible things of him and what might happen should the two of you ever touch fell from the mouths of those around you. It was the constitution of who the two of you are—born to be the balance to each other, never to touch. Just an incidental brushing of fingers meant turning the world’s balance over on its head. They told you that the world would begin to fray at the seams, reality would warp, and that it’d be all your fault. And they also told you plenty about who the prince was as a person, too. Not only do you fear him for the curse of your nature, but also for all the nasty things you’ve heard of him. This, meeting him, was a thing of your deepest-cutting nightmares. 

And, there, he stands in front of you. 

“What are you doing out here crying?” Beomgyu says, curious eyes darting over your face. Under his gaze, you’re not sure how to feel. But you feel every last bit of it, regardless. 

You wipe at your cheek, where he must’ve seen the wet streaks glistening in the light. Summoning some poise up from where you keep it in handy, you say, “It’s no matter. I was just looking out on the snow.” You fix up your hair and your dress.  

The prince frowns, studying your face once again. Utterly unconvinced by what he finds there, he gestures toward you. “You’ve been crying, princess,” he says. “I didn’t think that lying was in the cards for you.” 

Lying? Not in the cards for you? Lying is all you do. You lie to yourself and to others more than you are honest. “Maybe, but I’m well,” you say, and then you lift the soft skirts of your dress to step without treading it in the snow. “Really, I ought to get home before the snowfall gets heavier. It was lovely seeing you.” You try and make sure to keep a good and proper distance from him as you make for where you arrived here from. 

Beomgyu reaches out for you, only pulling back from grabbing your arm at a frighteningly slim realization. “Wait,” he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he realizes what he’d almost just done. “You don’t have to leave. Why is it that you cry?” 

He’d almost touched you. That close—you’d come that close to tragedy in only the first moments of your meeting. Your heart pumps out sizzling, frantic energy that has you looking at him wide-eyed and shaken. “I think you and I both are the most aware why it’s best that I leave,” you tell him, keeping it curt. You hold your arms to you.  

Strong brows knitting, he shakes his head and stakes some big steps back. The snow, sat powdery and calf-high on the ground, creaks beneath them. “I’ll stay back here,” he says. “Just don’t go. Won’t you entertain me? It’s a gentleman’s duty to help a weeping Lady.” 

You falter. The words might have you blushing and offering him a modest thank you, but the way he says it—it’s rather taunting. It’s taunting in a way that gets right up under your skin and ruffles your feathers. “And why does it bother you so?” you ask him, arching a dainty brow. You’re not even sure why he’s come out here in the first place. This is the one place that you ordain your own. It seems that not even here can you be totally alone. “They’ll have a fit if they know I was here with you.” 

The prince, with his clear, ethereal features cracking into a wicked amusement that you’re not sure how to digest, says, “Perhaps they will.” He tilts his head at you, wispy strands of hair moving over his shadowed eyes with it. “But, princess, that’s the fun in it. That they will admonish you for it. Is that why you’re crying?” 

Fun? Nothing about what your people, your parents, might do should they find that you’d not only been near but spoken to the black swan, is fun. You level him wary eyes. And, though sense tugs at your feet and asks you to get going, you do not. You do not know why. 

“I think it is.” He’s got an obnoxious tilt to his lips. “I think that’s why you cry.” 

A scoff, an abrasive and distasteful sound coming from you, falls out from your mouth. There’s that awful imprudence and temerity that you’ve heard of the black swan—everything you ought not to be. “You seem the type to know everything,” you say. 

He laughs, delighted. “Is that snark?” 

Pursing your lips as though confused, you spin spiced threads of patronization into your voice. “Not snark,” you say. “Just an observation.” 

 “Hmm.” Beomgyu slides his hands into his pockets to warm his hands. “Might I make an observation about you, princess?” 

There’s interest written all over his face—you know he’s playing some sort of game. You also know that you shouldn’t indulge him in it. Still, you do. A slight raising of your brow, or maybe the interest twinkling in your eyes, too, tells him to go on. 

“I think that you are too dutiful for your own good,” he says.  

In a slight, testy step, he inches closer. Not so close that you worry, but the two of you are not even supposed to be in the same room. Anything is too close. You mirror it with a step back. “You don’t know me,” you say. Against your better judgement, though, your lips twitch into a soft smile. The kind of smile that is insistent, no matter how you refuse it. “So, I believe your wonderings to be entirely groundless.” 

Hair blowing gently in the wisps of a winter wind and his nose and cheeks gone pink, he says, “Oh, princess. Hardly. I think we know a great deal about each other.” 

Well, that’s true enough. All your life you heard of him and your curse. You’re sure it was no different for him, no matter your differences. “And what do you know about me?” you ask.  

Beomgyu’s laugh falls out in a white puff of curling frost. “I know it’s been arranged that you’ll marry a superior Lord,” he says. He observes you. “Am I right?” 

So fast, just with that, lightness falls from your face. You hadn’t wanted to be reminded. Your feet itch to be off, so that you can feel it elsewhere. Not here; not in front of him. Leveling yourself so that your voice doesn’t come out as stilted as you feel, you say, “Yeah. You are.” 

With his eyes narrowing on you, he says, “You know, it’s weird. I’ve never seen a girl excited to be wedded look like that when it’s brought up.” 

You reign in your face and shake your head. “I am perfectly excited. It’s a blessing to be married into such a family.” As much as you smooth over the furrowing of your brows, or make your expression pleasant, it’s not so easy to tame the picking of your fingers. 

Anything other than excited, you might be. But absolutely not that. In fact, you are beyond yourself with anger, and you have nowhere to go with it. It bubbles hot just under your skin and demands a release that you cannot give. 

Being who you are, it’s been a truth you’ve known your whole life. Someday, you were going to be offered like a shiny, silver pawn to the highest bidder. And you, as the world’s white swan, are quite the enticing thing to own. You thought you’d banished the hope for a union of love right where you’d left the sense of self behind: years ago. The time’s come now, but you aren’t as at peace with it as you should be. No matter how hard you try, you are more human than you’d like to be, and far too human to be what the world expects you to be. 

If you’re going to be frank with yourself: you do not want to marry him. Living as something bought, expected to live forever as this mellowed out, poised version of yourself by the side of some man who you don’t even know or love... Of any fate you might be made to live, you think that this one is the worst. 

Beomgyu begins working on taking off his jacket, a white and pretty thing with thick, winter fabric. He offers it to you. “You don’t have to lie to me about it. Maybe them, but not me.” 

You look between him and his offering hand—his perfect features that are so elegant, and yet, there’s a wildness to him in those hard black eyes. If you didn’t already know so much about him, you might still be able to see the untamed in him. Who couldn’t? He wears it plainly; without remorse. You’re not sure how to interact with it, but, in a way, you envy him. 

Reaching out, you accept the jacket from his hand. Tentatively, with great care so as to avoid touch, but you do.  

It’s nice and soft against your frost-kissed shoulders. But it’s not enough to fix the bite against the skin on your face, so you trudge through the snow over to the sparse tree line, where the trunks might protect you better from it than the flat expanse of the lake’s surface. You press your back to a tree, and he mirrors it on the tree opposite to you. Looking over the great lake, so very serene. It twinkles with an ice film like sugar crystals atop its surface. “I guess I’m just... scared,” you say. The words come out soft and uncertain. 

He nods. Listening. So, you continue. “I don’t even know him. I haven’t spoken to my betrothed once. Maybe I’ll get to know him, and maybe he won’t be bad, but...” 

“But he’s not who you want,” Beomgyu says. “Not who you love.” 

Licking your winter-chapped lips, you eye him for a moment. You nod slowly and say, “...Yeah. I suppose it’s selfish, but...” 

Ignited, Beomgyu pushes off the tree to say, “Selfish? You give your whole life to being their saint. Maybe they think they do, but they don’t own you.” 

You, not us. Frowning, you ask him, “Are you not set for some marriage of convenience?” Marrying is different as a woman, but you don’t doubt that the prince’s family intends to strengthen alliances by offering his marriage up to some optimistic, lesser family with a daughter to bargain the way yours has done with you. Every last girl and boy born as you two have been—destined to a life bigger than yourself, a force in the world as much as you are a person—have lived just the same. All of them. Each incarnation of the white swan, and you’re sure every black swan too. The people of this world paint you as embodiments of balance and life, but use you more like power plays. Even your own parents. You were born from your mother all the same as all your siblings, but as much as it aches to admit it, you are not their child. In the back of your throat, hurt and bare anger wells up thick. 

He half laughs, half scoffs. “They could try. It doesn’t matter to me. They’d have to kill me before I do their bidding. Is it our fault that we were born this?” he says. “I’m going to live my life how I want, no matter what.” 

You tuck your hands into your sides, where they warm between the jacket and your body heat. His words and how he looks at your lives, it’s everything you’re not. Sense of self and determination to live for more than just your predetermined role—while you’d surrendered it all, he lives thrashing and fighting against it. A product of your mirrored and opposite natures.  

“Why?” you say, teeth chattering a bit under the cold’s caress. “You have a girl in mind?” 

That sounds nice. Being so hopefully devoted to someone, and them to you, that you might war against destiny for it. The thought only nurses hurt somewhere deep in your chest, though. Not for you. Never for you. You could be the prettiest on this Earth, the kindest, the most disciplined, or the least even. Still, that would never be yours. You know that, so why does it taste so bitter?  

A quick look, something new, passes over him. In his eyes, you see it. He looks at you for a long minute, the morning so quiet that nothing but tranquility hangs in the air for a moment, and then finally says, “Yeah. Something like that.”  

Entirely intrigued, you ask, “Who? Is she a Lady?” 

Beomgyu nods his head, that strange look lingering. “Of sorts,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest to lean back into the bark. “And your betrothed? Some well-off Lord?” 

A smile ghosts over your mouth. “Probably. I haven’t a clue who it is; but I’m sure he’s got enough coin to spare, if my parents settled on him.” 

The lines of his face gone playful, he says, “Not possibly more well-off than me.” 

Your nose crinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say. A husband with money is nice. You can’t pretend that you don’t think of that, especially that none of your family’s wealth belongs to you, nor will it follow you into your marriage. Your heart revolts regardless.  

Shrugging after a few beats of silent considering, he turns his attention on the lake. His face turned like that, you admire the straight slope of his nose and his eyelashes as they flutter with his heavy eyes. Like the rest of him, his side profile is a contradiction. Strong and noble, but elegant like hewn from marble. It’s perfect. With all the talk in your ears, you’d pictured something far off from the youthful, wry man stood before you. Why you’d come to imagine him brutish, you’re not sure; he’s as much swan as you. Different and mirrored all the same. 

“I used to come here all the time,” he says. 

“Here? To the lake?” You perk up. This had been your hideaway as a girl; where you’d come at times like this when you needed to bury something away. You thought it’d been just yours. “I wonder how we never ran into each other. I used to do the same. I guess, I still do.” 

When his eyes fall back on you, they’re softer. More deep brown than black, but maybe it’s because you’re closer now. He says, “Well, I came here once or twice on my own, maybe when I was five. I didn’t really start coming back until I saw you. You were crying, all snotty, and throwing bread out for some ducks.” 

Your face twists up, maybe at the memory or maybe with confusion. It seems like if he’d really come here so often, and had even seen you here, you’d have noticed. “You must have thought I was weird,” you say, the words coming out around a shiver.  

“Maybe,” he says through a wry smile that’s cracked over his lips. “But mostly, I just wished I could talk to you.” 

He’d watched you, because he couldn’t approach you? You were under the impression that the prince had never cared for the rules, not even one so paramount as that. But, it seems that his brashness came to him later. He stands in front of you now, doesn’t he? Maybe it was just that innocent trust that, as children, you levy out to those arounds you. Especially toward adults; and all of those had preached over moments like this. You imagine a young, curious Beomgyu, hiding himself away between bushes, itching to approach or play with you. But he never did; you hadn’t the slightest clue he’d even been there until now. Could you two have been friends, if not for the curse? 

“You never came out,” you say. “Or introduced yourself?” It’s all you can really think. 

His mouth twitches. “Would you have stayed?” 

No. Then, you don’t think you would’ve. Even now, you’re stricken with the innate fear of touching him, no matter how surprised you are at how different he is. Different from what they said he’d be. You think you would’ve darted, should you have known who he was. For some reason, that makes your heart ache. A dark ebbing wave of ache that you are unfamiliar with. 

A slight knowing smile danced over his features, eyes gone to sweet crescents that turn them, usually so dark, into something rounded. Not so abrasive. He tilts his head off to one side and says, “You’re freezing. How long have you been out here?” 

Cheeks long been numb, you answer, “An hour. Maybe and a half?” 

“I’ll walk you home.” 

You grimace. Arriving with him by your side, the man you quite literally were not supposed to even speak with, is the very last thing you should do. An awful idea. “I wouldn’t bother you. It’s probably not the best idea to show up after disappearing, with a man by my side. Especially not as a to-be-married woman,” you say. “But, thank you. Really.” 

He knows what you really mean, though. A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Alright,” he says. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that, would we?” 

As he begins to turn, making for wherever he’d come here from, you call out to him. “Hey, wait. Your jacket.” You pull it off your shoulders and joust it out at him. Against your skin which it had warmed, the air is bitterly cold. 

“Keep it, princess,” he says, giving you a parting nod. “Get home warm.” 

❆

Today, you are to give your hand to a man that you do not know.

In the air, the rich nuttiness of fire-toasted chestnuts dance and mingle with the roar of chatter. Hundreds of familiar and unfamiliar faces line long tables with runners decorated by platters of plump, sugar-dusted plums and fruit pies. They’ve all come in their winter’s best—whites and reds and luxurious furs lining thick, velvety fabrics or embroidered with sparkling threads and studded with crystals that twinkle in the low firelight. It’s warm and lovely and all just for you. 

But, you don’t feel any of that. All you feel is a heavy belly. Each smile you tug over your mouth feels like dead weight. You’re familiar with this—putting on the act. Smiling in faces that you know will turn around and have something else to say about you, pretending like you don’t know that it’s all false sweetness. You’d been trained in noble propriety since you could walk and talk. 

But, considering that they’ve all come here to shower you with gifts and lovely words for a marriage in which they could really not care about beyond how they make it a profit, it’s all a bit more sour. 

You’ve met your promised. The man you’re supposed to wed and spend the entirety of your life beside. You spoke with him for... what, two minutes? Two very awkward, very awful minutes. What should you have to say to each other? You’re meeting for the first time today. At your engagement feast. It’s a real conscious effort to not take your lip into your mouth and gnaw, or to not fuss over your hair, or honestly anything that might show these people that you are anything but pleased. 

So, you relent to their gaudy pleasantries. You listen to them tell you that it’s such a blessing to be married to a man of high society—and a wealthy one, too. They tell you that they knew your marriage would bring a great dowry; that all the white swans have. That they were watching and expecting it. All you hear is the dripping of greed; all you see is hungry eyes and fingers crossed behind backs. 

You relent to it until your stomach is sick and wrought with it. And then, the older lady ahead of you singing praises of your beauty, of how she wishes her daughter might catch the eye of a husband as advantageous as yours, does something out of the ordinary. Her eyes drift behind you, her snooty, pinched features twisting up into something new. You follow her gaze. 

Dark and beautiful and his eyes trained right on you, the black swan prince stands beside you. He’s lazed, a heavy cup of some thick, spiced and wintery drink in one hand, as he does. In the clear light of morning, he’d looked so out of place. But here, soft and hard planes of his face illustrated by the flickering orange firelight, he looks so right. 

You blink. And then blink again. Never once had Beomgyu made any sort of appearance at any hosted thing by your family. You just stand in place for a moment, registering his presence.

“You look lovely, princess,” he says. His eyes fall up and down you. The way he says it—it’s liquid smooth, but it’s taunting in a way. “The perfect image of a bride-to-be.”

He can’t be here. He can’t be here at all. When you look to the side, the woman is already gone. You have no doubt in your mind that she’s whispering in somebody’s ear right now.

“Prince,” you say, gritting your teeth while also dipping into an elegant curtsy. 

“Do you feel that way?” He raises his eyebrows at you, his gaze heavy with underlying tension. “A perfect bride? Happy?”

Making the conscious decision to not look around you, because you can already feel the burning interest of the eyes that you’ll find on you, you say, “I do. Isn’t this quite the feast?”

“I told you that you don’t have to lie to me, princess.”

You shouldn’t even be standing here talking to him. They’re all watching. Stepping back to cut conversation with something witty, you stop in the onslaught of a chorus of surrounding gasps.

Beomgyu had reached out to grab you, and only stopped himself short the same way he had the first time you met him. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he brings his hand down, curling the fingers as if to wash away the urge to reach out.

He’s closer now, too. His breath smells sickly sweet with the liqueur he drinks. A sarcastic grin over his lips, he says, “Did he pay for all this?”

You do a dance of give and take. You step back, and he meets it with a step toward you, all the way until you find yourselves in a quieter corner. “He did sponsor the feast, yes.”

“Well, isn’t that just great,” he says, voice carrying over the many layered sounds of the gathering. “And that makes you happy? You feel fulfilled by that? Is that the purpose of the lovely white swan?”

You’re not sure what he’s getting at, or why your marriage is any of his business. For some reason, though, despite those rational thoughts, some faraway memory whispers that it makes every bit of sense. “He is a lovely man.”

Barking a laugh, Beomgyu says, “Don’t make me laugh. You don’t believe that, no matter how many times you tell it to yourself.”

You curl your fingers into the obnoxious, glittering material of your dress. “Seriously, what makes you so sure?” you say. “What makes you so sure you know? This is good for me. This is the way things are supposed to go. Not everybody in this world can get away with serving only themselves and doing whatever they want. Maybe it works for you, but not for the rest of us. I’m glad your life is fun, though. Really.” 

His face doesn’t sharpen into offence, though you brace for him to. You’ve never spoken to anybody like that. Ever. Shaking his head, raven locks glowing warm around the edges, he says, “Because I know. I know. Are you listening to me? You don’t have to lie to me.”

Balking at him, you don’t know how to answer. That was nowhere near the answer you were expecting from the prince, known and notorious for his chaos and fire.

“I am listening,” you say, keeping your voice measured. Thick emotion slips through the seams. “Honesty has never done me any good. This is going to happen; all honesty is going to do is hurt me. So, I’m sorry.”

