#i think i will have to eventually dip into his POV

[sabraeal]

The Sword Between, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Blue silk settles over her like an estranged acquaintance; two years ago it had fit like a second skin, but now it squeezes at the bust and requires far fewer petticoats to pad out her hips. The hem, however, settles perfectly— a finger’s breadth above the the floor, just as it always had. A terrible way to learn she hasn’t grown a single, vertical inch since seventeen. Makiri will be practically unlivable.

“Such a pretty color, my lady.” Ami’s hands smooth over the skirt, coaxing out the creases that linger at her waist. Haki is half-tempted to tell her not to bother; it’s a fabric that begs to be rumpled, the furrowing above her hips only serving as a reminder of how hands might sit there, silk wrinkled in their grip. Of how easily it might crumple beneath the slightest pressure, like petals plucked from a flower's stem.

The last time she had worn this dress, she'd been more concerned about whether her prince might find her singing voice pretty, or hear rumors of her fair face and be tempted to sneak north simply for a glimpse of it than what an enterprising young man and a willing young lady might get up to in Wilant's dark corners. But Lowen had been her age now-- older, if she does not mistake her figures, though not by much-- and more than ready to contemplate such arrangements. Had he thought of it even as he knelt before her, head bowed in deference, swearing to protect her body with his own? Had he gazed up at her with that that placid mask of his, still as a lake's surface, and felt the first ripples of--?

“His Highness will surely think it suits.”

Haki's secretive smile sours to a pout. “I look young.”

Feels young is more like it, fingering the fall of lace at her décolletage. She’d been little more than a child the last time she donned this particular frock, and it’d been a season out style even then, the seamstresses of the city unable to keep up with the rush to raise bust lines and drop hemlines and overhaul sleeves altogether. But she had been proud of this one, so unlike the other gowns father had gotten for her— practically modern and made with silk bought off Tanbarunian traders instead of salvaged from one of Mother’s old gowns. A fairy tale of a dress, a dream, and...

And she’d put it away with all the others when the first prince had made clear he was in no rush to settle down with a lady wife. Yet here she was now, trotting it out to spin another story for a child even younger than she. There was poetry in that, perhaps, even if it was only the sad kind.

“Boys like His Highness do prefer a youthful lady,” Ami muses, gaze meeting hers in the mirror. “At least, if he’s naught but sixteen, as your father’s man says.”

Haki hardly misses the stress on that— your father’s man. As if she could not lay the same word's at Ami's feet-- her father's maid, paid to make sure all of her most embarrassing escapades ended up in the duke's ear.

“A pity there’s no time to have me done up in ringlets.” Fine hairs flyaway from the loose braids behind her ears; she smooths them down. “It would have made for a much more convincing ingénue.”

Ami is not the sort to smirk or sneer, but there is a twitch at the corner of her lips, a wryness that not even her scrupulous good manners can smother. “You are hardly old enough to need tricks for that, my lady. Sir Lowen is right” —as much as she is loath to admit it now, her sigh says— “it would be little hardship to fall in love with you in this dress.”

She doubts that this prince will be moved to devotion by a frock near three years out of date or by the older woman wearing it, but she must admit-- there is some charm left to it. The blue brings out the palest shades of her eyes and complements the most honeyed tones in her hair; a far cry from the humble damsel awaiting her rescue, but a fairy tale princess nonetheless.

“One can hope,” she breathes, hand splayed over the fabric at her belly. “Or at least fair enough to inspire some foolishness.”

Ami hums; a melody that swings between agreement and agitation with every note. “Certainly more reasonable men have made themselves fools for you.”

It’s a pointed remark, for all that she can’t think of a single one. The men who frequent Wilant are friends of her father, old enough to have children her own age. Few of them spare her a glance, save if they have a son her age, though those have been few and far between since her betrothal. There are soldiers of course— guardsmen who care more about Makiri’s skill than her conversation— and servants, but none that—

“Is there anything else I’ll be needing to take care of, my lady?” Ami asks, solicitously smoothing out the lace at her shoulder. And yet her gaze fixes elsewhere in the mirror, somewhere over Haki’s shoulder. The door to the sitting room, as if she’s waiting for someone to walk through. A ridiculous worry with Lowen guarding the door. “Anything that needs an extra cleaning?”

Her gaze cuts towards where the dressing screen sits, toile covered in scenes of young ladies picnicking and small dogs running over picturesque stone ruins. There’s not a stain on it, as cream-and-teal as it was the day she’d had it brought it, hoping that it might help keep the heat in around her—

Her bed. A pertinent question for a maid to ask after she had been sent away for the night, assured that there would be another set of hands to help her charge undress. Who had only seen a rumpled mess of sheets when she arrived in the morning, fire lit by an expert’s hands. And now with whatever she had seen in the hall…

Well, if she had thought her reflection young before, her flush makes it positively childish now. “N-no. There’s no need to—”

It’s mortifying to try to put the night into words. How close she had trod to impropriety, only to be rebuffed. How sure she was of his interest even so, only for yet another prince to put himself between them. Oh, if that Bergatt boy put himself before her right now and asked if she would like to see the end of the Wisteria reign, she could hardly be responsible for the answer she might give.

A practiced breath draws her upright, shoulders square as her father had taught her— you are my daughter, he would grunt, holding them straight in his hands, there are few to whom you must bow, and none to whom you must bend. It is not a sweet young princess that looks back at her in the mirror, but a lady of the North, ready to defend her walls.