His mouth opens to fire something back, but you don’t hear it. Somebody digs their fingers into your upper arm, dragging you without a word away from your conversation. You stumble, letting them take you without a fuss. This was to be expected. You shouldn’t look back. If today was already going to be the last day you ever see him, it certainly is now that you’ve been caught not only in touching distance to him, but making conversation with him.

Tossing a self-betraying glace over your shoulder, you find his figure. Hand in pocket and his lips turned down, he watches you go.

You wish you wouldn’t have. You have no explanation for the emptiness it casts into your chest.

❆

Recently, you’ve been crying so much. You might believe that it’s because you’ve been letting yourself feel freely, but you don’t feel free.

Your palms are soaked against your cheeks, face fallen into them as you shudder with it. Their words pin and scrape in your head, forcing you to contend with them before bouncing off the walls and you hear them again and again until your stomach has gone sick. Your parents had given you an earful. That’s been your whole life; you can handle that. The moment you saw him there, intending to speak to you, you’d prepared for it. Instead, it was their contempt and sneering faces that bleed your heart like this. 

In this life, you are alone. Totally, wholly alone. Who you are—your role in life—is not the blessing they claim it to be. Is it selfish to ask to be understood? For somebody to just understand, without your pleading or begging?

Maybe. It feels that way, anyway.

“Why is it that I always find you crying?”

His voice freezes you to where you sit sprawled on your floor. Spinning to him, you say, “What are you doing?”

Beomgyu shrugs, as though he hasn’t snuck his way into your room. “I felt bad for getting you dragged off. Wanted to come see how you’re doing.”

Maybe his insisting on being around you should be annoying, but right now… You think you appreciate the company, even from the forbidden likes of him. “You can’t be here,” you hiss. “How did you get in? They’ll… if they find you here…”

His boots squeak against the polished flooring as he approaches you, and then settles down on the floor with you. The fire flickering behind him, his back to it, casts an orange light around the edges of his figure. He looks terribly inviting, like this: strewn on the floor, no holier or better than you, his face not sickly sweet nor cold and devoid of love, and his eyes curious to know how you feel. 

“I don’t care what they’ll do to me. I want to see you.” He tugs his jacket off, letting it fall on the dirty floor. Improper for a prince, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. That’s who he’s always been—that’s the one thing that was entirely true out of all the things you heard about him. “Who the hell cares about their approval? We don’t need it.”

You know what he means by they and we. Only a few days ago, you’d still believed that Beomgyu was other; that he was your total opposite, and that you should fear his darkness for all your lightness. All it’s taken is being around him the once or twice that you’ve been able to for you to realize the falsity that drips from that. When you’re around him, your soul, feathery and wispy in your chest and your veins and all the rest of you that constitutes you beyond what is physical, tugs. It’s impossible to ignore—it consumes you. Where your soul longs for him around the edges, like torn and searching for what’s been lost, you feel stuff that is beyond yourself.

Rather than your opposite, you think that Beomgyu is your other half. You think that they’ve gotten it all wrong. 

“How do you do it?” you say, back up against a white, whorling table leg. “How do you not care? I don’t understand.”

Inky eyes shining, he says, “I did. When I was young, I believed everything they told me. It’s hard not to, when it’s all you hear. Them, telling us that our purpose is to surrender ourselves to be something Saint-like. But when you catch one lie, you begin to catch the others, too. I saw their excuses and reasonings peel. Princess, it’s all lies. Everything you know is lies.” He says it with such conviction. Each and every word reaches down into that part of yourself that is missing something. “We’re not their Saints. That’s never been our purpose. I hate that shit; I hate that they’ve made you think that this is all you’re for. Marrying him? Never doing anything, because you’re scared of what it’ll mean for you? It’s not fucking fair.” He pushes himself closer to you. Now, your criss crossed knees are so close that a stray move might mean the world’s end. This time, you don’t panic. There’s no room for that among the swarm of your other thoughts. “So, of course I don’t give a shit about what they tell me to do. I’m going to live this life the way that it’s supposed to be. I wish that you could join me.”

“This life?” you blurt. It’s the one thought that appears clear to you, so it’s what comes out. Frowning, you add, “What lies?”

Deadpanned and as though he’s not delivering something that changes the world’s fabric around you, Beomgyu says, “There is no curse. There’s never been a curse.”

Your room is silent for a few moments, and then you shake your head and laugh. “How would you know that?” you say, nose wrinkling. If you don’t laugh, you’ll begin to actually consider the possibility of that. Just the very surface of the notion makes you nauseous. You couldn’t handle exploring the thought deeper. 

Beomgyu doesn’t laugh along with you. “The curse is a lie, and everything that comes with it. All of it is just excuses or justification for the hate for the other people. The whole reason that they ever decided on it was because of their hate. Maybe to the people alive now, it’s not a lie. But that’s what it started as.” His face, dark and soft as he reads your face, twists up. “Of course, we can touch. We are two halves of a whole. There is you in me, and I in you. Do you not feel it? The tug? That’s it. The black swan and the white swan were never meant to be apart and opposite. We are meant to be together. We’re meant to be the only ones that understand each other. It’s us against the world, princess.”

Your ears ring with the pierce of each word cascading out from his mouth. “Beomgyu, I don’t understand. That doesn’t… Make sense. How?” He can’t just make claims about that. Not something like this. It’s not fair.

“I know it’s hard to believe, princess. It’s all you’re ever made to believe. But you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

Tongue darting out to wet your lips and your fingers stilling where you fuss at the fabric of your chemise, you take a good look at him. Roaming over his features, the contradiction in them and the strange familiarity that constitutes him no matter the fact that you’ve only just met, you consider it. Everything he says is absurd, and it does go against everything you’ve ever known. You should turn your nose up at him for even suggesting it; should suspect that he only has some sort of plan to coax you into bringing the world’s end.

But, you do. You trust him beyond explanation, as though intrinsically.

You nod slowly, holding his eyes in yours. “But I don’t understand,” you say. “How do you know?”

He smiles ruefully. “I saw something—had a dream when I was young. I saw us, in every last lifetime. We have lived again and again, as we are, in so many different ways. But the one thing that was always there was that they couldn’t keep us away from each other.”

The world does a few spins around you. Lightheaded, you try to stay up under the oppressive gravity of that. You want to stick your head in the ground and shake your head and yell no, but that deep tugging that has plagued you beginning the moment you’d met him, and all the emptiness before it, tells you yes. 

How poetic is that? How tragic? You, two souls born to be one, made to live apart at the interests of the world around you. Made to do it across every lifetime, and yet, in each you meet. In each, the twinkling thread of fate prevails nevertheless. 

“Do they all love?”

That soft smile still playing on his lips, his cheek to his knee as he looks at you with the veneration of somebody who might’ve loved you in a thousand lifetimes before, and perhaps in this one, too. “No. Some of us were secret lovers, but so many of those lived how you do for the entirety of their life. Halved,” he says. “And never did any of them touch.”

Heart fluttering with wings in your chest, you say, “So, how do you know that the curse is a lie? If it’s never been done before?”

“Let me show you,” he says. “That I can touch you.”

All the blood in your body pulls back. You trust him; you do. But is trust enough to risk a touch that could be the end of the world? Is trust enough to be so selfish to do so? 

Seeing you blanch, Beomgyu’s eyes go glassy. “Please,” he says, voice breaking as if to touch you might mean more than just proving something to you. As if the weight of everything he’s ever wanted rests on the back of it working—that if this works, and the world does not fall apart around you, then he can love you how he does, and how he had so many times before. Inevitably. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Beomgyu,” you say, looking between his eyes and the twitch of his hand as it itches to touch you. “I don’t… I’m scared.” Your voice drops to nothing more than a whisper.

“It’s okay,” he says, bringing that longing hand up. Your heart jumps when he raises up by your face. “You can be selfish this once. I want to see you do something because you want to, not because it’s what you think others might want.”

Your throat burns and tightens. Every last sparkling bit of your being longs to lean into his touch—to do what you two have wanted to do so many times before, and finally bring your souls back together. “What if it happens?” you ask, your eyes soft and true like an animal turning its soft underbelly to receive affection.

“Then let it,” he says. “At least we would have touched. Just this once.”

Gritting your teeth and swallowing hard, your belly does itself up into knots. You don’t answer him, but your quiet speaks enough. His hand hovers beside your face with the weight of the world in it.

The first touch of the white swan and the black swan happens in a gentle cupping of your cheek. And, the world does fall down around you. The walls melt, air leaves, and the seams of everything that’s even been good or true are ripped out and sewn with something new and beautiful. It’s as explosive and cosmic as you imagined it, but it is not terrifying. It’s lovely.

Your breaths shudder, your lungs trembling as you look into his eyes and realize what this means.

“Fuck,” is all Beomgyu breathes. It looks as though that it’s all he can manage. His touch grows more solid as the both of you realize that the both of you are still very much here, and so is the world. Thumb pad grazing over the softness of your cheek, his throat bobs with a swallow. You think that if you were to press your hand over your chest, you might feel it thudding there to the same thunderous rhythm that yours beats to.

So, you do. Because you can touch him. His heart sings beneath your palm, even through fabric and flesh. You can’t help the wobbling of your lip and the hot tears that spill out past your eyes and roll down your cheeks.

The second touching is the bringing together of your lips. His mouth is soft and hard against yours, contradictory as the rest of him. He brings his other hand up to hold your face into his kiss. It’s not sweet and slow—it’s as ground-rumbling as the kiss between intertwined souls coming together after an eternity of being away. Each nip and lick and clash of teeth are like the claps of thunder of the storm that will end the world, his hand sliding up the back of your neck to card his fingers through the hair at the back of your head like the claws of a beast sent to ensure its end.

And, maybe Beomgyu is the beast that has come to end the world. You wonder how he’d waited so long to bring the truth to you, or if he was torn about ever telling you. What changed things, after so many years of him watching you from afar? Your engagement? Perhaps that’s what that drink in his hand had been: a thing to forget with.

It hadn’t worked. As he kisses you for all the lifetimes in which you couldn’t, you know that he couldn’t have accepted that and moved on. Of all the black swans that have lived and passed, Beomgyu must be the most stubborn and strong-willed. That’s why, out of every single life, this is the first that you touch. He would take the world on, or play with the existence of it, for this. Just for you. All for you—you’d found somebody who will do something just for you. Curling your fingers into the front of his tunic just over his chest, you pour the fire of that revelation into your kiss.

He roams his hands all over you, mapping your shape. You kiss and kiss, lips tugging and twisting against each other, and still it isn’t enough. Bracing a splayed palm over your lower back, he does not stop kissing you even as he lays you back onto the ground. The flooring is cold against your burning body. He supports his weight on one hand beside your head and straddles your hips to do nothing but run his fingers through your hair and just kiss you. 

Only when your lungs are too hungry to ignore does he free your mouth. His soft black hair dangles over his starry eyes as he looks down at you with them. Lips swollen and smeared with you, his chest heaves. Bringing his free hand up, he wipes your wet cheek.

“Oh my god,” you say, breathless. “Beomgyu.”

Pressing his forehead to yours, he laughs. “I like when you call me that. I think I want to make you scream it—scream it until they come breaking down your doors and see that we are each other's. Until your fiancé hears it.”

Body bursting at the seams at the prospect, you nod frantically and dip your face into his neck to dust starry kisses there, too. He shudders. “I want it so bad. Can you please?”

“Of course I can. I’m going to make love to you, okay?” He pushes off you, crawling back so that he’s sat squatted just before your knees as you pin them together. “Open your legs, princess. Show me how pretty you are—I’ve waited so long for it.” He pats on the outer side of your knee.

Thrill spiraling up from between your thighs like sparks, you oblige slowly. You let your legs fall open for him, and choke on your own heart as he begins to slowly work your dress up the expanse of your legs, and then your thighs, baring to him the plush and unseen skin there. He eats it up wildly, his eyes gone ravenous and even blacker.

“I’ve never done this before,” you say, voice trill and unsure. “I don’t know what to do.”

A wicked grin cracks over his features. “I know, princess.” The fabric bunches at your thighs, now. You tremble with the stifling anticipation. “I’m going to take care of you. It’s going to feel so good—I’m gonna make you feel so good. I have so many things I want to do to you. Lifetimes of things I want to make you feel.”

Doe-eyed and laying your trust in his hands, your thighs twitch and you nod. He reveals your cunt at last, finally catching the glistening sight of it for the very first time. And, he does not disappoint. The look that washes over his face—the twitching of his lips, the tightening of his jaw in a flickering muscle, and the fire razing your cunt in his eyes—is something so dreamlike, but lucid nonetheless.

“You just lay down and let me help you. Treat you how a princess should be treated.” He works on his pants, silver belt clinking and then loosening, and then he’s just as exposed as you when his length pops free. It’s hard already, tall and pretty like the rest of him, but pink and obscene at the tip. He leaks from the little slit at the top. “Look at you. You look like you want to taste it,” he says, laughing while collecting the liquid to pump himself a few times. “Next time, baby. I’d love to see the proper mouth of the world’s princess choking on my cock.”

The air is cold against the mess between your legs. It sends a chill up your spine—or maybe that was the crudeness of his words. You suppose you should’ve expected nothing less from him. When he goes to climb back over you and line himself up with you, your thighs twitch and try to snap shut.

He pins your hip to the floor. “Don’t be shy, baby. I wanna see that pretty pussy. It’s not fair to hide it from me.”

“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning.

Taking that hand and sliding it up behind the back of one of your knees, pressing that thigh up to your torso, he laughs a teasing laugh down at you. “Don’t say sorry,” he says. He holds his length adjacent to your slit and then begins to slip up and down the length of it. “Just let me fuck you. I need it so bad.” He hisses in tandem with you. The drags of his length, harder than how you thought a cock might feel, is like undiluted liquor. “I can’t believe this… shit, princess. I’m about to fuck you. I thought I was going to have to sit here and watch you by his side.” 

You take your lip into your teeth when he pushes in. It stretches. You bring your hand up to cup the back of his neck and the other to dig into his tunic, mewling softly.

“It’s okay, princess. Hold on to me, you can take it, right? You cunt was built for me. Everything about you was made for me. Your heart, your pretty hands for me to hold, your sex, all of it. Do you feel how I fit right into you? How I was made to?”

You do. When he finally is balls-deep, his cock nestles exactly where it should. Not an inch too deep or an inch too scarce. The two of you were sculpted by something holy, fit just for each other. “Yes,” you breathe.

He can’t even linger sitting still  in you. He begins pulling himself out, all the way until the tip of him threatens to pop out lewdly, before shoving back in right up against that spot. He doesn’t even have to search for it. Head falling into your chest, he licks and bites. “The taste of you,” he says. Then, he presses his tall nose right over that spot in your neck where your heart’s gone wild. “The smell of you.” Wincing, he lays into you with more vigor, hips slapping against your skin. “The feel of you. You drive me up the fucking walls. How was I ever supposed to live without this?” he says. “I refuse.”

Your belly begins to tighten in a way that you’ve never known. Tears prick the corner of your ears, clinging to him as he fucks you into the floor like he’ll never have to opportunity to have you like this again. The wood cradles your back and the back of your hips, receiving each of his thrusts. You curl your toes and will back the lewd cries that threaten to spill over with each.

His voice is taut and wobbly. “Feels good, huh? I know. It feels… so good.” Dropping your thigh to cup your face, he says, “Cry. Cry for me. I said I wanted you to scream.”

Face burning and squirming against the hardwood behind you, you shake your head. “I can’t, gyu…”

“Yes you can,” he says, face twitching. “I want you to start letting it out, or I’m gonna stop. Do you want me to stop?”

Covering your face, with the back of a forearm, you grit your teeth through each punctual and yet sloppy grind up into you. Your bodies sweat and meld, and you’re sure that anybody walking by your quarters would know just by the hollow smacks of skin and grunts that you’re fucking a man. You, an engaged woman, are letting the prince turn your brain inside out.

But, there is nothing you want less than for him to stop. So, you let your mouth drop open and allow the sweet mewls to come with each rut.

“There we go. Louder.” He braces himself, digging his feet into the floor, and then he really starts driving into you. Sparks fly in your belly—each yellow and glowing and scalding. “Do I need to fuck you harder? C’mon, louder, princess.”

Thighs squeezing his hips so tight that they ache, you squirm. You struggle against your sounds—turning from sweet moans and mewls, you groan and gasp and your voice breaks. Each collision of your bodies breaks your sounds.

Curling your fingers into his silken hair, you grit out, “H—hoooh fuck, Beomgyu, Beomgyu, I feel… like…”

Bangs sticky and his eyes growing wilder, he knows something you don’t. The knowing, taunting grin on his mouth says enough. “Let it happen. Don’t fight it.  Just stay—stay right there, and I’ll give it to you. No running from it; it’s gonna feel so good.” His muscles go taut, and he doubles down on his efforts, panting through his nose and his neck sheened. He drops his head into your chest. “Fuck. Fuckkkk, I love you so much, princess. Thank you—thank you, so much.”

You don’t know why he’s thanking you. You don’t have the cognitive function to worry about that. Your mind has gone to two things: the growls and whines that rumble and tear from his chest, and the frightening tightness that only goes more dangerous. Your chest tightens—it feels as though, if he feeds that hungry beast gnawing deep down in your belly with any more of what he’s doing now, it will snap and take you down in its wake. Warbled cries crawling up your throat, you arch your back up into his chest to try and dig your hips into the floor, away from the bliss and the power of it.

“No,” he says, cursing. “No—don’t run from it. Don’t… Baby, please take what I’m giving you. It’s gonna be alright.”

Pushing back on the dark throes of the tide as it creeps up over your shoulders and sends shocks through your body, the hair on the back of your neck rising with the effort, you choke. Beomgyu takes a hand down the seam of your bodies and rolls your aching clit. They’re succinct and intentional—pressure right on the sensitive underside, sending your belly rippling as he pairs it with a few more sharp, more meaningful thrusts.

You see white. It’s white and hot. You are the sun, beaming and writhing like stardust. You curve off the floor once more, raking nails down the lengths of his back. Are you even making sound? You don’t know; you can’t hear it past the ringing piercing sharp in your ears. You shake beneath him, cunt gripping him frantically with flutters of your walls. 

He grunts, voice strained and shaking as he begins to follow his own release.  “Holy shit—look at you. You’re so f-filthy. So pretty, cumming on me.”