“There is nothing with which you must concern yourself with,” she says with all the ice her blood can summon. “I think you will find your hands full already, trying to find more dresses that will please His Highness during his stay.”

“As you say, my lady.” Ami bows her head, as a servant ought, but it does little to conceal her smile— or her relief. “Though I’m sure there will be quite a few, if I look among some of your older wardrobe.”

It takes a concerted effort not to grimace. She too had been a more whimsical girl once, as taken with fairy stories as she was with the old lays, dreaming of knights and their ladies. Of princes disguised and true love’s kiss. “They will need to be retrimmed.”

“Of course.” There’s a fondness as Ami lays her hand on a trunk, a wistfulness Haki cannot quite understand. “I’ll see to it.”

“Good.” She steps down from the mirror with a sigh, her dress rustling after her like leaves in the underbrush. “I’ll need all the help I can get.”

*

Lowen is on his feet when she sweeps into the parlor. Odd; for all his much vaunted skill in the ring— a beast with a blade in his hand, Makiri had always told her, like he’s fighting for his life— her guardsman always seemed more apt to lounge than lunge outside it. And yet as he stands there, attention drawn to the angle of her entrance, his weight shifts in a way that implies movement rather than repose.

“Come.” It would be simple to brush too close as she passes him, to let their eyes meet in a gaze so heavy it might well be a caress, but she bustles past instead, careful to keep even the barest hint of ruffle from slipping over his boots. “My father calls.”

It is not until her toes cross the carpet’s edge that she realizes their are no footfalls behind her, that Lowen has not fallen into step, using that rangy stride of his to eat up the distance between them. No, when she glances over her shoulder, he is still where she last left him, hands curled to fists at his side.

“Sir.” There is a layer of reproach as she speaks, covering the concern beneath it. “He is waiting.”

His fingers twitch, the barest flinch. “Are you certain?”

Haki does not turn to him— that would be a concession too far, a confession with a dearer cost than she can afford— but her shoulder does lower. “That Father waits?”

“No.” Lowen hardly allows a thought to stray across his face, let alone wears his heart on his sleeve, but there is something that lurk beneath the gaze he fixes on her, a castigation and a plea all in one. “That it is wise to bring me.”

A princess does not allow her mouth to thin, does not let her eyebrows angle to imply impatience; a good thing, then, that Haki is not one yet.

“Sir, if there is anything that I am certain of, it is that.” She shifts— not a ceding of ground, but a firming of resolve. A planting of her feet, gaining better leverage to yank on his leash. “Come. You would not have your lady go to battle without her knight.”

Still, he remains unmoved. Not even the barest sway to show he’s heard her.

“Is that what this is?” he says after a long moment. “A battle?”

Her mouth works for a moment, uncertain. “What else can it be? If my father were to bend any more…”

Then the North would be broken. On one side would be the ones who still clung to Father’s prudence, who would see profit in playing Wistal’s games, and on the other—

Well, it had been said once that the stones between Wilant and Oriold would never wash clean. That even now, when the snows melt, the side of the roads run red. The lords of the North may play at civility now, nodding at the southern court’s fashion of love and courtly graces, but that only hides the histories written with bloodied hands.

Lowen breathes, eyes fluttering shut as he takes it in, but when they open—

There is steel there. A resolve that does not waver. “Then let us go to battle, my lady.”

*

She is too aware of Lowen as they make their way through Wilant’s halls; aware of how his gaze lingers on her, tracing the fall of lace along her collar and dragging down the silken curve of her waist. Aware of the space between them, just enough for an arm to reach across and grab, for the inches to disappear between them and to finally finish the conversation Ami had so unfortunately interrupted.

It’s tempting to turn, to catch his eyes and invite the sort of resolution it would bring. But even though his stare burns hot enough to catch her alight, he does not speak. Not a single word to draw her attention, not a single brush of skin against skin to call her to him. Although her legs tremble effort with the effort to keep putting one slipper in front of the other and her neck aches from keeping it angled straight ahead, he does not stop her, not once.

It is too important, she realizes. For all that she wants to clutch at Lowen’s shoulders and ask just what thought churn behind that stare of his, it is a distraction she can ill afford. Her father’s plans are balanced on a blade’s edge, and it is her who decides which way their fortunes tip.

She will not disappoint him.

It is still Arleon guards on the door to the great hall, and they move aside before she even utters, “My father is expecting me.”

A single step inside is enough to know why: the prince’s party has already arrived. Still covered in the dust from the road by the looks of it, harried and eager to be shown to the privacy of their chambers. By the wary angle of the royal guards’ shoulders, Father and Makiri have resorted to thin excuses to keep them here. Waiting for her.

With a steeling breath, she nods to the footman at the door. “Lady Haki,” he announces, the slightest tremble in his voice. He’s not used to such esteemed visitors, it seems. “First daughter of his lordship, the Duke Arleon.”

If she thought she might have trouble picking out the prince from among all this white and blue and broad shoulders, she is saved the trouble; his party drops to show the deference due to a duke’s daughter, leaving only a single one of them on his feet.

The queen consort had sent her a gift once, during the months in which her father and the king dickered over the finer points of her betrothal of the first prince— a miniature, done fully in oils, of Izana himself. Long engagements may be prudent, she had written in her elegant hand, letters looping across the page, but they often are lonely. Let this satisfy both your company and your curiosity.

He could not have been more than fifteen, maybe sixteen when he had sat for the portrait, but even so, there was a gravity to that narrow face, a piercing quality to the deepness in his eyes. A regal tilt to his pointed chin, a knowing that lingered in this corners of his mouth; strangely serious for a prince who would become more known for parties than policy. Not yet a man, but she could see the one he would make once the last of childhood was stripped from his cheeks.

What they have sent her now is hardly more than a child.

His brother’s portrait might have hinted at manhood, but this boy— his face is still round, baby fat still clinging stubbornly to his bones. Perhaps there is a threat of a heavy jaw lingering there, a promise of something masculine and square opposed to Izana’s more feminine angles, but it is impossible to tell beneath those full cheeks, flushed and flawless as a doll’s. His hair is cut the same way of his brother’s, but instead of falling with a stately sort of grace across his forehead, it is a dandelion’s tuft, baby-fine and untamed.

“Ah, Your Highness.” Father’s gaze holds hers for a long moment before it drops to the would-be heir,  meeting his wide eyes with no hint of his displeasure. “You have yet to meet the reason for all our celebration, I assume. Haki” — his hand sweeps out, beckoning— “come. Greet our honored guest.”

She doesn’t not so much walk as float down the runner of the Great Hall, skirts swaying as if it is only clouds that ruffle their hem, not carpet. It takes hours of practice to turn that which is earthly to the ethereal, but Haki had long shouldered every ache and tumble in the name of causing her prodigal husband to swallow his tongue at the altar.

There is something far less satisfying about inspiring the same reaction in his brother. “It is an honor that you have come for so humble an occasion, Your Highness.”

“Of course.” His voice is reedy, not quite finished changing even if she can hear the man in it. It breaks at her flawless curtsy, flustered. “I mean, the honor is mine. It is hardly every day that we can celebrate such a fine young lady becoming a woman.”

It’s the sort of thing a fond uncle might say, not a boy four years her junior, but Haki smiles nonetheless, hoping it does not sit as stiff as it feels. “You are too kind, sir.”

“Not at all,” he insists with a graciousness that would seem more natural on a man three times his age. “It is its own sort of accomplishment. To be, er…”

“Twenty.” When Makiri smiles it is all teeth, a wolf scenting blood on the snow. “That’s how old my sister is. Old enough to get married now, according to your southerners, isn’t it?”

The prince is too earnest— and his skin far too pale— to cover the flush that blooms up his neck, painting him pink from collar to brow. “T-that is true. But, erm…” His gaze casts about, trying to find a safe place to perch. “Ah, b-but I haven’t yet introduced my party. Sirs…?”

One of the men rises— dark hair shorn short enough that she can see a neck as brown as a laborer’s, far from the lily white of the noble son knelt beside him. He unfurls to a startling height with the same lassitude as the castle’s cats, as if he was only ever on his knees because it pleased him to do so. There’s a cant to his mouth that only supports the implication, but when she raises her eyes to meet his eyes—

She flinches. There’s a scar there— a gouge, badly healed, that stretches from cheek to cheek.

“Sir Zakura Shidnote, my lords— and lady.” He nods at her, mouth tilting toward a smirk. “Lately of the Royal Knight’s Circle. And this is Sir Michel” — his hand cuts toward the noble son getting to his feet, a boy just about Makiri’s age, though he carries it better— “one of the more promising squires from our last bout of new blood.”

“I’m a knight, really,” the young man insists, pushing back the hair that’s flopped over his eyes. “Though I am, ah…new, my lord.”

“Just earned your accolades, is it?” Father may not be a man of smiles, but his eyes crinkle at the corners, warm. “My son—”

“Earned them two year ago,” Makiri interjects acidly, brows bent in his most surly scowl. As if that would help him look any older than his scant years.

Practically a veteran, she almost says, but there is not enough wide-eyed sincerity in her to cover the bite. As much as she might like to tease, she hardly needs to be reminded: they are not among friends.

“Just so.” Father squints the way he does at their accounts, tallying up the men before him. “Did you not have another man in your party?”

“Ah, yes, Sir Mitsuhide.” The prince's mouth pulls thin before he recollects himself, grimace turning to boyish grin. “My apologies, I had hoped for all of us to be here to greet you, but time was short, and there was an issue with our…baggage. We left him to sort it out with your staff.”

Father’s mouth turns stern. “Then should it not be I who apologies to you, Your Highness? If there was some issue, then surely—”

“Ah, no no! This was, er…our fault,” His Highness insists, oddly guilty. “I’m afraid my mother insisted on one last gift, even after all the carriages had been packed tight! It changed…quite a lot of our travel plans.”

“I see,” Father murmurs, though it’s quite clear he does not. He is not a man of last-minute anythings, let alone travel plans.

“But he will be here for the formal reception, of course!” The prince smiles, bright. “He wouldn’t miss it— he’s a northerner, trained at your very own Sereg.”

“Sereg.” Now her brother straightens in his seat, an excited sheen in his eyes. “So he’s skilled, then?”

“Some,” Sir Zakura drawls, a corner of his mouth creeping up his cheek. “Enough that the king requested him by name.”

“By name…?” Now it is her father who leans in, brow furrowed. “You cannot mean— Mitsuhide Lowen?”

The prince nods, pleased. “The very same.”