You bare each brush of his cock against your still twisting walls, trembling as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your thighs jump and your toes curl, and it’s all too much, but not enough. He needs to come tumbling over the edge right along with you—if he comes with you, it doesn’t seem so hard. You chant his name, smooth voice gone hoarse.

Stilling inside you, he whines, “Shi—it.” A war wages behind his eyes for a long second before he slips his cock from you with a wet, squelching pop, strings of your release breaking as he lays his cock on your belly. His stomach goes tight, and with one last slide of his length, slick with your mess and staining your belly, his cock jumps. He shoots all over your skin, pretty glistening spurts like ribbons a milky white. 

He sits back on his haunches, slowly rubbing himself off to give you some more and come down. Your room is quiet now, aside from your heaving chests and the buzz of something new in the air. Letting his head fall back, wet strands of spiky black hair dangle around his neck, a bead of sweat catching light as it rolls down it.

“Feel okay?” he says, looking down on you with softened eyes. He pulls cloth from his pocket, unfolding the fine fabric, and he wipes himself off your belly.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, leaning into the palm he cups your cheek with. “I’m okay.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The world didn’t explode, did it?” he says.

You share a stolen laugh with him, feeling every last honey wave receding from the spot between your thighs. The world hadn’t ended, and yet, in every way, it had. Savoring the abated rises and falls of his chest and the content sagging of his shoulders, your belly tightens anew. 

What happens now, when everything else has been a lie? When you don’t believe that you can survive that lie for any longer?

❆

So many hands work on you. One of your ladies in waiting laces you up in the back, and another works on your hair even while you stand, and one bounces a wintry, snow-kissed rouge over the plush of your cheeks. 

Yesterday, your world changed. And today, you’re expected to go on living in it.

When Beomgyu slipped out from your room last night after hours of holding each other under the covers, indulging in your ability to touch, you let your heart crack in two. You shouldn’t have. Why had you let yourself think that it was going to end up anything other than like this? You, getting prettied up to be sent away with your expecting husband, and the dreams you’d let build up to the clouds in the prince’s arms all shattered on the floor at your feet.

What else can you do? Loving Beomgyu freely is out of the question. Your parents would laugh right in your face, or maybe lock you away and make even more sure that you never get to see him again.

You try to burn the image of his eyes into your memory. Black, big and round and cunning all the while. You commit the broadness of his shoulders, and the pretty straight line of his nose in profile, and the pink plushness of his lips, and the little freckles you’d discovered yesterday, and the sound of his voice in your ear, and the feel of his touch on your skin, too.

“We’ll leave you until it’s time to come collect you,” a Lady says, bowing at the waist to you as the others finish up, tying the fastening of your dress up quick and sprinkling their final touches over you before following her out.

Your room goes utterly quiet. More quiet than it’s ever felt.

Dragging your limbs over to your bed, you let yourself fall onto it despite all the care they’d taken to get your skirts right. Resting your cheek to your palm, you let your eyes fall closed as you memorize the feel of your own bed, too.

When you flutter them open, there’s something peeking out from the pillow across from you. You furrow your brows and reach for it.

The paper is folded up with haste, torn from the edge of somewhere else and scribbled on with a quick hand. How long has that been there, without you noticing? Pushing yourself up from the bed, careful to at least maintain the smoothness of your hair, you unfold it.

ℳ𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝓉 𝒮𝑤𝑎𝑛 ℒ𝑎𝑘𝑒. 

Your soul comes back to life and seeps through your bloodstream. Sitting there for a few moments, idle at the largeness of what you’re about to do, you loose a breath. 

And then, you curl your hand around it, shove yourself up in a flurry of white, crystalline skirts, and you go.

The curious faces of the palace hands you pass do not stop you, nor does the morning’s bite as you find your way outside, nor does the almost-slip over ice, and absolutely nothing else stops you as you run. Is he still going to be there when you make it?

God, please let him be there. Don’t let this be almost.

Fists full of the abrasive fabric of your skirts and darting by barren bushes and trees, you do not stop until you clear the little tree line and the lake stands vast and frosty ahead of you.

When Beomgyu spots you, and you spot his figure against the background of the lake crisp in the morning, the sweet cooing of the birds and the rest of the bustle falls away. None of it compares.

“You came,” he says, dragging his feet through the snow until he’s right in front of you, his features elegant once more in the clear morning haze. “I didn’t think you would.”

You reach up to dust away snowflakes resting on his hair. It’s an excuse to touch him—that’s all you find yourself wanting to do, now. Brows pinching, you say, “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just… was scared.”

“No, no, I came,” you say, feeling now the bare expanse of your arms. You run your hands up and down them. Heart in atrophy all the while feeling full just being here with him, you add, “Why did you want to meet here?”

The world is serene for a few long moments as he just looks at you, his gaze searching. “Don’t marry him. Don’t leave with him.”

You know where he’s going with this already. Letting your dress fall from your hands, the one they’d fashioned you in to do exactly that, you say, “And do what?”

“Be with me. Marry me. Be my wife,” he says, the lines of his face solemn. “Let’s elope and find a corner of the world that’s just ours, so that we will never have to hear another word from them again. Let’s just… be together. Finally.”

Chest swelling with something so hopeful that it’s painful,  reality comes with its pin point and pop it. “Is that really what you want? You’ll take me, even though I’m promised to somebody else?”

His lip curls as though the thought were detestable. “What the fuck is a dowry to this? To the approval of the fates? The world could try snuff that fact out with whatever they’ll try, and a man could offer your parents a dowry of all its money, and still, you’d be mine. No matter what, our souls belong to each other.” His hand is frozen against your cheek. He’s been out here waiting for you for so long. “I’d take you, promised to another man. I’d take you no matter how you are; in a thousand different lives, I’d have you each time.”

That’s all you need to hear: that you are cherished for more than just your nature, but for yourself. That he loves you unendingly and undyingly, and all you have to do is leave by his side. You’ve already left it all behind—thrown any attachment to the wind, because truly, what is that to this? You don’t know where you’ll go, and you think Beomgyu hasn’t a clue either. But you’ll find that somewhere together. 

Together, your half sings. His answers with a thrilling beat.

“This time,” he says, eyes blazing with conviction. You know he feels the tug, too. “We got it right.”

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note MY SHAYLAAAAA. MY SHAYLAAAAAAA!

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[astrowarr]

i feel like there's this really common misconception that since 3rd life, scar has repeatedly been some helpless victim to grian as he yearns for him but is disregarded at every turn. but honestly, watching and analyzing both their povs especially from LL and DL, this is really untrue

you know, last life DOES have the whole "grian stealing scar's life" thing, but after scar takes yellow snow it's marked as water under the bridge for him. for GRIAN though...

there's this whole conversation early in the series where scar, unprompted, Immediately starts denouncing sand, talking about how annoying and disgusting it is. if i were grian, i would absolutely take that as him denouncing their past together, and everything they stood for in the desert. there's so much vitriol in his voice that it's actually jarring. there's more, too, like scar going back on the soul crystal deal.

throughout the rest of the season, the two of them keep gravitating around each other. it's especially grian though, where you blink and suddenly he's at scar's side. there's this strange scene from scar's pov where they're at the top of magical mountain, and the southerners are on their way out after enchanting as red joel comes in. as joel talks to scar, grian lurks threateningly and protectively in the doorway, sword and crossbow in hand and trained on joel. he wasn't told to. his team has left him as he stands there dutifully. he watches from the background and helps in the subtle ways he feels comfortable, because he's so hurt by scar's casual cruelty and disdain toward 3rd life.

even if you don't think grian particularly cared about scar in last life though, something to consider is that grian is a character highly motivated by guilt. it overwhelms him. it is his tragic flaw in so many scenarios. a character this prone to guilt hearing scar's hatred for what represented the two of them would absolutely take that as "he hates me for what i did to him; he can't forgive me for killing him."

now double life is a BEAST to tackle because there's so much. but the most important stuff happens in episode one, because— and genuinely no one acknowledges this— scar spends the entire thing declaring his hatred for soulmates. all he does is proclaim his unwillingness to participate in it all, to the point where he's not planning to find his soulmate at all, and says, and I quote, "i don't care about my soulmate."

he doesn't just do this when he's by himself, but he says it directly to grian. several times. he even says, after grian's reveal, "do we need to base together?" and ignores grian's heartfelt, sentimental plea of "We don't have to but… i-it might be nice. If I can… look out for you…” to instead run away and take damage on purpose.

he continues throughout the season to be much more devoted to the jellies than anything else. scar is the one who invents soulmate torture! and he thinks this up before grian is even considering the secret soulmate thing, and when he starts doing it, it's when grian is entirely innocent of any wrongdoing. he starts it when grian says the jellies can't stay inside the base, but conveniently in his first episode, he cut out the part where grian outright says "no" to letting them stay. scar brings them anyway, and then villainizes grian for holding firm on the boundary he already blatantly set earlier... he even tells pearl she's lucky she doesn't have to deal with having a soulmate?

idk there's so much to their relationship especially in double life that i didn't cover here that shows that, as much as grian verbally played the role of "unwilling partner" in double life, from the jump he was devoted and loving. you can never go by what grian says, you can only go by his actions!! and his actions said over and over that he loved scar and wanted to be with him even if he was afraid, but scar (albeit unknowingly) denounced their bond at every turn. and his mind didn't change on soulmates, even after he found out his was grian.

this is something i can talk about for a million years and i have so much textual evidence but yeah ANYWAY scarian is mutually so toxic and weird and in love and im obsessed with them

[bonbonly]

Oh I didn’t cook anything! Just laid out the ingredients you gave me the recipe for! It’s all you bon!!

On another thought, Christmas at the Sainz mansion is quite the magical time! Since it doesn’t snow that often in Madrid, they take the whole bunch to their other mansion up in the mountainous regions, so you bet there’s gonna be a lot of skiing, fireplace bonding and cozy sweaters involved. On the flip side though, the Sainz family is nothing but warm and welcoming. They spend every Christmas and new year together as a family, because that’s what’s the most important for them! And don’t feel awkward about the whole deal, Carlos’ friends had spent a couple christmases with them as well, so there’s always an extra seat and plate at the dinner table just in case.

And Mr. and Mrs. Sainz are beyond smitten with the art student, how could they not be? They are quite idealist people themselves, raised their children to be the same way also. It was only a matter of time for Mrs. Sainz to offer her a sponsorship for the upcoming high society exhibitions in Spain.

And don’t get me started on his sisters! Oh, they would be such matchmakers, thinking they’d tease and get a reaction out of Carlos first, only to be baffled by his nonchalant reaction, shrugging his shoulders at the dinner table before turning to look at his little “friend” with hearts in his eyes. If they weren’t surrounded by their parents, they would be making fun of him so bad.

Over the time, as days go by with every moment filled with an activity, poor girl finds herself (unfortunately) breaking her own rules and being drawn to him more and more. Let’s hope she is good at avoiding mistletoes!

- 🦦

i got myself an actual anon omg!!! 🦦 anon, i hope you stay blessed forever for this 🙏

i have this thought that during the dinner, reader was shifting in her seat uncomfortably and Mrs. Sainz looks over and asks if she’s alright. Poor reader, she’s stuffed with carlos’s cum to the brink, her poor pussy lips only leak his gift to her through her panties. but she obviously couldn’t say that! she shakes her her and says she isn’t feeling well, and the entire family breaks down worrying over her. mrs. sainz insists she stays for a whole week, accompanying them and carlos’s sisters are more than eager to share their room with her and their clothes. carlos, in the meantime, takes a bite of his food with a knowing smirk.

the whole family loves her to death. skiing trips, cozy sweaters like you said anon but lets not forget to include christmas movies and that mistletoe you mentioned! It was probably his sisters’ idea to hang the mistletoe in the kitchen where he was making breakfast and our lovely reader was just trying to get some napkins after spilling paint onto her hands. mrs. sainz had given her a few contacts to some high end gallery that would happen at the end of the month, and artstudent!reader is once again back on her grind. she stops to see the mistletoe, and frowns, turning her back on carlos, but to her surprise, he does the same and doesn’t even acknowledge her! she should be happy right? but she couldnt stop thinking about it, those stolen glances during the skiing trips, the way he snuggled against her when they were watching movies together. she even overheard his parents talking about how carlos pulled a few strings to get her that exhibition! she probably stands there pouting to herself as she wipes her hands, and seeing no action, carlos’s sisters leave the kitchen completely annoyed. as soon as they leave, carlos walks to stand behind her, gently nibbling her ear,

“how are you feeling, do you like my house?” theres a gentleness in his voice, that nearly makes her question if she’s dreaming or not. a small shrug of her shoulders as him giggling, “you’re still stubborn as ever, mi vida,” and his nose dives just below her ear, nuzzling fondly.

"thanks, i guess, for the art exhibition," she'd try her hardest to sound like she didn't care, but she couldn't stop the way her heart fluttered around her chest, refusing to quiet down. carlos's lips curve into a large smile, and he'd lower her to her knees before glancing around to make sure his sisters didn't walk back in.

"show me how thankful you are," he'd smirk. now tell me why artstudent!reader is unbuckling his belt as fast as she can? was she actually that down bad for him secretly? who knew, surely not her. she's sucking his cock like she was made just for that, and when he throws his head back, praise flowing out of his mouth, she smiles against him, she's living off of this. she's got his cock deep in her throat, palming his balls as he's cooing about how good her throat feels, how she's perfect, "oh, princesa, eres toda mia, eres tan perfecta" after he drowns her mouth with his cum, he'll pull her to her feet, his thumb brushing the last bits of his essence into her mouth as she sucks his thumb with wide eyes. a small chuckle rumbles in his chest, and he peppers her face with kisses. she'll probably glance up at the mistletoe, still in a rush from what just happened and with a teasing smile, he'll pull her into an actual kiss, not minding his own taste on his mouth for once.

so as the holiday break draws to a close, artstudent!reader has learned a LOT. for one, the sainz's family adores her to death, and will always text her about new exhibitions and artists to introduce her to. she's starting to attend social events, meeting rich people and being commissioned on the basis which will definitely help pay for college. carlos's sisters basically treat her like their best mate, always on phone calls with her and giggling about some drama that happened at their own university.

and as for carlos.

hehe, im sure our lovely reader thinks the whole charade was just for carlos to get in her pants and she whole heartedly believes that (even though she hates it beyond compare). she ignores him once she gets back to campus, once again on the study hard mindset that she always has. and then one day, she's out painting another banner for another football game but instead of a ball tipping paint onto her banner.

"ok, which idiot-" she pauses when she looks up to see carlos crouching next to her with a smile on his lips,

"the things i have to do to get your attention," he muses, and all she can do is blush madly, unable to stop herself from grinning insanely.

needless to say, carlos and her end up being permanently banned from the art closet. though, her teacher did make the exception saying she was only allowed there if she took a friend from her class with her. as for carlos, he'd have to come up with better places on campus to have sex with her. maybe, he'd invite her back home once more for a permanent stay.

[girlyrafe]

decorating the tree.ᐟ

ʚɞ a december to remember

𖢔 notes: euh not sure about this one + not proofread sorry

── .✦ advent .ᐟ

summary: who’s Rafe to try to advise you on where your should be placing the Christmas decorations on his tree

ᯓᡣ𐭩

The world outside was peaceful, wrapped in a blanket of heavy snow, the kind that muffled everything in a soft, cosy silence. But inside, there was nothing but chaos—and laughter. You and Rafe were sprawled in front of the massive Christmas tree, a towering thing that seemed to touch the very edge of the ceiling. The lights twinkled, and the smell of pine filled the air, but decorating it was proving to be a challenge. Not because you weren’t trying, but because Rafe couldn’t stop making ridiculous jokes that sent you into fits of giggles.

You’d both spent the morning hunting for the perfect decorations. A little shopping trip turned into something more, filled with laughter and playful banter. The bag at your feet was bursting with personal, cute ornaments that had your hearts written all over them. There were tiny gold bells, vintage glass baubles, and even a little pink bow that you swore had Rafe’s name written all over it. 

But now, as you tried to get to work, it was hard to focus. Every time you reached for an ornament, Rafe had something cheeky to say. His voice was a constant buzz of teasing, and before long, you couldn’t help but laugh so hard you nearly dropped everything. You finally managed to calm down enough to look at the tree, its towering shape still waiting for your careful touch. 

The ornaments, however, seemed impossible to place. They were all so lovely, but where did they go? You hovered in front of the tree, eyeing it with a furrowed brow, completely stumped. 

“You know,” Rafe said, leaning down with a teasing grin, “this one would look amazing next to that little pink bow.” He pointed to a tiny digital camera ornament, its gold accents shimmering in the low light. 

You huffed, trying to act annoyed, but he was right, and that annoyed you even more. You prided yourself on having a good eye for this sort of thing, but there he was, always swooping in with his perfect suggestions. 

You sighed, giving a reluctant nod. “Fine.” You grabbed the ornament and placed it carefully on the tree, right where he had suggested. It was a small victory for him, but as you stepped back to admire the tree, you couldn’t help but feel a little warm glow spread in your chest. Rafe’s grin was as wide as ever, and you could tell that he was pleased—not just with the tree, but with how much you were enjoying this moment. 

Then, of course, he had to get a little cheeky. As you leaned in to place another ornament, you felt his chin gently rest on your shoulder. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, and you couldn’t suppress the little shiver that ran down your spine.

“I’m really good at this, you know,” he whispered, his voice low and soft. You could hear the smirk in his words, even without seeing his face. 

“Mhm? Really?” You teased back, pretending to be sceptical, though you both knew the truth. “Maybe my choice of decorations is just that good,” he added, and you could practically hear him smirking behind you.

“Well, I suppose we can say that,” you responded with a playful roll of your eyes. 

After a few more minutes of carefully placing ornaments, you stood back, inspecting your work. The lower part of the tree looked perfect—a beautiful display of your hard work and Rafe’s ridiculous suggestions. But as you craned your neck to look at the top of the tree, you noticed something troubling: it looked… sad. The very top branches hung limp, barely touched, as though forgotten in the chaos of the lower half. 

Your gaze drifted to Rafe, who had a glint in his eye. 

“You know,” he started, his voice laced with mischief, “I think you should let me do it. I’ve got long arms—”

“Nope,” you immediately cut him off, shaking your head. “Not happening.”

Every time he tried to help, you refused. But you couldn’t deny that the top of the tree was starting to bug you, just a little. 

Then, out of nowhere, you squealed in surprise as Rafe suddenly scooped you up, effortlessly lifting you over his shoulder. 