“I’ll be damned.” Father settles back in his seat. “I nearly asked him here, before His Majesty snapped him up. He was one of Sereg’s finest swords. ”

Sir Zakura smirks. “And now he is one of Wistal’s.”

“Lowen?” Haki keeps her voice low, pitched for only her and her shadow to hear. It's a curious coincidence, considering how closely her knight has always played his card to the chest. “Is there any relation to…?”

Her chin tilts, hoping to catch his eye-- or at least the angle of his mouth, but--

But when she slants her eyes to his usual place at her shoulder, there is nothing behind her but empty air.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

FOOLISH SPRING WINDS, BLOW MY WAY ; SATORU GOJO

summary; a snippet of the spring you share with a certain satoru gojo — who seems intent on making your high school life as difficult as possible.

word count; 5.4k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, enemies to friends (..but the ’enemy’ part is kinda one-sided), fluffy n sweet overall, satoru doesn’t know how to make friends + thinks lighthearted bullying constitutes as a bonding activity, he’s a little shit but he means well, switching povs, lots of gojo slander (but reader sees the light eventually), big shoujo vibes, they’re both tsunderes <33

a/n; i ended up scrapping the series i wrote this fic for originally, so i thought i’d rewrite it and repost it on its own!! teentoru is such a grumpy little kitten i need to squish his paws

satoru gojo is annoying.

it might seem blunt, but after many weeks of careful thinking, you’ve decided no description could possibly fit him better. 

when you first met him, on that first day of school, you had no idea what to think. no real expressions or tonal shifts to clue you in on who he was, how he felt — nothing but the slightest peek of a terrifying blue to set your nerves on edge. 

in hindsight, you’re almost certain it was intentional. he wanted to appear unreadable. purposefully hiding his personality and mannerisms, to gain the upper hand — observing you, dissecting you inside his mind, while revealing nothing about himself apart from his surname. 

it’s a kind of power; a safety measure.

… but evidently, holding back isn’t exactly gojo’s forte. the very next morning, he was already beginning to loosen up, after getting more accustomed to the new environment and classmates. showing you his true colours; just a little hint of cerulean, a single dip of paint on the blank canvas of his soul.

and with the revelation of his genuine personality — your unease around him festered even more.

where could you even begin to describe him? for one, he’s childish. and cocky. and loud. arrogant, selfish and flamboyant — just generally an asshole? you could go on and on. none of the traits are particularly flattering, and you know he couldn’t care less.

gojo is annoying, plain and simple. almost constantly up to something, eager to push someone’s buttons, to get attention. like a bratty toddler. uninterested in manners, or even common courtesy; he says what he feels, regardless of how other people take it. 

to put it simply, he has no regard for the people around him. his self-interest is limitless. 

as if that wasn’t annoying enough — you have no choice but to admit that he does have a certain presence to him. a kind of charisma, or what you think could become charisma, if he’d just get off that high horse already. he won’t, though. you know he won’t. he revels in it, in looking down on everything and everyone, annoyingly boisterous and irritatingly tall. freaky, long limbs. like a noodle and an alien had a baby.

but, more than anything — above all else — what frustrates you most is the fact that his unbridled confidence isn’t exactly unwarranted.

as much as it pains you to say it… gojo is maybe just a little bit incredible. a natural-born genius. he’s intelligent, and observant, and awfully pretty, with those baby blues eyes and those snowy locks of hair. and he has no issue getting what he wants. 

absolutely zero. 

there’s something admirable about it, in a twisted way. like he doesn’t even need to try. he’s good at anything, if he just gives it a single chance. you can only assume he’s never given much thought to the prospect of being a decent guy, because that’s the only thing he sucks at.

effortlessly perfect, in the most imperfect of ways. that’s probably how you’d describe him.

… annoying is still the most fitting word, though. or maybe obnoxious. he’s got this spoiled rich kid vibe that irks you, gets under your skin. you doubt he’s ever had to empathize with anyone, in his entire life. 

and, yes — maybe you’re being a little harsh to him. but why should you bother being jovial when he won’t return the favour?

gojo is annoying; and when you say that, you mean annoying to basically everyone. as a basis for existing. always teasing and taunting, looking down from that high horse of his. you’re no exception to this rule, of course. but you’re almost certain that he has it out for you specifically.

you know he looks down on you, from behind those tacky sunglasses. you’re sure of it.

compared to geto or shoko, you aren’t very self-assured — and you think he must have sensed it the moment he laid eyes on you. sensed that you’re a little meek, a bit of a doormat, easy to push around and get a rise out of. maybe he also noticed your apprehension towards him, your apparent unease. 

you’re easy prey, to put it simply.

evidently, he’s developed a fondness for getting under your skin. it started as soon as introductions were over, and it still hasn’t gotten better. he loves catching you off guard, throwing you an unneeded comment or two, just to see what reaction you’ll give him next. almost like he’s solving an equation — said equation being you, the limit of your patience. and you keep giving him what he wants; a scoff, a roll of your eyes, an earnest fuck right off. you can never seem to successfully ignore him. he’s just far, far too good at being insufferable.

… and, more than anything, he’s far too out of reach. even when you try to get along with him, it backfires. you don’t have a single thing in common. you don’t understand him at all. 