“What the—?!” You flailed, gripping onto his hair for support as he chuckled, your legs kicking uselessly. 

“Shush, I’m just waiting for you to do it,” he teased, his voice a mix of laughter and satisfaction. 

You let out a huff, not able to stop your laughter. “You really think I’m going to let you put decorations on the top of the tree, don’t you?” you asked, your voice dripping with mock scepticism.

His answer was a soft, playful “Mhm.” You rolled your eyes, but it was clear neither of you was really trying to be serious.

 

You were now perched on Rafe’s shoulder, facing the top of the tree, and as much as you wanted to argue, you found yourself distracted by the feeling of his hands gripping your thighs. His presence was warm and reassuring, and you could feel the beat of his heart beneath his shirt, steady and comforting.

The delicate ornaments were passed up to you, one by one. You carefully hung each one, occasionally feeling Rafe’s breath on your neck and his soft “mhmm?” whenever you paused to figure out where each piece should go. Despite the teasing and playful banter, this was your moment—a shared joy that made everything feel perfect, even with the chaos of decorating. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of laughter, quirks, and bickering, you both stepped back. The tree, from top to bottom, was finally complete. The lights sparkled, the ornaments shimmered, and the room felt filled with warmth. You looked up at Rafe, your eyes lighting up with happiness, and you realised this was what Christmas was all about.

©GIRLYRAFE

[gilbertscurls]

The small shop was packed with holiday shoppers, each aisle crammed with garish, glittery Christmas sweaters that looked like someone had thrown up tinsel on them. You pulled your coat tighter around you, the warm air inside making your cheeks flush as you trailed after Matt, who was clearly in his element.

“Alright,” he said, clapping his hands together as he surveyed the racks. “The mission: we’re not leaving until we find the ugliest, most ridiculous matching sweaters ever created.”

“Matching?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Obviously. What’s the point of an ugly sweater if we don’t look ridiculous together?” he teased, flashing that mischievous grin you couldn’t resist.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fine, but I’m vetoing anything with bells. I don’t want to sound like a reindeer every time I move.”

“Deal,” he said, already flipping through a rack.

The next hour was a chaotic whirlwind of questionable fashion choices. Matt held up a sweater with a giant light-up Rudolph face. “This one’s a strong contender. Think about it: we’d literally light up the room.”

You groaned. “You’re not putting me in a sweater that could double as a flashlight.”

“Fair, fair,” he said, tossing it aside.

At another rack, you found a sweater covered in oversized pom-poms and handed it to him with a smirk. “This has you written all over it.”

He held it up, considering. “You know what? I could pull this off. But we’re looking for a pair, remember?”

Finally, in a corner of the store, you both spotted them at the same time: a pair of sweaters so gloriously over-the-top that they could only have been designed by someone with a vendetta against good taste.

One was bright green with a 3D Santa popping out of the chimney, complete with a fuzzy beard and cotton snow. The other was red with a matching chimney, but instead of Santa, there were two reindeer heads sticking out, their googly eyes staring in different directions.

Matt grabbed them, holding them up with a triumphant grin. “These are perfect.”

You stared at the sweaters, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “Matt, these are hideous.”

“Exactly! That’s the whole point. Picture it: us walking into the party wearing these masterpieces. Everyone else will be jealous.”

You couldn’t argue with that. “Alright, let’s do it. But if anyone asks, this was entirely your idea.”

“Deal,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you headed to the checkout.

That evening, when you both tried on the sweaters at home, you couldn’t stop laughing. The chimneys lined up perfectly when you stood side by side, making it look like Santa and the reindeer were sharing the same rooftop.

Matt stepped back, giving you an exaggerated once-over. “You know, I think this is your look. You might’ve found your new signature style.”

You swatted his arm, grinning. “Only if you’re standing next to me in that ridiculous Santa sweater.”

He pulled you into a quick hug, his laughter warm and contagious. “Deal. You and me, the ultimate ugly sweater duo.”

And as you stood there, matching in your absurdly festive outfits, you couldn’t help but think that Matt had been right—it wasn’t just about finding the funniest sweaters. It was about finding a reason to laugh together, and this moment was nothing short of perfect.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry

[aylacavebear]

Can't Fight This Feeling

Fighting against the thoughts and the emotions felt like fighting to try to breathe while underwater. No matter where you went or how many cases you dealt with, you felt that pull. When you were in bars, attempting to relax after a hunt, good or bad, you thought of him. Those emerald-green eyes were always in your mind, and so was the way he had looked at you 3 months ago before he had driven away from Bobby’s. Every time Take Me Home Tonight came on the radio, you let the memories of that night replay in your mind. You could always tell when he was near, though, as that ache eased up in your chest, but you chose to drive further away every time. I was just a one-night stand to him, you’d tell yourself.

Dean x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 6787

Warnings: Angst, Some Fluff, longing, Some intimacy but not a lot of details, lots of emotional stuff, Show-level violence, injuries.

----------------------------------------- It was mid-December now, and this little town was decorated for Christmas. Lights were strung around the lamp posts with garland and wreaths. All the shops had some sort of decoration, including those Christmas window stickers. There was even almost two inches of snow on the ground, but a plow had already cleared the streets.

You had taken care of the small pack of werewolves, three of them. The bruises on your ribs and face were already healing, as was the cut on your abdomen. Even after all your careful surveillance, there had been a fourth one that surprised you. That had been the one to give you the beating that was now slowly healing itself. Looking like you did, you knew you couldn’t just go to the diner for something to eat. People would have asked questions, especially when your bruises and wounds continued healing. So, you ordered pizza before taking a shower, scrubbing all the mud, blood, and gunk off your body and out of your hair. 

You tried desperately not to think about that night, or the following day when he and his brother had showed up at Bobby’s. God, you tried not to think about any of it, but Dean’s eyes were always there in your mind, as was the way it felt in his arms. You growled under your breath as you flicked through the channels and took another bite of pizza.

Bobby had tried to get you to talk to Dean, but you had refused. Your excuse was lame, and you knew it. What hunter would want to have a monster as a soulmate? It was your only argument. Plus, Dean had no clue what you were at the time, and you were intent on keeping it that way. The only lucky thing, you hadn’t ended up pregnant from that night. Although, you did start having periods, and you hated them to no end. 

With Touched, especially the type you were, you could only have a family with your soulmate. It was something you hadn’t really ever thought too much about. What would be the odds of you actually finding your soulmate? That, too now, was one more thing added to your endless thoughts of Dean and a life you figured you’d never have. There were times you thought your life was nothing more than an ironic comedy, and that had only gotten worse over the last three months.

Going to sleep that night was like all the other nights. Your thoughts always drifted to Dean as that ache in your chest brought your hand to your breastbone, rubbing it absentmindedly. Then, you’d roll onto your side, curl up with your pillow, and close your eyes. Your dreams were always of him in ways that both brought you peace and hurt in the morning.

—----------------------

It had been two months since he’d driven away that morning. There were days he felt like he couldn’t stand to be in his own skin, and it was driving him crazy. Sam instantly noticed how Dean had days where he was on edge more than usual. When that two-month mark hit and Dean snapped at him over just asking what he would rather have, a burger or pizza, Sam took matters into his own hands. It took Sam nearly two hours to get it all out of him, but after that, the two went to Bobby’s.

The entire drive, Dean was on edge, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. “This is stupid,” Dean grumbled halfway there already with as hard as his foot was on the accelerator.

“Bobby said he wouldn’t talk about it over the phone, but at least he might have some answers,” Sam sighed, only wanting to help at this point.

“She cursed me or something,” Dean mumbled, figuring you were a witch. This was the stupidest thought he had had thus far, but it was the only one that made any sense to him.

Sam glanced over at his brother, “We’ll figure this out.” He offered gently, not wanting to push Dean. The last two months had been hell at times, for both of them.

—--------

“You two are gonna wanna sit down for this,” Bobby sighed as he let them in.

That had Dean’s attention, but he went to the living room, barely able to keep from clenching and unclenching his hands, or rubbing them together, or shaking them like he was trying to shake water off. Bobby watched him as he poured him a glass of whiskey, which Dean downed in one go, handing the glass back. “She must be more than a state away, given your symptoms,” he mumbled, more to himself as he filled his own glass, then just handed Dean the bottle.

Sam sat in one of the chairs, looking between his brother and Bobby. None of this made sense to either of the brothers. “So, you said you could explain what was going on with Dean?” he asked, clasping his hands together in front of him.

With a sigh, Bobby leaned back in his seat. He’d only told one other person, well, two if you included her daughter, but you had needed other allies. “There are only two other people who know what I’m about to share with you, and no matter what, you have to keep it a secret,” he told the two, far sterner than they were prepared for.

However, at this point, he had both of their undivided attention. “Alright. We promise, Bobby,” Sam replied, while Dean nodded his head. “Yeah, promise,” he added quickly.

As Bobby proceeded to explain to the two of them what you were, they had the range of emotions and reactions you’d expect from a hunter while also utter curiosity. It filled in a lot for Dean from the night the two of you had spent together. There were the sounds you made, almost animalistic, but he’d been so caught up in you that he hadn’t thought twice that night about it. Then there had been the way you moved, having gotten out of his hold a couple of different times, and he had cuffed you to the bed. “Okay, but that doesn’t explain why I feel like I do,” Dean grumbled, taking another swig of the whiskey, desperately wanting the uncomfortable feelings to go away.

“Well, that’s the complicated part. See, Touched are special. She’s special. Each Touched has a soulmate. Right now, she’s the only Touched in existence. Believe me, I’ve looked,” Bobby began explaining, not quite sure how Dean was going to take this next part.

Dean’s heartbeat sped up when Bobby said the word soulmate. It was already a lot to process that you weren’t human but you also had a soulmate? He’d heard the term a couple of times in lore books. He just never thought much about it. Now, though, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, wishing he had paid more attention back then.

Bobby took a sip of his whiskey, choosing his next words carefully. “She knows who her soulmate is. She just wants him to choose her because he wants to, not because he’s uncomfortable being away from her.” 

Sam looked at Dean, quickly putting the pieces together before he did, but he said nothing. He was now attempting to figure out how Dean was going to react when he finally figured it out, or Bobby told him bluntly. Sam kind of liked the idea of having you around. You seemed cool in many ways, and in others, you reminded him of Dean.

“So, why the hell does it feel like my chest hurts all the time? Or like my skin is uncomfortable? Or like I want to drive in the opposite direction I’m already going?” Dean asked, utterly frustrated at this point. He was still trying to keep his one hand from clenching and unclenching while the other kept a tight grip on the whiskey bottle.

“You really are an idjit,” Bobby almost chuckled as he sat forward in his chair. “It’s you, dumbass,” he added, quite bluntly. He had hoped you would find someone who wasn’t a hunter who would accept you for what you were, someone who wasn’t… Dean. He might have even been okay if it had been Sam. But Dean? Dean wasn’t exactly the relationship type.

All Dean could do was blink blankly at Bobby, too stunned to think straight, but at least it explained what he was going through. “You have a choice, though. You can either accept her or reject her. If you accept her as your soulmate, those things will mostly go away, but you’ll still feel that mild ache when you’re far apart. If you reject her, it will all go away, and you won’t feel any pull toward her at all,” Bobby added, but his tone was a warning, and Dean knew it. Bobby was careful to leave out specific details. The last thing he wanted was for Dean to choose you over guilt. Dean’s gaze fell to the whiskey bottle, his expression as solemn as his emotions. “What did she pick?” he asked quietly.

Bobby sighed, leaning back in his seat again, “She swore me to secrecy. She wants you to decide. She also said that Sam would know how to find her and that I’m not to give either of you her number.”

Dean’s head instantly snapped up. “But, that’s not fair,” he practically whined, and Bobby couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. He sounded like a love-sick teenager. 

“I’ll make this clear, as I’m only gonna say it once. Once you decide, don’t toy with her heart. I’ll shoot you myself. We clear?” Bobby told him, far sterner than either brother had heard the man speak before. “Understood,” Dean answered quickly, not sure if he should be afraid of Bobby hurting him or you if he fucked things up. Then, he looked over at Sam. “So, baby brother, how do you know how to find her?” he asked quite quizzically.

For a moment, Sam had to think about that one. It had been two months since they’d seen you, but once it hit him, he couldn’t stifle his laughter if he wanted to. “Her plate number,” he laughed out, “and her aliases.” “Let’s go then. You can look it up on the drive,” Dean told him, already getting up and moving to the front door. “Thanks, Bobby,” he added as he went outside.

The entire idea of soulmates was weird, scary as hell, and had his nerves on edge, but that was due to what else it had made him feel. Like no matter how self-deprecating he’d been, there really was someone for him in a way he thought he’d never have. Plus, after everything he learned about what you were, he really wanted to see if he could get you to purr—the thought of hearing that had sent a shiver through his body.

He didn’t know a lot about you, but he knew how you brought a peace to his soul when he held you close. Then there was the sex. God, the sex. He tried not to think about that very much, because every time he did, it felt like his skin was on fire, and you were the only thing that would douse it. Plus, whenever he had to shift in his seat, Sam always glanced at him.

They did what they could with the plate number. However, that only got them so far, as had your aliases. So, when neither of those helped, Dean went in the direction that made him feel better. It was all he had. Sam helped by trying to predict what city or town they were headed toward, but they would end up driving straight through it. Whether you realized it or not, at the time, you were taking them on a wild goose chase by complete accident.

—-----------------------------

“A month! It’s been an entire fucking month, and we still haven’t found her!” Dean growled as they headed towards another small town.

They had picked up a couple of cases and worked those on their trek to locate you. Dean had needed something to get out his frustrations on and hunting monsters was always a decent outlet for his anger. “Why don’t we stop in the next town, get a motel for the night? I need a real bed, please. We can take a breather and I’ll see what I can find online,” Sam pleaded from the passenger seat, giving Dean the best puppy eyes he could muster with as exhausted as he was.

Dean looked over at Sam and frowned, but his expression softened as his gaze returned to the road. “One night, maybe two, unless I start to feel worse,” he relented, knowing he needed a break as well. He just wouldn’t admit it.

It had taken a toll on the two of them, driving back and forth whenever Dean would feel that pull when they had nothing else to go on. There was still another hour before they hit the next town, but Dean was slowly starting to relax the closer they got. Even Sam noticed how the tension had begun easing from his shoulders.

“Maybe she’s close, or am I imagining you relaxing?” Sam asked.

He hadn’t even noticed that he was feeling more relaxed, then pressed a little harder on the gas pedal, “She’s in the next town.” Dean stated firmly, as several emotions washed over him: anxiety, anticipation, hope, fear. Neither paid much attention to the scenery, and Dean refused to turn on music as his thoughts raced again. He still hadn’t fully figured out what he was going to say to you. What could he say? He wanted you, in every way you’d give yourself to him while at the same time, he was afraid that if he did give into his feelings, he’d lose you to some monster. It was a frustrating circle of thoughts he couldn’t quite shut off.

“Do you know what you’re gonna say to her?” Sam asked gingerly from the passenger seat, five miles from the town limits.

Dean sighed with a frown, “No. What if she doesn’t want me?”

Sam chuckled a little. “Well, I’ve been thinking about that. I think that if she had chosen to reject you as her soulmate, you wouldn’t still be feeling like you are.” It took a few moments for that to fully sink into Dean’s head, and a smile found his lips. She didn’t reject me. His mood instantly perked up, and he smiled like a love-struck teenager again, making Sam nearly laugh. Dean also felt slightly like an idiot. Of course Bobby wouldn’t tell us everything and make this easy. The thought made him chuckle slightly.

The light of the early morning made the snow in the town sparkle like glitter. Most of the shops were still closed this early, and so far, no one else was on the road. The brothers didn’t pay much attention to the decorations as they looked for the motel first. “Should only be a couple more blocks,” Sam stated quietly, more to himself than to Dean, as he searched the parking lots for your car out the side window.

It was Dean smacking his shoulder with the back of his hand repeatedly that pulled Sam’s attention to him. “What?”

All Dean could do was point as he pulled into the parking lot of the motel, Sam’s eyes going to the object. A relieved smile found his expression as Dean’s heart raced. What the hell do I even say to her? Dean swallowed hard as he parked right next to your car, but he couldn’t bring himself to move or turn off the engine.

Sam furrowed his brow when Dean didn’t move, then looked at him. “Really? We’ve been trying to find her for a month and you’re just going to sit there?”

He couldn’t move, his emotions gripping at his chest and rooting his body in place. Without warning, Sam reached over and turned off the Impala, pocketing the keys. Then, he got out of the car, went around to the driver’s side, and opened the door.

“This is for your own good,” Sam told him bluntly before dragging Dean out of the car. “Now, which room is she in?” Dean pointed at room 9. 

So, Sam dragged him over to the door, knocked on it, and then jogged down to the main office to get his own room this time, already having an idea of how things were going to go.

—------------------------

You’d woke just before the sun had breached the horizon but stayed bundled up under the blankets and stared at the ceiling. The dreams of him still playing through your mind. You wanted to smile with what had been in them. The sweet, tender moments the two of you had shared. It was waking up alone that kept the smile from finding your lips, having convinced yourself that you were nothing more than a one-night stand to him. You had to, for your own peace of mind, mostly. You didn’t notice how the ache in your chest was subsiding, or how your breathing was even for the first time in days. Then there was how relaxed your body felt.

Grumbling slightly at the need for caffeine, you climbed out of bed and made your way to the coffee pot. Another long, boring day. As you waited for the coffee to brew, you changed into day clothes, pulling on your flannel to keep the chill away. Even with the heater working fine, you still felt chilly, but you knew why. It was the need to feel his arms around you, just holding you close, and the moment your mind began toying with the thought, you pushed it away and focused on your coffee. The warmth slowly seeped into your hands from the cup while the sip you’d take began to warm your insides. You hummed contently as the sun rose further, trying to penetrate the curtains you had pulled shut the night before.

To help distract your mind further, you settled onto your bed, comfortable against the headboard as you flipped through the channels of the TV. It was still quite early, and even though there was nothing on worth watching, you felt completely relaxed in that moment. Somehow, you managed to end up completely distracted by what was on the TV.

What you weren’t prepared for was the knock on your door, your head tilting much like a curious but cautious cat. Slowly, you slipped off the bed, setting your cup of coffee down on the nightstand, and then made your way to the door. You felt that pull again, just as you reached for the doorknob, your breath hitching in your chest.

You took a slow, deep breath, letting it out just as slowly while trying to calm your racing heart. Then, you gingerly pulled the door open. Seeing him standing there sent all sorts of emotions through you: hope, fear, anticipation, anxiety, but your lips parted slightly when your eyes met his. At that moment, time stopped for both of you as Can’t Fight This Feeling by Reo Speedwagon began playing on the television in the background. 

Neither of you could seem to find words or move as the song played, your eyes locked with each other. He wanted to pull you against him, feel your body against his, but at the same time, he was hesitant. The same emotions that coursed through him were mirrored in your eyes, but it was the vulnerability that caught him completely off guard.

You had been so confident that night and even the following day at Bobby’s. So, not seeing it now and seeing the vulnerability only made him want to protect you more. The moment the chorus of the song began dancing off the walls of your motel room, his lips were on yours, having closed the distance between the two of you.

Dean couldn’t hold back any longer. That vulnerability in your eyes had shoved aside any doubt that had been in his mind, overriding his fear and tugging at his heart. I promise, I’ll never leave you, and I’ll protect you with my life. He couldn’t speak the words that had gone through his head, but then again, Dean was never good with words. 

You closed your eyes, resting your hands on his chest as your lips moved with his. It was tender, slow, and far more intimate than that night three months ago. When his hand cupped your cheek, you leaned into his touch, his other hand made its way to your waist, then around your back, pulling you closer.

Sam stopped short on his walk toward the room he’d gotten, a relieved smile finding his face. Thank God. His hope was that things would go well between the two of you, and so far, that’s how it was looking. Quietly, he grabbed his bag from the Impala, then went to his room, finally feeling like he could relax.

Dean teased your bottom lip with his tongue, and the moment your lips parted, his tongue met yours. There was no desperation in the way you kissed each other. It went far deeper than the physical need for each other. It was the need to share with each other what you felt, what you wanted, and what you were both hoping for. 

When he finally pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, both of you were breathing a little heavier. “I’ll always choose you,” he whispered, placing a lingering kiss on your forehead.

You closed your eyes again, releasing a shaky breath as a tear slipped down your cheek. Dean gently brushed it away with his thumb. Bobby had called you after he’d spoken to the brothers, sharing with you what had been said. You had honestly thought Dean would have rejected you, due to what you were.

“It doesn’t bother you… that I’m not human?” you whispered, still worried about that part.

It was his chuckle that pulled your attention, your eyes opening as you tilted your head, looking at him much like a curious cat. “Sweetheart, I want to find out what makes you purr,” he replied in that honeyed tone, the words like silk as they left his lips. It sent both an exhilarating shiver through your body and made your heart flutter simultaneously. He watched as a blush crept into your cheeks, then slowly began walking you backward into your motel room, gently kicking the door closed behind him. “We don’t have to do anything. I just want to hold you, if that’s okay,” he whispered, his tone softer now, almost… loving.

You bit your bottom lip as you looked into those emerald-green eyes of his. The way he looked at you made your breath hitch in your chest. It wasn’t lust blown like that night. “Then get comfy, and we can cuddle,” you replied softly, leaning up and placing a tender kiss on the tip of his nose.

Sure, the two of you needed to talk, but there was something else the two of you needed far more at the moment. Dean kicked off his shoes, then slipped off his jacket, draping it over a nearby chair. He watched as you climbed onto the bed, his heart still racing, but it was your shy smile when you looked up at him that made him realize exactly what he wanted. With a giddy grin, he climbed onto the bed beside you and held his arms open.

It wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted to just wrap his arms around you and pull you close, but he could see the uncertainty in your eyes, so he’d go at your pace. Hesitantly, you scooted a little closer, then gingerly snuggled up against him. The warmth of his body, the beating of his heart, and then his arms around you, holding you close, made you purr. This time, you didn’t stop yourself. The sound was soft, the vibrations gentle, and Dean let out a contented sigh.

“Stay with me?” he asked quietly, not completely sure how to ask you to be his, to join him and his brother on the road. You fit perfectly against him, and he never wanted to let you go again.

You could hear his emotions in his words, somehow knowing he meant more than just right now, or for the night. A smile found your lips as your hand drew incoherent patterns on his chest over his shirt. “I’ll need to take my car back to Bobby’s first,” you replied softly and heard Dean’s heart speed up. There was a lot you both wanted to say, but for a while, neither of you spoke, just taking the time to relish the moment neither of you thought would come. The vibrations of you purring gently massaged Dean’s muscles, and you felt him relax further. 

“What else makes you purr?” he asked softly as he ran his hand through your hair.

For a moment, you thought about his question, as it wasn’t something you had a quick answer for. “Lots of different things. It mostly has to do with how I feel. Mostly, I purr when I’m happy, relaxed, feel safe, or I just feel good. But sometimes, I purr when I’m hurt or sad. It’s like self-soothing when that happens,” you explained, a little quietly due to feeling shy on the topic. 

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he held you a little closer as he kissed the top of your head. “Is this a happy purr?” he asked, almost worried it wasn’t.

Even if he couldn’t see your face, you smiled a little. “Yeah, this is a happy purr,” you replied before nuzzling your head a little against his chest, enjoying how his scent comforted you.

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, the discomfort you both had felt over the last three months completely draining from both of you. Dean nearly fell asleep like that. Between you snuggled against him and the vibrations of your purring, well, it was something he never wanted to go without again.

It was the grumbling of both your stomachs that disrupted the moment, making the two of you chuckle. “Will you have breakfast with me?” Dean asked, nervous you’d say no. He almost felt like he was asking his high school crush on a date as the butterflies danced in his stomach.

You shifted a little so you could look up at him. The look in his eyes parted your lips. No one had looked at you like he was, and you knew you’d never get tired of seeing the love in his eyes. Before you could answer him, his lips found yours in another tender kiss, his hand cupping your cheek.

As he pulled you just that much closer, you smiled against his lips. “Thought you wanted me to have breakfast with you?” you giggled without pulling away, his lips still moving against yours as you tried to speak.

“Yeah,” he began responding, then another kiss. “But,” another kiss, “It can wait,” another kiss as his tongue slipped past your lips and began dancing with yours. Your free hand made its way into his hair, running your fingers through it and gently letting your nails scrape against his scalp. He groaned into your mouth, then pulled you to straddle his lap. This wasn’t like that first night. This was different. You let his hands trace your sides, his thumbs brushing over the sides of your breasts through your shirt. Now you were wishing you hadn’t changed into day clothes.

But he didn’t push anything. Not even when his hands rested on your hips. He just held you there, occasionally letting his hands move to your back to pull you a little closer. The way he kissed you was different, too. It was so many emotions all wrapped up together. 

When he did finally pull away, he brought his hand up to the back of your head, guiding it gently to rest on his shoulder. “I know it’s probably crazy, but…” he trailed off, not sure he could say what he really wanted to. “...will you be mine?” 

You felt the tears burn your eyes at his request, letting out a shaky breath as he held you close. “I’ll always be yours, Dean,” you whispered.

—------------------------------------- Five Months Later…

Was it all sunshine and rainbows? No, but it wasn’t all horrible, either. You and Sam had become best friends, quickly. He was the bother you always wanted and never had, while you were the sister he never had but now couldn’t imagine his life without. The two of you would nerd out over lore, movies, and books like Harry Potter. He had his bad habits, but so did you, and you both lovingly picked on each other about them.

Things with Dean were amazing off the get-go and for the first couple of months. The man couldn’t keep his hands off you. Then again, you couldn’t keep your hands off him, either. It seemed like there wasn’t a place he wouldn’t have sex. Most of the places you were totally okay with, like the back seat of Baby, or the front seat, on the hood, every motel room, including if the two of you had to share one with Sam due to the motel not having enough rooms. It was the other places like public bathrooms, alleys, or being parked in a busy parking lot where you were a little iffy about.

It wasn’t that you were shy, far from it. It was the sounds you made that were far more cat like that worried you. Dean seemed to understand, but when you were stern about saying no, he got distant for the rest of the day. The two of you wouldn’t have sex that night, and he didn’t initiate cuddling when you two would crawl in bed.

Oddly enough, that wasn’t even the worst part. When the brothers had seen how you were on a hunt, they were both intrigued and a little scared. You hunted differently due to what you were. You were the predator, like a cat, the monster your prey. It took a few hunts and several talks with them, but they eventually got past the fear. They couldn’t help it, you were scary when you hunted.

It was the hunt last week that had seemed to drive a wedge between you and Dean—a nest of Vampires. You hated vampires much like Dean hated witches. All of you had done the legwork, surveillance, and counted the number of vamps in the nest: 8 total. Unfortunately, there were two more that none of you were aware of, and you were the one who ended up taking the beating.

You had a good reason to break from the plan, but Dean hadn’t wanted to hear any of it afterward. It wasn’t anything Dean said. It was the way he looked at you and kept his distance that hurt the most. Sam could only watch in silence, looking between the two of you as Dean began speaking while you were getting yourself cleaned up.

“That was stupid and reckless,” Dean stated, almost coldly from where he stood between the two motel beds, just watching you.

He could see the bruises on your exposed skin, his jaw clenching as he crossed his arms. Watching you get thrown across that barn and not get up right away nearly killed him, even if you had saved Sam’s life, literally.

When you didn’t respond, he took a breath to try to calm his emotions but didn’t move. “We had a plan. You can’t even follow directions, and now you’re hurt.” He knew it wasn’t coming out the way he wanted to say it, but he couldn’t seem to say what he really wanted to. I can’t lose you.

“Dean, maybe-” Sam began, but Dean just held up his hand, silencing his brother as he stared at you in the bathroom. It was similar to when you’d been beaten by that werewolf, just without the gash on your abdomen. All your muscles were sore, and you had hay in your hair, which was annoying, but that was the least of your worries at the moment. The way Dean was treating you hit something deep inside and brought a pain you had never felt before, and you just wanted it to go away.

You took several slow, deep breaths as you gripped the sink, then looked in the mirror at your reflection: a split lip and a black eye. You slipped your flannel on, buttoning the first four buttons before you turned around to even look at Dean.

He looked pissed. Even after spending five months with the two of them, there was still so much you didn’t know about him, and barely scratched the surface on the little things. You saw how his jaw clenched just a little tighter, the coldness and anger in his eyes, and how he held himself, completely closed off. At least, that was what it looked like to you.

You debated fighting with him, as that was what it seemed like he wanted to do: fight. He’d taken issue when you had gotten hurt on other hunts, but this was by far the worst you’d gotten hurt since you had joined up with them. “I’m not doing this tonight, Dean,” you told him flatly, then left the motel room before he could stop you.

Unable to go to a bar, you went to the gas station, bought a bottle of whiskey, then climbed in the back seat of the Impala and began drinking to make the pain stop. Pain that had nothing to do with your injuries, and it had only gotten worse when he didn’t even go looking for you. You slept in the back seat that night, bottle empty and on the floorboard. You didn’t even wake up until sometime after they had started driving the following morning.

It’s been a week since that happened, and Dean has barely come near you, so you kept your distance from him. Sometimes, you wondered if Dean felt that same aching, twisting pain that started deep in the chest, feeling as though it would take you down faster than any monster could. You always pushed the thought away, especially since he had started sleeping with his back to you.

Dean didn’t know what to do, lost in his thoughts as he tried to sleep. He had blamed himself for you getting hurt like you had, just like he did when Sam would get hurt. He could also see that you were hurting in a different way than any physical injury, and he blamed himself for that one, too. You were so close to him; only six inches separated the two of you on that motel bed between your backs, but he couldn’t bring himself to roll over and hold you. It felt like someone had stabbed him in the chest, twisting and turning the knife every time he saw the pain and hurt in your eyes. All he had wanted to do was apologize and hold you close, beg for your forgiveness, but part of him felt like you’d be better off without him in your life. “Would you be happier if I left?” you finally broke the silence, knowing he was awake. Your voice was almost quieter than a whisper, and he wasn’t sure if he had imagined your question.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked, his voice gruffer than he meant it to be, and it wasn’t what he had truly wanted to say.

You clenched your jaw as you gripped your chest, holding your breath for a few moments as the pain coursed through you, rejection. It took you several minutes to even out your breathing before you could respond while also trying to keep the tears from falling. “That doesn’t answer my question,” you whispered, not trusting your voice.

Dean threw the blankets off himself and got out of bed, then grabbed a beer off the counter. He took a long swig of it, trying desperately to get his emotions under control. The one thing he couldn’t do, was look over at you. He knew you had curled in on yourself, lying as still as you could as close to the edge of the bed without slipping off it.

You bit your bottom lip, turning your head slightly into the pillow as the tears slipped out the moment he’d gotten out of bed. At least he wouldn’t feel the bed move due to my sobs. Sobs that the pillow muffled. The longer the silence stretched, the worse you felt.

“I can’t lose you,” he finally admitted quietly, his hands on the counter, the beer between them.

Your head snapped up as your gaze quickly landed on him. He looked almost… defeated? Without having to even think, you wiped away your tears, got out of bed, and went over to him, holding him from behind. You wrapped your arms around his stomach, lying your head against his back. He couldn’t move as he fought back tears. Even with how he had treated you, you were comforting him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as a tear slipped down his cheek. “I don’t know how to do this.”

You loosened your hold on him, slipping under his arm so that you were between him and the counter, and then you held him close again. “I’m not mad at you, Dean,” you began quietly, softly. “I can’t lose you or Sam. I know that you would give your life for either of us. I need you to know that I would do the same. Instead of pushing me away when I get hurt like I did, maybe try just being there for me, reminding me without words that even though you’re upset and scared, that you still care for me, please,” you told him, your voice no more than a whisper with your plea.

Dean slowly brought his hands to your back, then held you close as he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The feeling of you in his arms again made everything melt away as he tightened his arms around you just a little more. “I’ll try,” he whispered, attempting to swallow the lump of emotion in his throat.

“Let me hold you tonight?” you asked in a soft whisper.

He took a shaky breath, then pulled away, only enough to lead the two of you back to bed. You climbed in first, facing his side, the pain you’d felt was slowly going away as you watched him lie down and face away from you. When he was comfortable, you scooted close, pressing your body against his back, then pulled the blankets over both of you. You nuzzled your head against the middle of his shoulder blades after leaving a tender, lingering kiss on his shoulder. The hand you had used to pull the blankets up now moved down his arm, a soothing gesture before you found his elbow. Instead of resting your hand on his hip like you usually would, you let your hand find his before intertwining your fingers with his.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered his apology again, feeling like the worst person on the planet with how he had treated you.

Then he felt the vibrations of you purring against him, soothing the tension in his muscles. “Dean, I chose you. I’ll always choose you. It doesn’t matter if you’re mad, upset, scared, or feeling guilty. I’ll still choose you, even if you don’t know how to let me in.” you whispered softly, still purring quietly. “I forgive you.”

Dean couldn’t stop the couple of tears that escaped or the shaky breath he tried to take. He couldn’t bring himself to say a word, knowing he’d break down completely if he had. In that moment, when you forgave him, he made a decision. He was going to really try to talk to you about what was bothering him. Letting someone in was something he didn’t do, but you were different. You were his other half, his soulmate, and he was yours. He wanted to let you in. He just wasn’t sure how, and he’d been going through far more than he had let on in the last five months.

----------------------------------------- Hard to Say I'm Sorry

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[yourstrulysylus]

A Nonsense Christmas (a Sylus point of view)

Sylus had never cared much for the holidays—just another day in a chaotic life of deals and missions. But now, with her around, even the simplest traditions held meaning. She had a way of making even nonsense feel extraordinary.

The serene moment was interrupted when his vinyl record abruptly stopped, leaving the room in silence. Sylus frowned, about to investigate, when she strolled into the living room. Wearing nothing but a Santa hat, a short red fur-lined cape, and heels, she instantly turned his irritation into a sly smirk. He leaned back, intrigued, wondering what she would do next.

Before he could utter a word, Luke and Kieran followed her lead, stepping into the room. Both were dressed to match the theme—maroon suits, Santa hats, elf ears—and, of course, still donning their signature masks. The unlikely sight brought a chuckle from Sylus as he set his book aside, prepared for whatever antics were about to unfold.

“She paid us extra, boss,” Luke murmured, his tone low but amused.

“Just sit back and relax. We’ve got no idea what she’s planning—we’re just here for one job,” Kieran added with a shrug.

But Sylus wasn’t paying attention to either of the twins. His eyes were fixed solely on her as she stood front and center in his living room. Then, suddenly, she broke the silence.

“Hit it.”

Luke pressed play on the stereo, and Kieran hoisted the speakers into the air like a stagehand at a makeshift concert.

With a dramatic flourish, she shrugged off her red cape, revealing a sultry red off-shoulder dress, black tights, and a microphone in hand. Sylus’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening slightly—this outfit was something he thought should be reserved for his eyes only.

“Think I only want you under my mistletoe,” she began, her voice smooth and teasing as she locked eyes with him.

“I might change your contact to ‘Has a Huge North Pole,’

You said you like my stockings better on the floor.

Boy, I’ve been a bad girl, I guess I’m gettin’ coal.”

She swayed her hips, a slow and deliberate motion that seemed to make the room shrink to just the two of them. For a brief moment, the world felt like it moved in slow motion. That sway, that smirk—it was all for him.

“Let me come warm you up, you’ve been out in the snow.

Baby, my tongue goes numb, sounds like ‘ho-ho-ho.’

I don’t want Santa’s elves underneath this ol’ tree—”

She pointed at the twins, who, much to Sylus’s amusement, had begun snapping their fingers and stiffly moving their hips in time with the beat.

“Here’s a little carol I wrote, it’s about you and me,” she continued, her tone softening slightly as she gestured between herself and Sylus, her gaze growing more serious.

Then she began to walk toward him, her voice never faltering as she sang,

“You’re my wish list, looking at you got me thinking Christmas.”

Her eyes were magnetic, the kind of siren’s gaze that could make anyone weak in the knees. Sylus gripped the armrests of his seat, fighting to maintain his composure as she drew closer, her every movement designed to test his restraint.

She tossed her hair back as she sang, “You’ll be Santa Claus, and I’ll be Mrs.,

I’ll take you for a ride, I’ll be your vixen.” Her finger twirled the diamond engagement ring he’d given her two years ago, catching the light with every move. That ring had been an impulsive decision—like most things with her. He still remembered the way she’d laughed when he pulled it out of his pocket, halfway through a mission, saying, “Now or never.” She’d chosen ‘now,’ and he’d never looked back.