(and that suits you just fine.)

a heavy sigh slips from your parted lips, as you examine your blurry reflection in the surface of the mirror. fatigue clings to your skin like a layer of sweat, your mind muddled, stuffed with anxious thoughts and discomforting feelings.

you’re exhausted. completely and utterly spent, even though the day’s barely begun — running on three pitiful hours of sleep, all broken up and jumbled by nightmares that wouldn’t stop spooking you. not a single wink of proper rest. 

and it’s painfully obvious. in your face, your posture, the dark crescents beneath your eyes; in the way you can’t help but drag your legs as you walk, your hair disheveled, little sighs and grumbles slipping from your lips for every step you take. all you can do is sluggishly blink the exhaustion away.

you just feel so tired.

it could be worse, though. you don’t have any classes today, no real reason to get out of your comfy bed, leave the safety of your cozy little dorm room. but you need breakfast, right now, or else you’ll literally explode — so you still get up on shaky legs and try to mimic the appearance of someone… even moderately well-rested.

it doesn’t work, but that’s besides the point. 

so you make your way to the dormitory’s shared kitchen. walking idly — clumsily — enjoying the sight of fleeting, fluttering cherry blossoms through the windows you pass. little pink butterflies.

once you’ve crossed the threshold, you’re relieved to find the open space entirely devoid of people. no shoko, no geto, not even a mischievous gojo. running into the first two wouldn’t be the end of the world — but it still wouldn’t be ideal. you don’t want anyone seeing you like this, tired and meek, a little vulnerable.

(least of all gojo. you shiver at the bare thought.)

with laboured, groggy movements, you waltz around the kitchen, getting cups and plates and turning on the coffee machine. enjoying the soothing melody of the pan sizzling, singing along to the purring of espresso being made. it’s nice and pleasant to your sensitive ears, as you blink under the rays of sunlight shining in, throwing together a lazy breakfast. 

you waste no time in taking a seat by one of the tables once you’re finished. eager to soak in the peace and quiet, wolf down a sandwich and copious amounts of caffeine.

but, as always — the world seems to have it out for you specifically.

”oh? well, look who it is. and here i thought you had left too.”

you stiffen. ever so slightly, barely noticeable, but still enough that you physically feel the dread envelop every single cell of your body. the voice that echoes out across the open air is a chipper one, a familiar one. a voice you were desperately hoping not to hear today. 

all you can do is continue to sip from your cup of coffee, inwardly wincing, silently going through all five stages of grief simultaneously — before accepting your unfortunate predicament. 

(that’s just your luck, isn’t it?)

finally, you raise your weary head, knowing exactly what sight you’ll be met with once you do. 

and, lo and behold — there he is.

gojo looks the same as always. grinning brightly, a little woflish, wearing those ugly sunglasses and making his way across the room like he owns it. a trait you can’t help but admire, envy, hate and worship at the same time. he plops down next to you like it’s nothing, a little too close for comfort, unconcerned about your concept of personal space.

”whatcha up to?” he chirps, in that sugar sweet tone, layered over with a boyish kind of excitement. there’s a teasing tilt to it, too — the one that always accompanies his voice when he’s speaking to you.

under normal circumstances, you’d flip him off. maybe even just glare at him, silently, or raise a brow in challenge.

but you’re far, far too tired to. too anxious. too in need of sleep, in need of a peaceful breakfast that he oh so cruelly ripped from you. all you can muster is the energy to glance his way.

for just a second, your eyes meet. not like you can actually see them, from behind his glasses — but you know they’re there. menacing and uncanny, bright and excited. too much to handle, right now.

”… morning.”

as soon as the mutter has left your lips, you take a tentative bite of your sandwich. gaze trailing sluggishly back to your plate.

gojo blinks.

he immediately notes that your voice sounds meek. even more so than usual. he expected you to give him a scoff, or even just a timid huff — but no such luck. 

you’re just sitting there, quiet, curling into yourself.

after a moment’s consideration, gojo opts to look at you. to really look at you, study your face, the way those twitchy fingers move to curl around the ceramic handle of the cup you’re drinking out of. the way your eyes shift from place to place, unfocused, your eyelids flicking shut every couple seconds. slow.

he’s always been observant — but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re tired. 

gojo is silent, for no more than a mere moment; contemplating his next course of action. he’s never seen you like this, before. did something happen?

…

(— well, it doesn’t matter. not his problem.)

”you look like a zombie,” he grins, a little teasing, showing off the white of his teeth. even though you look out of it, he can’t help himself — despite his own intuition telling him to let you be. 

you’re just too fun to tease. suguru and shoko only ever raise their eyebrows at him, or stare him down like a misbehaving dog, but you always have a good reaction to give. something to entertain him when he’s bored, distract him when his mind is too full of noise. 

so he can’t help but tease you, a little. hoping it’ll soothe the restlessness inside his chest.

but for once, what gojo expects isn’t what he gets. 

what he expects is for you to glare at him. tell him to leave you alone, or even just sigh in exasperation — either one would be fine. it’s just mindless enjoyment, to him, a little fun to lighten up his day. 

especially now, when suguru is away on some day trip he wasn’t privy to. that traitor. shoko is nowhere to be seen, either, probably off smoking in some random alleyway. or hanging out with one of the kyoto losers.

… the whole dorm is so eerily quiet.