Sylus couldn’t decide if he was more captivated by her flawless performance—singing and dancing without a single misstep—or the way his pulse quickened at the sight of that ring, a reminder of their bond. Either way, he was left torn between awe and desire.

“I’ll give her due credit after the performance,” he thought, unaware of the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he watched the scene unfold. He wrestled with the urge to maintain his stoic demeanor or openly praise her in front of his men.

Sylus felt the room close in on him, the weight of his responsibilities, of his position, pressing down. She’s doing this to you on purpose, he thought, trying to remind himself that this was all just a game. A performance. A distraction. His wife knew exactly how to push his buttons. But this wasn’t just any holiday routine. This was her. In a red dress. Singing. The tension between wanting to lose himself in the moment and keeping his cool was almost unbearable.

Don’t fall for it, he told himself. But it was hard not to when she sang, when her eyes locked with his, her lips curling into that smile—one he knew all too well. The smile that meant she had him exactly where she wanted him.

But this wasn’t just about attraction. This was about control. You’re in charge, he reminded himself. But the ache in his chest, the pull in his gut, suggested otherwise. She was in charge now. And he was helpless to resist.

It was like a dream wrapped in red velvet and mistletoe.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his arms folded, trying to keep a cool facade as she approached, each of her movements intentional, playful, and impossible to ignore. The twin’s stiff, yet enthusiastic dancing was a far cry from the sensuality she brought, and it made Sylus chuckle despite himself.

When she reached him, she stopped for a moment, looking at him with those familiar mischievous eyes—eyes that had stolen his heart the moment they met. She didn’t need to say anything more; the way she held that microphone, the way she had spun those lyrics into something personal—it was clear. She was making her own rules, in her own way, on her own terms.

“And here I thought you just wanted to relax this holiday,” she teased, her voice playful as she stopped in front of him, still singing the last few lines with that sultry smile.

Sylus couldn’t help it. He chuckled, finally breaking the tension. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said, leaning forward slightly.

“You should know that by now,” she replied, her tone low, teasing. She let the music continue, moving in a slow circle around him.

Luke and Kieran, still swaying and snapping their fingers behind her, both exchanged a glance, clearly trying to gauge if they were about to witness something beyond their usual chaotic holiday antics.

She gave Sylus one last look, swaying her hips just a little more dramatically before ending the song with a dramatic spin and a playful wink.

The room fell silent for a moment as the last note of the song faded out.

“Well,” Sylus said, his voice smooth, “I guess that’s one way to celebrate Christmas.” He slowly stood up, his smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth. “You sure know how to make an entrance.”

She raised an eyebrow, the mischief still lingering in her expression. “I had to make it memorable.”

Sylus chuckled again, crossing the short distance between them. “Mission accomplished,” he murmured, pulling her into a kiss, one that promised plenty of ‘nonsense’ of its own for the rest of the evening.

Luke and Kieran exchanged another look, their usual banter lost in the background of the moment. “Alright, boss, we’ll just… uh, see ourselves out,” Luke said, pulling Kieran by the arm as the two quickly shuffled away.

They didn’t need to know what would happen next—they were just happy to have gotten paid extra for the show.

As the last note of her song lingered in the air, she leaned in close, her voice soft but teasing. “So, boss… did I earn my Christmas bonus?”

Sylus smirked, pulling her gently down onto his lap, his hands settling on her waist. “You’ve been on my ‘nice’ list all year,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “But right now, I think I prefer you on the ‘naughty’ one.”

She laughed softly, the sound melting into a contented sigh as his lips brushed against hers, slow and deliberate. The world outside the window blurred into a wash of snowflakes and distant lights, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

The fire crackled softly in the background as the warmth between them grew. Her hands slid over his shoulders, pulling him closer, her Santa hat slipping off in the process. Sylus caught it with one hand, tossing it onto the floor with a quiet chuckle.

The twins’ muffled laughter could be heard retreating down the hall, their voices fading as they wisely made their exit. The room grew quieter, save for the occasional pop of the fire and the soft sounds of her breath mingling with his.

By the time the snowstorm outside picked up, the two of them had sunk into the couch, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world forgotten.

For Sylus, though, this was just another reminder that, no matter how simple the holidays seemed to be, they always had a way of becoming extraordinary when she was around.

[brittle-doughie]

(I wanted to put some lore on this character, so let me yap for a while. Also, I may change this in the future so yeah.)

Blood Orange is the secret Ride or Die friend of Y/N cookie. He and Y/N have a sibling like relationship, always looking out for each other with a little of teasing every now and then. Blood Orange has a slew of personal problems. One being that his nerve system is completely destroyed and, most importantly, most of his emotions are gone. So it’s really hard to tell if he is actually carrying or not. (He does. DEEPLY)

Timeline wise Blood Orange would technically appear in Forgotten Academia as an illusion or Y/N mentioning someone who taught them about history. but officially in Snow on the Black Wall or Citadel of the Frozen Cliff. In those stories Blood Orange cookie would save Y/N at a certain part of them. 

In Snow of the Black Wall it would be repealing an attack from the Living Licorice Abyss. In Citadel of the Frozen Cliff it would be when Dark Cacao goes berserk and tries to attack Y/N.

From an outside perspective, it looks as though they were complete opposites. One being kind and caring while the other is cold. But in fact they’re both relevantly the same. 

As stated before most of his emotions are gone. The only ones remaining are fear and (some) anger. Meaning it’s extremely hard to trust anyone or for anyone to trust them…BUT. If one was to actually develop a relationship with Blood Orange. They’d find they’re like a more introverted Y/N and someone that DEEPLY cares about everyone. Trusting or not.

The only ones that he trusts the most are Y/N, Croissant, Dumpling, and Dark Cacao. Ones that he trusts the least are anyone above Epic…Especially two. White Lily and Pure Vanilla.

Blood Orange doesn’t trust ANYONE with any form of higher power out of fear they will abuse the hell out of it. Doesn’t if they’re the sweetest cookie around, they won’t be trusted as much like any epic or some Super Epic cookie.

Croissant cookie is an interesting case, as Blood Orange will be quick to notice her dislike of how he is Y/N’s Ride or Die. So he will temporarily drop it and would be called “Y/N’s old pall” instead. As a way of respecting Croissant cookie. Tho he will return to his old Status if she’s gone or allows it.

If you think Blood Orange is weak. Then you’d be in the afterlife or worse if you fought him. Blood Orange is grossly overpowered compared to the other powerful cookies. Here’s a list:

Time Stop - can stop the flow of time for 30 seconds or less

Space Manipulation - can change any physical thing he wants in a 15 meter radius. But has to made contact with something that has life in it in order to change it.

Life Energy control - has the ability to control life energy. Also comes with being able to bring back the dead and control life to a small degree.

Super Strength - explanatory 

Yeah, if anyone, or White Lily, wants to fight Blood Orange. Be prepared or PRAY that he spares your life. Cause you’ll basically be fighting against a god.

The powers are a bit peculiar, but everything I’d say is pretty interesting about Blood Orange, he’s a bro through and through. He’s got Y/N’s back and they’ve got his.

As for the title of bestest pal, yeah, that’s the one fight in his life that he will have trouble on!

[lou-struck]

'Family Photo'

Katsuki Bakugou, Eijirou Kirishima, and Denki Kaminari x reader Roommate AU!

W.C: 1.8k

~Denki disrupts your cozy afternoon at home to drag your household to the mall for a seasonal suprise.

“If anyone asks, you were the one who put this shit on, not me.” Katsuki Bakugo’s gruff voice warns from the other end of the light grey sectional. 

“It’ll be our little secret,” you smile, sinking deeper into the cushions.  You had gotten home from work earlier than anticipated today and came across the blond Pro-Hero engrossed in a cheesy christmas rom com, although this wasn't the first time you have caught him watching the Hallmark channel, he still tried to tell you that it was an accident. 

You continue to watch the screen in comfortable silence, engrossed in the cookie cutter plot of 

Cozy Sweater Gal and Big City Guy trying to save their hometown's bakery before the Christmas tree parade.

“Oh come on,” Katsuki mutters as the Sweater Girl forces another gingerbread themed pun, this time making Big City Guy laugh out loud for no apparent reason. “That joke isn't any better than the twenty other ones she made.”

“Oh come on Katsuki,” you huff throwing a pillow at the explosion hero. “They are falling in loveee, that’s why he suddenly thinks she’s funny.” 

“Whatever,” he mumbles, tucking the pillow under his chin. “I’m never gonna lose my great fuckin sense of humor.”

A strange feeling tugs at your chest at his words but you push him a bit farther. “Just wait, one day you’ll find someone and think they are the funniest person on the planet when no one else does.”

“You’re not tha~” He mumbles, whatever declaration your friend and roommate was about to make was suddenly interrupted by the front door bursting open. The cold winter air sending your pile of mail flying off the entry table. 

“Oh shoot my bad guys, the wind is going crazy out there,” your other roommate Eijirou Kirishima says, shutting the door and crouching down to pick up the scattered envelopes. While the crimson-haired hero is distracted, a pink cheeked Katsuki tossed the remote over to your side of the couch to hide the evidence. 

“How was your patrol Eiji?” you ask as he shucks off his jacket and joins you on the couch. 

“Cold, no matter how much I moved around I just couldn't get warm.” he rubs his hands together. “I think I’ll need to get my winter suit updated soon.”

“I think~” you are once again interrupted by the door swinging open, this time Denki Kaminari stumbles across the threshold, too focused on the armload of bags he is carrying to notice the clanging sound of wood on wood behind him.

Despite not having patrol or any hero related duties today, Chargebolt looks worse for wear. His yellow hair sticks out every which way as his cheeks are pink from the cold wind. His long scarf clings unevenly to his form as one side of it nearly drags along the ground. He didn't have patrol or anything so you really don't understand why he looks like he just got swept up into a tornado.

“God, we need to get a better doorstop,” you mutter, getting to your feet to help your third and final roommate with his shopping bags. “Here Denki, let me help you,”

His eyes go wide and he shuffles just beyond your reach. “Don’t look at them!” It’s quite a show watching him kick off his snow crusted shoes and stumble off to his bedroom to hide what must be Christmas presents. 

“Woah, what was that all about?” Kiri asks, flinching slightly as the wind takes hold of the door and slams it loudly. 

“Who knows?” you respond, settling back on the couch between your two roommates. “Denki loves Christmas more than anyone so I’m sure we’ll find out soon.”

~

20 minutes later, your legs are resting comfortably against Eijirou as you sneakily reach across Katsuki’s lapto steal another handful from his popcorn bowl. The blond pretends not to notice but you can see the hint of an amused smile on his lips as he keeps his eyes trained to the screen.

None of you are sure when you got so comfortable with each other, but things are perfect the way they are. 

Or so you tell yourself.

“This one is pretty good,” Eijirou says, watching as Big City gets the honor of lighting the town's ceremonial Christmas tree after the parade. 

“I agree,” you hum contentedly, not noticing your third roommate coming back into the room until he is standing directly in front of the screen. Now in view, you seee that his hair looks much better and he has changed his clothes. 

“Hey Dunce Face,” Katsuki growls, narrowing his eyes, “You’re blockin the screen. Move.”

Normally the threat would be enough to get Denki to scurry to the side without a second thought, but this time he stays strong. “Don’t care,” he grins, unplugging the tv from the wall. “Get up. We gotta get going before they close.”

Your eyes look between your other two roommates in confusion. “Where are we going?”

“To the Mall,” he declares, dramatically pointing toward the door. 

“What? Weren't you at the mall earlier today?”

“Exactly” he grins, which is why you all need to get up and come with me right now.”

“Why?” Eijirou asks, already sliding on his shoes. Out of everyone, you know he is the most in the mood for a spontaneous adventure.

“No questions, just come with me.”

“Hell no, do you know how crazy the mall is right now you idiot.” Katsuki says definitely pulling a blanket over his lap to prove that he has no intention of leaving the comfort of the couch. 

Denki’s lip quivers slightly, but his smile never falters. “Oh come on Man, if you come with me right now, I’ll do dishes for a month.”

“Damn,” The redhead mutters as both your and Katsuki’s eyes widen. 

Dish duty is no joke in your house.

~

The mall is crowded, but Denki weaves through the masses like a man on a mission. If it weren't for his bright yellow hair making him stand out like a beacon, you would lose him. 

“Slow down dumbass,” Katsuki yells following the eager man, not caring to mind his language. “You were the one who dragged us here.”

“Here,” Kiri says, grabbing your hand gently, “Stick with me so we don’t get separated.”

Butterflies fill your stomach as you nod and allow him to guide you through the crowd until you find where the other two ran off to. 

A photo studio, portraits of siblings, couples, sports teams, and families line the white walls with picture perfect grins and unsettlingly stiff posture. At the front desk sits an older woman wearing a bright green turtleneck sweater and dainty looking spectacles that reflect the computer screen.

 “I’m bacckkk,’ he cheers stepping onto the carpeted floor. “And I brought my roommates, just like I told you I would.” 

His big dopey grin brings a smile to the woman's face as she pushes back her chair. “You sure did, are you all ready for your Session?”

Once again, you are remarkably confused, but he just nods ignoring the puzzled expressions on your faces “Yes we are. Do you still have that bag I brought in earlier, Mai?”

The woman, who must be Mai nods and pulls out a large white paper shopping bag from under your desk. “Here you are, please be careful with putting them on. I don’t want you getting glitter all over my floor.

“Not a problem,” he grins, pulling out four sparkly red garments from the bag for all to see. 

“Let’s see here, this one is Kiri’s” he begins tossing the first bundle at the redhead's chest. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs, unfolding the garment until you realize it is an extremely ugly christmas sweater. He slides it over his head over his spiked hair without complaint. a bright red christmas sweater covered in embroidered snowflakes made of white yarn. Your red haired roommate takes it with confusion but has no objections to sliding the garment over his spiked hair. 

“Katsuki.” he sputters out quickly and tosses the garment in the blonde’s face before he can run. “Mine… anddd y/n.” he hands your sweater to you with a wink. “Have you figured out my brilliant plan yet?”

You nod as you toy with the heavy material. A bit of cheap glitter sticks to your hands but you don’t mind. “I think I’m getting there, you want us all to take a picture together.”

“You got it,” he says, his citrine eyes sparkle as they drift down to your neck, “ it looks like you have a tag, here let me take care of that for you.” his calloused fingers brush against the back of your neck, tucking the stray tag in. 

“Thanks.” you say in a small, suddenly self conscious voice. “You just saved me from having an ugly sweater malfunction.”

“Don’t mention it,” he grins. “But I don’t think it can be called an ugly sweater when you’re wearing it though.”

Hit flirty remark warms your cheeks as your fingers anxiously fiddle with the itchy sleeve. But you don’t even have a chance to respond before Katsuki’s loud voice interrupts your thoughts. 

“What the hell are these for Dumbass?”red glitter dusts his hair and face but it’s a pretty good look on him. 

“Our christmas cards.” Denki says brightly, “I thought that since we have all been living together for a while we should send out a christmas card. 

“Isn't that such a great idea?” you say brightly, and the Blond shuts his mouth and wordlessly readjusts the sweater he has been encouraged to wear. 

Mai leads you down the fluorescent lit hallways into the third studio on the right, when the door opens, you expect to see something akin to a family photoshoot setup in the early 2000’s but instead you are met with an adorable little photoshoot setup. A carefully decorated Christmas tree gleams in the ring lighting as a man in a Santa suit drinks from a bottle of water by a faux fireplace. He pulls his fake beard over his chin and waves at you. 

“Santa is here!” the redhead exclaims happily rushing up to the costumed man to give him a high five. His eagerness is adorable, and you find yourself smiling. 

“Can’t believe I'm doin this.” Katsuki grumbles as you walk in the camera’s view. “Haven't had a Santa picture since I was three.”

“Three?” you parrot, “that’s pretty young.”

His lips curl into a devilish smirk as his eyes gleam with nostalgia. “Yeah, we had to stop because I bit the Bastard. The old hag was furious but it made for a great christmas card.”

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network

[mountsmase]

Winter Holiday

(Hi! Sorry again for not posting yesterday but I hope this makes up for it 🤭 It’s around 1k of rambles again but I love this one)

——————

Imagine going on a winter holiday with Mason, going to one of your bucket list destinations like Lapland during the lead up to Christmas.

Let’s say you’ve finally finished work for Christmas and Mason has a few days off of training, you’ve got all of his family coming up to spend Christmas with you in Manchester next week and you’ve both been so busy recently so you wanted to take the time to book a little trip and spend a few days away together.

There were a few places that you were thinking of going but you decided on Lapland. It’s somewhere you’ve always wanted to visit and Mason has too so you booked the flights and accommodation and not even a week later you’re boarding your flight to Finland.

You’d have to pack all of your warmest clothes, preparing for temperatures that are in the minuses and you’d even go out and buy some new snow boots so that you’ve got some kind of appropriate footwear and of course Mason doesn’t go cheep, making sure to get you both the best of the best and even a new coat each so that you’re not struggling too much with the cold during your stay.

Let’s say that the trip isn’t a surprise, you booked it pretty spontaneously but you knew you were going, however Mason took care of everything else.

I can definitely imagine him wanting to make the trip a special one, booking the most extravagant accommodation and all of the activities he’s heard you talk about for the years he’s known you. Some of it was quite hard to find and book so last minute, but all the effort he went through was worth it when he sees the look on your face as you pull up to your hotel.

It’s not a regular hotel or resort by any means, a few buildings forming a little village around the check in area but there isn’t one big enough to house hotel rooms of any kind, you’re a bit confused until you see the name of the hotel and recognise it from an Instagram account you’ve been following for years.

It’s quite entertaining trying to get your suitcases through the snow but you finally get to where you’re staying. A glass igloo (I might do a terrible job of exposing this so please google it if it doesn’t make sense 😭). A little ‘hut’ like building that’s made half of glass (mirrored on the outside) and only just big enough for a bed and some other essentials, the bathroom is off to the side, being the only part of the room that’s not made of glass. It would face out over a (frozen) lake, all of the other rooms either too far away or facing the opposite direction so that you’ve got complete privacy even with all of the curtains open.

You’d sleep with them open every night, getting to sleep under the stars without having to worry about too much light coming in as there’s only a few hours of daylight in Lapland anyway.

You’d spend the first 2 days of the trip doing loads of activities and exploring the local area. You’d do things like dog sledging (which would make you miss little ace and want to get him a friend to keep him company) and wildlife safaris, which are both things you never even thought of doing, as well as a few hikes and a visit to an ice hotel.

But one of the highlights of the trip would be when you go snowmobiling. Your hotel would have some available to hire either for a couple of hours or for the whole day and you decide to hire one during the few hours of sun light you get on the second day of your trip. You only decide to hire one because you’re quite unsure about driving it so don’t want to waste the money getting two. Mason does most of the driving and you sit behind him with your arms wrapped around his waist as you drive through areas around the hotel and a designated trail they’ve made through the forest.

You have a go at driving for a little bit once you’re in a quieter area and you stop for a while to have some snacks and drink some hot chocolate that you brought from the hotel in a flask. You catch the start of the sunset and enjoy it for a couple of minutes before deciding to head back to the hotel so you can make it back before it gets too dark.

You’d be pretty full on during the day, trying to fit in everything you want to do in the short time that you’re there, so you’d spend the evenings relaxing at the ‘hotel’, either going to the restaurant or ordering room service for dinner before putting on a movie or catching up on a series before bed. We know that cozy nights in with Mason would be the best and I think the glass igloos would make for the perfect one.

And we all know Mason isn’t a massive fan of the cold, but maybe your cabin has a private hot tub out on the deck and you convince him to get in it with you after dinner one night. You obviously can’t just get straight in with your clothes on so you change into your bikini and he puts his swim trunks on before you wrap yourselves in the fluffy robes that are provided. It’s not easy getting outside, knowing you’re going to be hit by the cold almost as soon as the door opens and you’re definitely not dressed appropriately, but you know it’ll be worth it so you each slip on a pair of flip flops and rush outside, throwing your robes off and climbing into the tub as quickly as you can without falling on the icy ground. You’d let out sighs of relief as you settle into the hot water, seeking out his body and settling into his side as he reaches over to turn the bubbles on.

The main area lights would be turned off, the only remaining light coming from inside the hot tub, and that, combined with the lack of light pollution where your staying, would give you a perfect view of the clear night sky. You’d stay in there for hours, tucked into his side as you gaze up at the stars and point out constellations every time you see one you know. Mase might not recognise any of them, but he’d love listening to you talk about them and would always be asking you questions or asking what they mean.

If getting in the hot tub was hard, getting out is impossible. Having to get out and face the cold seems scary, and it takes far too long to finally work up the courage to do it. Mason being the gentleman he is climbs out first, throwing on his robe before turning to hold a hand out for you and you take it, carefully stepping out and into the robe that Mason is holding for you in his free hand. The cold hits you instantly, the water droplets on your skin feeling as though they’re freezing but you’re inside quickly, closing the door behind you and turning up the heating to the max.

You’d jump in the shower to rinse off any chlorine and you’d warm up fairly fast, both of you changing into your warmest PJs and climbing straight into bed to watch a movie before drifting off to sleep ready for your last day tomorrow.

Your last day would be one of the best ones, spending it in the hotels spa facility, relaxing and making the most of the peace and quiet, as well as the quality time together, before the craziness of Christmas starts as soon as you get home.

Your last night would be a special one too. Your flight home is early the next morning but maybe you book to have dinner at a restaurant in the local town, one of the most highly rated/recommended ones, and it’s incredible, trying local dishes and cuisine (even if some of it is a little off putting) before heading back to the hotel for an early night.

But as you’re laying in bed, gazing up through the glass ceiling, you spot something you never thought you’d be lucky enough to see in real life. At first you think you’re imagining it, not really believing your eyes but then Mason points it out and you know your eyes aren’t deceiving you and it really is the northern lights that you’re seeing.

You stay in bed for a while to watch them, both in absolute awe before deciding to throw your coats on and go outside to get a clearer few, you stay out there for ages, the need to have an early night the least of your concerns as you watch and take photos until they begin fading. It would truly be a moment you’ll remember forever, the thing that’s always been at the top of your bucket list now crossed off, and it was even more special getting to witness and experience it with Mason.

The whole trip would just be insane, so special in so many different ways and neither of you would want to leave when it came time to check out the next morning. But you’ve got so much to look forward to once you get home, and as much as you’ll miss Lapland and the time you got to spend with Mason, you can’t wait to get back reality and have an amazing Christmas with him and the people closest to you.

———————

Day 6 Concepts being posted straight after this 🫶🏻🎄

[inukag-archive]

Merry Christmas!

On behalf of the Fic Finder team please enjoy this compilation of some of our favorite Christmas themed stories. We couldn't even make a dent in the number of holiday stories across the platforms, so please add your favorites in the reblogs!

A Quick Note: As the world continues to spin through the holiday season, hold your fandom friends close. We may not all be at the same party or curled up under the same tree, but we're together all the same.

Wishing you peace, love, and hot chocolate- The Fic Finder Team.

Pixie, Rudd, KStew, Anisa, Lost, & MamaBear

Silver and Gold by @splendentgoddess (E)

Christmas Eve is a time to celebrate family, love, and togetherness. Not something Kagome gets a lot of while trying to stop Naraku. But everyone deserves the occasional night off, right? Takes place during manga chapter 512.

--

Apple Pie and Mistletoe by @ruddcatha (M)

Called out of town unexpectedly for work just before Christmas, Inuyasha Takahashi asks his best friend Kagome, whom he's secretly loved for years, to house sit. When a storm grounds his plane, will the two friends admit their feelings, or continue to stay silent? What role does Apple Pie and Mistletoe play in what is about to unfold?

--

'Tis The Damn Season by @akitokihojo (T)

Best friends, to nothing, to one of them putting every ounce of their effort into avoiding the other. Christmas was supposed to be about visiting her family, but Kagome noticed the snow on the ground wasn't the reason an icy feeling crept down her back. Her childhood best friend, and neighbor, was home for the holidays as well. Turns out, being an adult doesn't help you escape from messy assumptions and the repercussions of being too scared to go after what you really want. For either of them.

--

A Piece of Home by omgitscharlie (E)

At winter's first snowfall, Kagome finds herself reminiscing about Christmas back in her time.

--

Mistletoe: Inuyasha by masterhiccup (K+)

Christmas in a remote cabin? Check. Best friends trying to play matchmaker? Check. Stunning girl that makes your heart go pitter patter despite constant, inward disapproval? Double check. Oh man, Inuyasha was in for one hell of a ride from the very beginning. How was he going to make it through the holidays if he could hardly handle the Hallmark movie he was currently living?

--

Everything But The Pear Tree by @fandomobsessions016 (E)

After going through a rough break-up, Kagome decides she's going to pull herself out of her slump by diving head first into holiday preparations. With her friend Sango and the help of her new neighbor, Inuyasha, Kagome is reminded why the holidays are so special to her.

--

The Best Present by @fawn-eyed-girl (T)

Inuyasha helps Kagome bring a Christmas tree home to the Higurashi shrine. Kagome tells Inuyasha about the traditions of Christmas Eve, and he gives her a special gift.

--

Slipped by @witchygirl99 (E)

“I was worried it’d be more of a sex thing.” A sex thing. Inuyasha makes a face at the ceiling. God, why does Miroku say shit like that? “Yeah, well,” he grouses, grabbing at his cell phone so that he can look his friend in the eye. “Give me some fucking credit. I’m trying not to fall in love with her.”

Miroku looks, in that moment, far too smug. “And how’s that going for you?”

“Fuck you,” comes his automatic response, a knee-jerk reaction. Begrudgingly, unhappily, Inuyasha sighs his next admission. “Not great.” Inuyasha has a life plan that is viciously, cheerfully and quickly dismantled the moment he becomes temporary roommates with one Kagome Higurashi. Unsurprisingly, this is all Miroku's fault.

--

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen by FrameOfMind (T)

AU. God, how he hated Christmas carols. Now, if someone would only think to write one about the overcrowded shopping malls and the sticky pine needles and the damn Salvation Army, that would be the Christmas carol for him...

--

Secret Santa (series) by @splendentgoddess (E)

In a modern world where most youkai stick to the wilds, hanyou are stuck in the middle, forced to live in human society. Inuyasha has an okay job and okay coworkers, but he's lonely, until one year when the office Christmas party changes everything.

--

If You Dare by @fawn-eyed-girl (E)

Inuyasha hates Christmas, and looks forward to spending it alone. Kagome loves Christmas, and is devastated that she has to spend it alone. She decides to leave a notebook in the stacks at a bookstore, in hopes of making a special connection. When Inuyasha finds it, does he dare take her challenge? And will she dare to accept his Commissioned Artwork by Clearwillow

--

Skeins and Schemes by @cannibalsforbreakfast (G)

Inuyasha didn’t understand why she was insisting she needed to go back to her time, because this time last year Kagome had said her school was on “ho-li-day” and that there were no classes. She’d tried to put Inuyasha off with excuses — she had a makeup exam, her school had changed its schedule — but she could tell he didn’t believe her. Because how could she tell Inuyasha that she needed to go back to her time to make him a Christmas present?

--

No Matter The Storm by @lavendertwilight89 (T)

Kagome gets taken and Inuyasha comes to save her but the can't outrun the winter storm. Trapped in a cave, what could happen?

--

Ego & Bias by hoshi-ni-onegai (T)

Sometimes, first impressions are everything and Inuyasha wasn't winning any contests. While attending a holiday party, Kagome runs into a guy who grates her nerves like no one has before. AU.

--

Christmas Traditions by @ideasthatbuildcities (G)

It's Christmas time and Kagome is eager to start sharing with her daughter the Christmas traditions she used to do with her mother. She only hopes Moroha would like to be as involved as Kagome wants her to be. Inuyasha is helping in his own way. [InuKag Family Christmas fluff for ruddcatha for the 2020 Inuyasha Fandom Secret Santa on Tumblr]

--

Mistletoe Tales by Reinamy (T)

The holidays are a time for miracles, even of the romance-variety. A love story told in bits-and-pieces.

[scariusaquarius]

protection.

CHRISTMAS ADVENT BONANZA 2K24 Day 17: Rosy Cheeks, Keigo 'Hawks' Takami

Keigo 'Hawks' Takami x Fem! Reader Summary: Winter has come and blanketed Musutafu in white; the cold making the #2 hero rethink his life choices. Hawks doesn't mind when he gets to spend his time warming up with you.

-

A/n: I'm sorry about missing the last two days. I'll write those up when the event is over and post those after. Until then, we move forward

-

Genre: Romance Rated: Everyone Warning: Fluff, Humor, Hawks is so cute!

-

Author: ScariusAquarious

-

If there was one thing that Keigo Takami hated, it was the cold. Whipping through the air at incredibly high speeds while it was cold out made the wind feel like knives slicing into the meat of his cheeks; akin to butter, if Keigo had to really think about it.

While he hated it, Keigo didn't complain until he was in the safety of his home. Being a hero didn't just stop because it was cold and snowing, and Keigo knew that.

However, that didn't mean he didn't enjoy it. Hell, even the jacket he wore as part of his uniform didn't help to keep the cold away, and Hawks hated wearing ski-masks or anything akin to that because the material was always too scratchy against his facial hair.

Landing on his balcony, Keigo sighed and ruffled his feathers free of ice and snow before he kicked his boots clean, shivering as a strong gust of wind blew against his body as if it was offended he was escaping from the cold.

Walking inside, Keigo was greeted by the extreme warmth of his home; the fireplace roaring while humming echoed from his kitchen. Keigo announced as he walked inside, taking off his boots and his jacket.

"I'm home, dove!"

You called for him in the kitchen, and Keigo walked inside, inhaling deeply as the scent of dinner and sweets tickled his nose. You were standing at the counter, scrolling through your phone while wearing a Hawks onesie, and Keigo couldn't help but to chuckle at the small stuffed wings that were idly bouncing against your back with every breath.

"Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes, darlin'. What you got cookin? It smells delicious."

Keigo complimented, and you glanced up at him with a kind smile, Keigo's cheeks tingling slightly as the heat slowly began to warm and thaw his skin.

"I'm making some chicken panini. I also have some cookies in the oven."

Keigo couldn't help but to groan, throwing his head back as you giggled at his theatrics.

"That sounds so good. I'm starving already!"

"Well, you should probably warm up first before you think about food. Your poor cheeks are so red, baby!"

You cupped his cheeks, and Keigo hummed, smiling and closing his eyes slightly as your hands immediately began to warm them up. He teased after a moment, winking at you as a few stray feathers tickled your nose and neck.

"It's just because you're so hot, I can't help but blush when I'm with you."

You rolled your eyes, snorting, and you brushed your thumbs across his skin before teasing back.

"Whatever. Looks like Jack Frost nipped your nose properly this time."

You leaned forward, gently nipping his frozen nose, and Keigo jolted slightly, giggling at you. He brought you close, kissing your forehead before holding you tight, murmuring as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

"Been waiting to see you all day, baby bird. It was almost unbearable out there today."

"Speaking of which, I did want to give you one of your Christmas presents early if that's okay with you?"

Keigo became intrigued, and he tilted his head slightly as you pulled away and disappeared into the bedroom; coming back with a medium-sized box.

"Now, I made sure that this was approved to give you before I even bought it, but since it's getting cold, I didn't want you to get sick while you did your hero work. So, Merry early Christmas."

Keigo carefully unwrapped the package before he gawked slightly. Within his hands was an incredibly large jacket that matched his uniform, equipped with a silk face mask that had fleece on the outside for added protection. You began to explain as he looked it over, saying.

"I know you hate the scratchy feeling of your jacket's collar against your face, so I made sure to get the mask part of the jacket tailored with silk so there's less chance of it snagging and scratching your face. I did get some help with the design, but everything else was my idea."

Keigo smiled, his heart warming up as he said to you.

"This is amazing, babe! I don't even really know what to say."

"Try it on!"

Keigo slipped the jacket on, humming at the soft feeling of the silk and fleece, and he brushed his hands against the outside of the jacket; the beige and black leather smooth beneath his fingertips.

"It fits like a glove. This is amazing. For a stuffed jacket, it feels lightweight."

He spun around for you, and Keigo damn-near melted at the sight of your big smile, his own smile growing beneath the silk facemask.

"That was on purpose. I didn't want you to be weighed down just because you wanted to be warm. Don't worry about this getting ruined during battle somehow, either, I ordered a bunch of backups for you."

Keigo embraced you, though it was slightly awkward because of how bulky the jacket was.

"This is amazing, thank you so much, dove. I feel a bit bad cause I don't have an early present for you."

You shook your head and pulled away, shaking your head before resting your hands upon his rosy cheeks.

"You don't have to apologize. I wanted you to be safe while in uniform, and that includes being safe from the cold too."

Keigo placed his hands over yours before he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a deep and firm kiss before he pulled back to nuzzle his nose against yours.

"You're too good to me, dove."

You giggled, nuzzling his nose right back.

"Only because you're too good to me."

END DAY 17

[motthe]

Congratulations on reaching 2k! Every bit deserved your writing and characterization is always so amazing 🫶🏼

For the event, Could I request a Drabble of rivals/ crushes snowed in with Ekko with a she/her reader? (Possible accidental confession perhaps?)

I need more ekko content in my life 🥹 Ekko presents tough but he’s such a sweet lover boy!

Thank you for this event! And thank you for blessing us with your writing 💖

tysm!! i’m always so happy to hear the characters sound like themselves 😭 i hope you enjoy the drabble!

warnings: spoilers for s2 despite this being a modern au, grieving, mentions of jayvik, fem!reader

Professor Heimerdinger had been a phenomenal professor. You were thankful to have made it in to every one of his lectures in your college career. He had always been a spontaneous character, treating his students like family.

After his funeral, you weren’t too surprised when Ekko appeared. You both had been gunning for the top grades in classes, the most genius designs, the greater anything. He was a worthy opponent, taking his defeats in a respectable manner. When he won, you’d have to suffer one of those insufferable smirks and a tick of his eyebrow but you had come to enjoy them.

You’re not sure when the jealousy of his mind had turned to attraction.

He was well dressed for the ceremony, all suit and tie and raw eyes. You wanted to hold him, but you settled for a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Left a letter to us,” he said, holding up an envelope.

“Heimerdinger did love dramatics,” you joked, stepping closer as paper unfolded. For this you let your head fall to his shoulder, feeling as much as ewing the shake in his hands. You helped steady it.

“Can you…”

“Of course,” you whispered, clearing your throat and reading it aloud. You were teary-eyed by the second sentence.

The letter detailed how proud he was of you and Ekko and that he was sorry to leave the world before he saw both of you graduate. He’d never married or had a family, but he considered the two of you his own. He also asked if one of you would care for his cat, Poro, until a proper home was found.

“I’ve been taking care of him,” Ekko said. “I don’t have the room in my apartment so I’ve been spending time at Heimerdinger’s place. Helped Jayce and Viktor clean some stuff out.”

Another generation of assistants and protégés. They were married, too.

“Could you take him for a bit? He’s a good cat,” Ekko promised.

“Of course,” you said. “I’ll go grab him now.”

“I’ll go with you. I have some stuff I need to grab.”

That was exactly how you ended up snowed in at Heimerdinger’s residence with your rival and crush, Ekko, and Poro the cat skirting your feet.

“This feels like one of his schemes,” you chuckled as Ekko got the fireplace in the living room going. “Remember when he locked us in the lab until we stopped fighting?”

“He forgot about us until the next morning,” Ekko finished, smiling over his shoulder.

You giggled, reaching down to pull the cat into your arms. “I can still feel the crick in my neck from falling asleep at the desk.”

“It worked, though.” Ekko settled back on the carpet as the fire roared to life. “We got along a bit better after that.”

“We respected each other,” you chuckled. “I had to after you picked the lock.”

He shrugged. “I’m a man of many talents.”

Sitting down beside him, you both basked in the warm glow, shoulder to shoulder. The sound of the wind outside alongside the crackling wood calmed the nerves of being so close to him, well almost.

“He’s well behaved around girls,” Ekko said, looking to Poro in your lap. The car purred, raising his head as a strong hand ran over his back. “He hates Viktor. I think Heimerdinger mentioned something about a laser?”

“Like a toy laser?”

Ekko shrugged. “Either way he’s a lot more careful around guys, but he’s warmed up to me over the years.”

Yeah, you thought, who wouldn’t?