(gojo would never admit it, not in a thousand years… but maybe he’d feel just a little bit lonely without any of you around.)

for a while after waking up, he assumed he’d have to spend the whole day alone. no one to talk to, no one to look at. he was practically dying of boredom. but then he entered the kitchen — and saw his saving grace. his dear little irritable classmate. 

he was so relieved. content in the knowledge that he’d get to push your buttons to his heart’s desire, bask in your playful banter and cold, joking little looks until suguru finally comes home.

only this time — you don’t react at all. 

you don’t give him what he expects, don’t indulge his little antics, in the way he’s grown so accustomed to. you just keep eating your breakfast, and drinking your coffee, in total silence. 

gojo waits, just a couple moments more. hoping for a delayed reaction, a witty counter, a snarky comment. anything. 

but it never comes.

finally, he starts to sulk. slumping against the leather seat behind him, quieting down with a low huff. furrowing his brows, as his glossy, cherry-tasting lips curl down into a little pout.

honestly, he’s kind of annoyed. just what is your problem? what is with you, today? 

… it’s no fun if you’re not playing along. 

gojo can’t help but grumble, a little, under his breath. you’re usually so responsive, so easy to rile up. so what’s wrong? why are you just sitting there?

…

whatever. so what if you’re not talking to him? so what if you won’t even spare him a glance? gojo has better things to do, bigger fish to fry. he wasn’t even that excited, when he saw you. the thought of bantering with you didn’t lift his spirits, even in the slightest. 

not even a little bit.

…

but, really — would it take so much effort for you to just say something? to just respond to his friendly little quip? you can’t possibly be that tired. 

or, what — did you get insecure, or something? because he called you a zombie? no way. you’re not that sensitive… are you? or is that it? 

what a hassle.

you know he’s just messing with you. he knows you know. so why are you acting so…. 

(sad, gojo wants to think, but he buries the thought before it can reach his frontal cortex. he doesn’t want to empathize with you, not right now — doesn’t want to feel that discomforting pang in his chest.)

a strange sensation bubbles up in his chest. something frustrated, a little unnerved; at your lack of a reaction, the weak glint in your eyes. he just doesn’t understand why — and that frustrates him even more. 

why can’t you just bite back, like always?

(… it’s fun when you do.)

the silence lingers on, stretches out across the room, festers and grows as you gulp down your breakfast. all while gojo keeps on sulking, still sitting beside you, waiting for something to happen. he briefly considers getting up and leaving, or saying something annoying to hopefully spur you on —

but you stand up before he can convince himself to go through with either option.

having finished your breakfast, your legs carry you to the sink. finally, you can head back to your room. gojo’s being weirdly quiet, but you pay no mind to it; methodically washing your dishes in silence. 

you don’t bother saying goodbye to him, either. still sitting there, seemingly deep in thought, grumbling something under his breath. 

he watches as you leave, gaze trailing after you, until you’re completely out of sight. 

then he lays down, flat on his back, with a frustrated huff. trying desperately to brush away the memory of your dim eyes, the slight frown on your lips. the dark circles under your eyes, that he tried so hard not to notice because they made him feel so weirdly uncomfortable. the meek, meek look you gave him.

gojo sighs.

(he feels just a tiny, tiny bit bad.)

when you wake up from your slumber, you immediately note that your body feels lighter.

this time, no nightmares came to haunt you. having practically collapsed once your head hit the pillow, your body finally decided to give you some peace of mind, some well needed rest. thankfully.

with a groan, you lazily stretch out your limbs — enjoying the feeling of your veins waking up, gaze falling on the clock on your wall. you’ve only been asleep for about two hours, or so, but it’s more than enough to give you the little jolt of energy that you need.

what to do, what to do. you still have the whole day ahead of you. another nap wouldn’t hurt, but you don’t want to waste your precious free time just rotting in bed — maybe you could take a walk around the schoolyard instead? the cherry blossoms have started to unfurl, and the grounds of the school are just littered with them.

even just the mental image is enough to have you changing into some light and comfortable clothes, reaching a hand out to push your door open. excitement stirring in your veins.

as you do so, something is knocked over.

all you hear is a soft little thud, accompanied by the sensation of something colliding with the door. a low curiosity overtakes you — eagerly peeking around for a look at the mysterious something.

your gaze falls on something pink.

it’s tiny, awfully out of place, just laying unassumingly on the dusty floorboards. as you crouch down to get a better look, you recognize it instantly; a small carton of strawberry milk. a plastic straw plastered on its side, and an evil looking cow mascot staring at you from the front. one of the items sold in the schoolyard’s vending machines — your personal favorite. you drink it every time you need a tiny pick-me-up, the sweet taste always managing to soothe your spirits.

and it was sitting right outside your door.

you stare at it, silently, in deep contemplation. holding it in your hand as the gears turn inside your head. could someone have dropped it? no, that’s dumb — who’d drop it right outside your door and then not pick it up?

… did someone leave it for you, then? because they know you like it? that could be it, maybe, but who would —

…

your mind stills. 

(no way.)

when you think about it — that’s the only explanation that makes sense. shoko and geto aren’t there, and you barely know any of your senior students. yaga-sensei would never give you strawberry milk without a lecture on the dangers of cavities, either.

that just leaves one possible culprit.

but you can’t wrap your head around it. why would he do something like that? he doesn’t like you — you know that much. so it couldn’t possibly be him.

… then again, you have seen him drink it. both of you like it, contrary to your other classmates; shoko doesn’t like sweet things in general, and geto wouldn’t go for strawberry milk if he could choose something else. it might as well be the only thing you and gojo have in common — the one thing that binds you two together. 

a single carton of strawberry milk. 

it’s almost comical.