“I’d like to keep him,” you murmured, scratching under his whiskers. “Just have to figure some things out first. I’ll manage it.”

“I can help,” Ekko offered.

You shook your head. “You’ve already done so much. Let me.”

“I love the little troublemaker too.”

“Then you can visit him.”

“Yeah?” His eyes glinted as he looked at you.

“Yeah,” you agreed, heart thundering. His shoulder nudged yours, sending sparks down your shoulder and into your stomach.

“Only him?”

Your breath caught. For being the top of your class, you sure went brain dead by a simple question.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking away. “I just…”

“No,” you said, “I mean, yes you can visit. Not just for the cat. Don’t apologize.”

“If you were uncomfortable—”

You shook your head, grabbing his arm. “I’m not. Just nervous, surprised…”

“Surprised?” he huffed, the start of a smile on his lips.

“What? I don’t know,” you scrambled, feeling too hot. Poro stretched before walking away, leaving you to die of your embarrassment.

“I’ve been crushing on you for a while,” he chuckled, “I thought you noticed.”

“I’m a genius in school, Ekko, not,” you gestured haphazardly between you, “this.”

He busted out laughing. You tumbled into it with him, the sound far too contagious.

“First the lab, now his house,” Ekko sighed later on, the two of you leaning against one another on the couch. “This does feel like Heimerdinger’s doing.”

It did. One day you’d have to thank him for bringing you together.

[gravedigginbbydoll]

last drop in the snow

Kas! Eddie and Reader Angst Blurb

Summary: Eddie has been gone for years...or so everyone thinks. The ache of being 20 forever while everyone grows up is weighing on him.

CW: MDNI!, angst angst angst, no comfort, suicidal thoughts, loneliness, blood, vampire?, loss of love, grief, heartache, suicide, depression, all the fun stuff that comes with immortality, missed relationships, etc

AN: I shocked myself with this one...yeah this hurt. Also, please read at your own risk; this is very depressing and tackles a lot of hard things. Please reblog if you enjoy it!

As Eddie peered through the window, spotting you laughing over a glass of wine with your spouse, kids - or nieces and nephews, his bitter heart still hoped - cradling babies, the season's joy making you shine like the stars, he felt a bottomless sinking pit in his stomach. Eddie could hardly remember the last time the winter felt comforting. Even his mother's face and voice in his mind were becoming a blur, leaving only raw heartache. He looked away, clenching his fists in bitter sorrow. 

Despite what mortals thought, immortality didn't leave one numb. It left you…aching. Hurt.

Eddie was a young immortal. He was only 58 years old, though it had felt much longer that he had been alive. He had seen his friends age and have children, and the little freshmen he once was able to look after went off to college and even got married and had babies. Eddie barely spoke to most of them. 

How could he blame them? 

Most of them were worried about their families and keeping them safe. Eddie was cursed to stay inside until dark, looked haggard and sickly, and couldn't stomach human food. He was kept at bay by the poor animals wandering the woods and the occasional blood donation theft. 

Eddie's back slid against the brick wall as he leaned his head against the house, his mind spiraling. He didn't know getting bitten by interdimensional bats in some freaky alternate Hawkins would lead to this. He had entirely meant to sacrifice himself, only to become a puppet for Vecna. And now that everything was said and done and Vecna was gone, he was a shambling mess. He was littered with chunks of flesh taken out and missing, with sunken red eyes and elongated fangs. He was a monster. 

He ran a hand down his face, regretting coming here. He did it every Christmas since 38 years had passed in him returning from the Upside Down. The routine just made the wounds fester and peel back the scars, the raw and red emotions flowing out like the life force Eddie loathed yet needed so much.

He just needed to know you were okay. You were the one driving force behind Eddie surviving this long. Uncle Wayne had been around for his first 30 or so years. But after he passed, Eddie found Hawkins was no longer filled with mysterious beings and strange happenings. And slowly yet surely, everyone started to trickle away from him. He had found himself yearning for you, his closest friend and probably first love. He had kept himself away from you for so long, fearing the hunger taking over or endangering you. But in that fateful 38th year, he couldn't stand it anymore. 

He had peered in through your window, knowing you had moved into your parents' house. He was moved to tears seeing you for the first time in years. You had aged, grey hairs had begun peppering your head, and he saw the smile lines and…sobbed. You had never looked so beautiful. He saw that you had lived and been happy, and it was evident that love and life shaped you well. You had kids around you, all probably 8 to 12, their smiles and even mannerisms a reflection of you. 

Eddie's heart had felt as though it was torn out of his chest but cradled in your hands. He had wanted that with you. Sure, he was fucked up and immature then, but he had loved you. Continued to love you. He missed your smiles and laughs and how you always knew how to cheer him up. He even missed you teasing him over girls like Chrissy Cunningham, completely oblivious that it was always you. He had always loved you. He knew you had grown but still loved the woman you had become, and it made him mourn that life you could've had together even more.

Eddie stood up, his heart aching again like that fateful Christmas day. He looked out onto the white snow, limbs numb from the cold. He lifted a hand, looking at the silver chunky rings you and Uncle Wayne had gifted him. He felt a tug at his heart, putting the hand down and sighing. He was tired. So very tired. 

He looked out onto the snow, seeing how the moon made it shine like diamonds, and felt his heart set on it. 

This was it. He was ready. 

He was not as cautious as usual when he trekked through the powdery snow to his trailer. No one had come into the trailer because he and Uncle Wayne dragged it far into the woods, hoping no one would go into it and find Eddie Munson alive and, indeed, the monster they all thought he was. 

Eddie grabbed a pen and paper and began writing his thoughts, feelings, and sorrows…He knew everyone would be texting or messaging nowadays, but old communication methods felt more raw. As he finished, he felt the ache dull. He was crying, the disgusting thick blood streaming down his cheeks and one or two drops marring the paper. But he felt…free…in a way. 

Eddie stalked out into the cold with the trailer keys, removing his boots to feel the snow against his bare feet. He headed to your house, seeing that the festivities had ended and the living room was quiet. Carefully, Eddie placed his note and key, along with his chunky cross ring, on the paper, leaving it in the flower pot at the front door. 

He trekked into the snow-covered forest near Lover's Lake and laid down, the cold unusually stinging for his immortal self. And as he laid, he thought of you. Your joy and laugh, the life you lived. He opened his eyes, looking up at the sky that began to turn a light shade of blue, the orange sun peeking up through the horizon. Eddie felt the warmth on his skin grow steadily until it felt like flames licking at the snow, finally being embraced by the sun and thought to himself. 

"Maybe in another lifetime…It could be me and you."

[perseephoneee]

sleigh ride [ficmas day 8] [castiel x reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

author's note: this is a day late bc my stomach has been killing me and also i was hella sleep deprived but you know what it's fine totally fine nothing to see here

playlist:

winter wonderland -- pentatonix

coffee -- tori kelly

7 o'clock news/silent night -- phoebe bridgers

You never thought about kids, not in your line of work. 

The reasons people got into hunting were varied. Most of it was personal. For you, you just couldn’t deal with the knowledge of the supernatural world and not bother actually doing something about it. Even though you knew that doing so would likely mean a young death.

This is why you stopped thinking about kids; you’d likely never have them. But being stuck in Leavenworth, WA, with Castiel gave you the same kind of glee. You imagine parents likely got excited to watch their children experience Christmas for the first time. That’s the same joy you felt watching the angel observe all the twinkling lights around you. 

The difference is that Castiel is not your child. And if he was, that’d be gross, considering you are harboring a major crush on him. 

Maybe you should’ve thought of a different analogy. 

You had been hunting with the Winchesters for a bit now. You all ran into each other on a ghost case. Your hula hoop of salt made their jaws drop, and the next thing you know, Sam is inviting you to hunt with them. You didn’t know that Castiel was a regular member of that group. 

Even in his vessel, you could sense something otherworldly about Cas. There was a sort of preternatural stillness, an ancient gleam in his eyes otherwise juxtaposed by his lack of knowledge of human nature. It was so easy to get lost in his curiosity. Sometimes, when he looked at you, you couldn’t help but feel his gaze observing every molecule you were. Like he saw you better than anyone else. 

Right now, you felt like you saw him better than anyone else, the angel so ready to give up everything for humanity. It was late, and snow was falling. You had all decided to take an extra night in Leavenworth after a Krampus case had gone wrong (don’t ask). Also, Baby was struggling to get out of the snow, and Dean was too wired up to ask for help. Fortunately, it was the Christmas season, and Leavenworth knew it. The town looked like the North Pole. You weren’t surprised it was a tourist attraction, not when there were actual reindeer and Bavarian-style buildings. The cup of hot cocoa you had earlier solidified this town as Christmas incarnate. 

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked, watching Cas catch more and more snowflakes on him. He just shook them off. 

“I don’t get cold.”

“Lucky you, I’m freezing,” you shivered, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. Your nose was ice cold, and your breath came out in puffs. Castiel frowned, walking back over to you. He shucked off his trench coat and put it over your shoulders. You felt your cheeks heat as he made sure you were adequately cocooned. The jacket was surprisingly warm. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“I do not want you catching a cold,” Castiel said. “I am ill-equipped to handle it.”

You laughed. His lips quirked for a second before settling into their normal neutral expression. You would give the world to see him smile. 

“I’m going to go inside and get something to drink. Are you going to stay out here?”

“No, I will join you,” Castiel nodded. He paused for a second. “Is that alright? Dean often tells me people want alone time.”

You melted.

“Of course, it’s alright, c’mon,” you nudged him with your shoulder, still bundled in his jacket. You walked the short distance back to the inn. The idea of mulled wine sounded appealing at this moment. The inside was a picturesque log cabin with a roaring fire. You let out a sigh of relief from the warmth and were able to return Cas' jacket to him. You also were able to remove your hat and scarf. You probably looked like a sweaty mess, but you didn’t care. You chose a seat by the fire and tucked your legs under you as Cas came to sit across. A waitress came over a second later, and you ordered mulled wine for the both of you. 

“I don’t really drink,” Castiel added after the waitress left. 

“You can just tell me what the chemical compounds are,” you shrugged. Castiel looked out of place in his suit and tie. And yet, the light from the fire accenting his bone structure, contrasting the blue in his eyes, was enough to think that this was where he was always meant to be. 

He was frowning at the tree. 

“Why do humans put angels on their trees?” he inquired, brows furrowed. You looked up to see a stereotypical angel planted on top of the Christmas Tree. It had a little horn and everything. 

“I think people like to imagine there’s someone watching over us, that we’re not alone,” you sighed, turning back to him. “Even if it isn’t true.”

“It’s true for some,” Castiel murmured. “I watch over you.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, especially as Castiel looked at you with those intense eyes again. You had to wonder if he was really this clueless, or if he knew exactly the effect he had on you. You watched him lick a sauce off his fingers once, and it was enough to make you excuse yourself from the room. 

The mulled wine arrived a moment later. 

The spices were a perfect blend, and you felt yourself sink deeper into your chair as the alcohol invaded your system. Castiel took a sip and nodded. 

“Mostly ethanol and water,” Castiel sipped it again. You grinned as he listed off the ingredients. He would ruin anyone who wanted to keep a secret ingredient. 

“Last call for sleigh rides!” a man dressed as an elf called out, having come in from the front door. You perked up immediately. You had never been on a sleigh ride before but have always wanted to. You have a soft spot for horses. 

“We should do that,” you jumped up, grabbing Castiel’s sleeve. He spilled the wine, but you were already out the door. You barely had time to throw on your hat and scarf as you were running after the elf man. Castiel, to his credit, kept up with you. 

“One sleigh ride, please!” you said, breathless. The man just looked you up and down and then took your money as you jumped with glee. 

“What is a sleigh ride?” Castiel questioned when he caught up. He was not out of breath. 

“You get to sit in a sleigh and get pulled around by horses.”

“And this is entertainment?”

“It’s serene,” you smiled, getting good luck at the horses pulling your sleigh. They were beautiful Clydesdales, and even in their enormity, you weren’t intimidated. They were beautiful. Cas didn’t ask any further questions as you piled into the sleigh. You took one of the blankets provided and put it over your lap, bundling it up. The sleigh was going to pull you through the town, emphasizing the light installations and ice sculpting competition. The cold kissed your cheeks as the sleigh started moving. 

You both sat in companionable silence as the sleigh ride started. It was so quiet, and you welcomed that peace. When did you ever receive peace such as this?

“I understand now,” Cas nodded. “Why you were excited over this.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. Someone had built an igloo, and you took your phone out to take a picture. Castiel just looked at you.

“I don’t measure beauty the same way humans do.”

“How do you measure beauty?” you inquired. Some part of you was worried that whatever he was going to say would dash your dreams. 

“By someone’s soul.”

That wasn’t the answer you were expecting, and you just blinked in response. It shouldn’t be shocking. You just never expected that maybe he would never see your face, only your soul. You wondered if your soul was beautiful. 

You didn’t say anything as you passed through a light tunnel, the brightness contrasting with the night sky. You could fall asleep out here if you let yourself. 

“What are you thinking?” Cas asked. He noticed your silence. 

“Is my soul…?” you trailed off. You barely had the guts to say anything at all. Castiel’s gaze softened as if he understood. 

“Your soul is like the North Star,” he answered simply. You kept looking at him. “It’s what one needs to follow to get themselves home.”

He was full of surprises tonight. You don’t remember anyone saying anything like that, especially not to you. How absurd was it that the first person to truly see you was not a person at all? Your heart picked up pace. 

“Cas…” you murmured. He never looked away from you, was never shy. It was unnerving and intense. He would never be too scared and proceed to look away. You couldn’t help but look at his lips. He noticed. His hand came up and brushed loose hair away from your beanie, his fingers somehow still warm as they brushed your freezing cheeks. You sucked in a breath. 

“I do not understand human courtship,” he whispered. “I would be interested in you showing me.”

You understood; how could you not? He just called you his home. You closed the distance between you two, going slow until you weren’t slow at all. Your hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him into you. You kissed him like you needed him to kiss you. Fortunately, Castiel was a quick learner. He nipped your lips and kissed your teeth like he had been doing it his whole life. You would sell your soul to kiss him for eternity, just like this. His hand was firm on your hip like he was afraid to touch anywhere else. You wished he would touch you everywhere. 

You had to pull away for air, even if he tried to chase after your lips afterward. 

“You’re a quick study,” you breathed a slight smile on your lips. Castiel grinned a true goofy smile that you had been yearning to see. You were the cause of that style. 

“Anything for you,” he responded. 

He kissed you until the sleigh ride was over, and the worker was rolling his eyes. He kissed you when you made it back to the inn, and you felt like you could feel his wings holding you closer. You would stay with him until you weren’t able to because with him, you were finally home. 

taglist: @thefutureastronaut @lover-of-books-and-tea @qardasngan @evasmlp

[thequeenofthewinter]

Work-in-Progress Wednesday

Hi, hi. It's been a while since I have posted my Idiots since I have been (and still am working on more Emmrich brainrot.) However, I thought it would be nice to get back to my roots and share with you what Ulfric and Dahlia are up to.

Tagging: @oblivions-dawn, @dirty-bosmer, @hircines-hunter, @skyrim-forever @bougainvillea-and-saltwater

@pocket-vvardvark @firefly-factory @illumiera @hannah-heartstrings @vivifriend

@theoneandonlysemla @sylvienerevarine @umbracirrus and anyone else who wishes to share. <3

23rd of Sun’s Dusk, 4E 203

Dearest Dahlia,

It has been so strange and too quiet with you not in the castle to fill the empty space between my thoughts. When I wake up every morning, I almost expect to find you next to me to tell me to, “stop thinking so hard” as you can “almost hear my worrying”. I promise you that this much has not changed, but that I am also trying to take care of myself.

Sylvi is doing just fine. Lydia and Narile have both taken it upon themselves to look after her most of the time. At least when I don’t have her. Normally, in the mornings I take her into my offic,e and she helps me with the endless mountains of paperwork there. (Don’t scowl at me. I’m teaching her young as she is the only heir we have.)

As for our “friend” downstairs, as promised he has been released, but under the tightest surveillance, and true to his word he has told us of other “problems” we might encounter here in Skyrim. I have dispatched some of the guards left here to help deal with them discreetly. I’ll be sending our friend out to Hammerfell with you and Galmar once this business is done. Lord Corolius currently rots in a cell in the Bloodworks as he waits for his execution date.

I pray to Talos every night to keep you safe.

Yours,

Ulfric

2nd of Evening Star, 4E 203

My bear,

Truly, it is good to hear from you as being so far from home has been rather difficult for me as well. Ralof was not joking when he said that Hammerfell is entirely unlike Skyrim. Not long upon crossing the border, we found ourselves in seas of sand and sun, endless heat following us everywhere we go. There is no escape from it. I miss the snow. I miss Windhelm. And more than anything, I miss you and Sylvi.

As for myself, I am holding together the best that I can…and trying to keep Galmar sane as well. Did you know he frets in his sleep just about as much as you do? Before you get any ideas, his tent is pitched right next to mine, so I can hear him very clearly. I’ve offered to have one of the mages make him a tonic, but the stubborn man refuses—much like you would were you here.

It is likely in the next few days that we will find a spot to make a more permanent camp. According to our sources, Queen Riyah’s sand riders are only a couple of days ride from where we currently are. I’ll be sure to keep you updated as much as I can.

…if I don’t melt first.

All my love,

Dahlia

17th of Evening Star, 4E 203

My heart,

I cannot begin to describe the feeling of complete and utter uselessness I hold when I think of you and our armies out in the field while I sit here and slog through meaningless paperwork. None of this matters in the grander scale of things. With each hour passing, my fingers itch more for the hilt of my waraxe than for that of the quill which I currently hold. 

Or perhaps it is that they yearn for the softness of your skin.

Forgive me for being an old fool, but your presence has been sorely missed in my bed. And before you go getting ideas, it is not only the intimacy I miss, it is your warmth more than anything that I long for. In these trying times, comfort is more valuable than gold, and you are my treasure.

Sylvi is doing well, so you need nor worry for her—even if I know you will still do so despite my reassurances. Recently, she has started crawling around the bear rugs we lay down for her in the Palace. She babbles as she tries to find more troubles to get into. Just like her mother, or at least that is what Lydia says as she chases her around the room. I’m inclined to agree with her, although I would say neither one of us are good at sitting still, so perhaps that comes from both of us.

Yours,

Ulfric