(if it’s really true — if he really did do it… then you wonder why. maybe he noticed that you were feeling under the weather, and figured it’d make you happy. 

you wonder if it’d be foolish of you, to believe that it’s true — if only because you kinda like the idea.)

your feet move on their own, before your mind has a chance to question the decision. 

where could he be? in the kitchen, still? in his dorm?

just as you begin to wonder, a flash of white dances in the corners of your vision. when you glance out the window, you see it; white, soft hair, like a fluffy cloud, in the midst of all the pink petals fluttering about. 

you stop.

then you start walking again. with more decision, this time. hurrying to the exit.

gojo is sitting right outside the dormitory, on a wooden bench, legs swinging idly as he gazes at the sky. his hair sways slightly with the breeze, soft strands moving and caressing his skin. pink petals dance all around him, gracefully descending down to the ground, together with a trail of bubbles. gojo is blowing them, haphazardly, following their movement with his keen eyes. they glimmer in the sunlight, reflecting all shades of the rainbow.

the sight is just a little bit breathtaking. 

the ground crunches beneath your feet, when you take a step forward — and gojo turns towards you. you stiffen like a deer in headlights, instantly regretting your decision. blinking nervously. you walked here almost entirely on impulse, but now that you’re face to face…

(it’s a little scary.)

… still, it’s far too late to back out now. you can’t do much except join him, so that’s exactly what you do — albeit a little hesitantly.

trying to ignore his continuous stare, burning into the side of your head, you plop down beside him. feeling the steady bench beneath you, breathing in the scent of sweet-smelling cherries and soap.

an uncomfortable silence lingers in the air around you both, as he waits for you to say something. 

it’s a little tough. mustering up the courage to say anything, even just to face him. the decisiveness you felt just a moment ago has faded, now only the ghost of a sensation — you’re too nervous to verbalize anything.

but eventually, after a deep breath or two, you force yourself to speak. hoping you won’t come to regret it.

”… hey, gojo?” 

it’s almost a whisper. soft and fragile, mumbled beneath your breath as you stare at the cherry trees in front of you. you know his eyes are on you, though. you can feel them, almost feel their weight in the palm of your hand. like marbles.

weakly, you raise up the carton of strawberry milk. glancing over at him, not quite managing a smile, but trying your best to look somewhat appreciative. 

”thanks.”

a confused blink. gojo looks down the strawberry milk, and then back up at you. eyelashes fluttering.

a moment passes. 

then he turns his head away, swiftly, his hair tousled by the movement — a couple pink petals stuck between the soft strands. you can’t see his face anymore.

”i have no idea what you’re talking about,” he huffs, with a voice you’ve never heard him speak through.

when you look a little closer — you think the tips of his ears may be just slightly red. it makes your lips curl up into a small smile, but you barely feel it.

(like this, he’s actually kind of cute.)

cherry blossoms flutter in the wind, dancing joyously, without a care in the world. a spring breeze ruffles gojo’s hair, as he sits beside you, having begun to blow his bubbles again. not saying a word, and looking straight ahead. but you can’t help but stare, as sneakily as you can muster.

you find yourself thinking that he looks right at home, among the petals. fleeting, hard to get a grasp on, so pretty, and so out of reach — despite being so close. 

if you wanted to, you could reach over and touch him. you could reach for his sunglasses, lift them off his face, and finally see those eyes he’s so intent on hiding. you could see him, see straight into his soul — and find out who he really is.

you won’t, though. some boundaries aren’t meant to be so callously crossed.

instead, you puncture the pink carton in your hand with the plastic straw, and take a tentative sip. the sweet taste soothes you, straight away, blooming on your tongue. you can’t help but sigh, softly, relaxing even further — it’s absolutely perfect, for this kind of weather. the sight before you, cherry petals and shining bubbles, a boy you don’t like, but definitely don’t hate. 

you both look up, following the bubbles with your eyes, as they float up into the sky; as they get smaller and smaller, farther and farther out of reach. neither of you say a word, but the silence is comforting. light. 

gojo is the first one to break it — in a voice so small you barely hear it.

”… you don’t look like a zombie.”

a second passes. you’re left blinking in confusion, trying to decipher the sudden statement. you can’t get a good read on his expression, with those eyes of his conveniently hidden; he must have regained his composure, then.

it takes a couple seconds for his words to sink in — but once they do, all pieces seem to fall into place. 

and you burst into laughter.

gojo blinks at you, caught off guard, his eyelashes flapping like a little dove scrambling to get off the ground — staring at you like you just grew a second head. that makes you laugh harder, a bout of giggles spilling past your lips — you just can’t help it. 

”did —” you wheeze, softly, thoroughly amused. trying and failing to bite back the laughter. ”did you think i was bothered by that, or something?”

gojo looks at you. a little stunned, for a moment. the sight only makes your smile bloom further, eyes crinkled as you meet his gaze. from the angle you’re viewing him through, leaning back against the bench, you catch a glimmer of his eyes. they’re awfully pretty — blue and bright, full of life. when you look closer, you can see tiny, tiny splotches of white. 

they look like the blue sky. 

you called them menacing, before, but now you aren’t so sure. they seem soft, in the sunlight, especially when seen like this — right after catching him off guard. it’s a rare moment, terribly precious. something to savour.

gojo doesn’t let it linger, though. 

after a moment of two, he scoffs — turning away yet again. a soft, soft pout on his lips.

”obviously not,” he huffs, sounding nothing but irritated, resting his jaw on the heel of his palm. ”but with how sensitive you are, i wouldn’t be surprised.”

usually, a comment like that would irk you. now it just makes you giggle, lightheartedly — the tips of his ears turning redder at the sound. 

(he really isn’t so bad, after all.)

for a while, you don’t say anything else. afraid of ruining the tender atmosphere. you feel closer to gojo than ever before — and you wonder if maybe this is the gojo that geto sees. childish, but well meaning. arrogant and cocky, but oddly innocent. selfish — but not really. you’re starting to think that you may have been slightly off, with that one.

the strawberry milk on your tongue tastes sweet. a little sweeter than usual, though you choose not to dwell on it.

”hey,” you break the silence, surprising even yourself. the words fall from your lips like soft little breaths, rolling off your tongue like marbles pouring out of a glass bottle. ”i don’t dislike you, you know?”

it’s an impulsive admission. saying it out loud doesn’t feel wrong, though. maybe a little humiliating, sure, but not wrong. not dishonest.

you suspect that gojo may be looking at you, out of the corner of his eye, but you aren’t sure. after all, you’re vehemently avoiding his gaze — a little embarrassed by your own sincerity. 

he doesn’t know how to respond. you’re being strangely unpredictable, today, and it makes him feel unsure of himself. your tone is soft, almost friendly. he only ever hears it when you’re talking to shoko or geto.

not learning his lesson, gojo opts to tease you again. as always. afraid to let the silence linger for too long. it’s a halfhearted attempt, though, more of a vaguely amused huff than anything. 

”what, got a crush on me or somethin’?”

this time, you don’t scoff, or roll your eyes, or give him an earnest fuck right off. you only chuckle, in a way that almost borders on fond. you’re not one to tease, contrary to the boy on your left, but your words are teasing even still. ”i have better taste than that.” 

gojo should be irked, should grumble and bite back, but you don’t give him the chance to. 

”i just… you know,” you taste the words on your tongue. ”i still think you’re annoying. and childish.” gojo huffs, and your lips curl up. ”but i really don’t dislike you.”

you take a sip of the strawberry milk, before continuing, hoping it’ll make the words easier to say. ”… and it’s not like i know you, anyway. so i’m sorry for making a bunch of assumptions.” 

a pause. for a split second, you quiet down, a little flustered. gnawing on your bottom lip.

”… that’s all i wanted to say,” you exhale, gaze glued to your lap. feeling a heat on your nape.

as always, you can’t tell what gojo’s thinking. out of the corner of your eye, you try to catch a glimpse of his face, but you have a nagging suspicion that it wouldn’t tell you anything anyway. his eyes are hidden by those sunglasses, after all, acting as a wall between him and the rest of the world. so you don’t know if the words reach him, if they mean anything at all. 

but you hope they do. even as you brush cherry petals and non-existent dust off your lap, and get up to leave.

gojo just sits there, for a second, deep in contemplation. 

he tries to bury a certain thought, before it has a chance to reach his frontal cortex — before he has to accept that it exists. only this time, he doesn’t succeed. the words die before they reach his tongue, but he hears them, in his head. he hears them loud and clear.

and he flushes under the light of the sun.

(i don’t really dislike you, either.) 

what actually ends up leaving his throat is merely a scoff, so faint he doubts you even hear it. 

”whatever,” he mutters, hoping it’ll come across as cool and unbothered. it doesn’t.

one last smile reaches your face, before you head back inside. gojo stays behind, on the bench, lost in thought.

tossing the now-empty carton into a trash can, you try to calm yourself down. feeling oddly excited, as if you’ve reached something, the start of an eventual conclusion. something worth cherishing.

you still don’t understand satoru gojo. but you get the impression that you just grew a little bit closer to him. there are layers to him, more than what meets the eye, hidden behind those sunglasses of his. you can only imagine what the world might look like, from his perspective. what you look like, reflected in his eyes, a blur of colours and facial features, sparks and dots.

you wonder if the whole world looks like a painting, to him. 

you feel a little ashamed, for thinking you had him all figured out. a spoiled, self-centered rich kid, with no functional empathic abilities. it might be partially true, but you’ll have to reevaluate the statement. to see how well it holds up. you still don’t think his emotional intelligence is anything to gawk at, but you may have been underestimating it. it’s there, despite everything — in those eyes, in that single carton of strawberry milk.

you think there’s a certain maturity, there, in spite of his childishness. or perhaps the latter is no more than a product of the former, a way for damaged children to dress their wounds. the way he carries himself and the way he speaks both seem a bit forced. like he’s used to performing, used to moving in a way that demands attention. all eyes on him, at all times. 

you think that sounds just a little exhausting. 

even as you return to the safety of your dorm room, you still can’t help but wonder. there’s still so much you don’t know. despite the moment you shared, and the connection you think may be growing between you, he’s still so out of reach. almost lonely, in a way. you wonder what he looks like, when he’s alone, when there’s no one around to perform for. 

(what is an actor without their audience?)

and, despite everything, after all is said and done — you really, really don’t understand satoru gojo. not at all, not in the slightest. not one bit.

but you think you’d maybe like to.

[amaranthineghost]

Hi there! Can you do a pov/one shot/ fanfic where Lando is dating Y/N and her love language is biting. She randomly and softly bots Lando but he enjoys it knowing that she is fully comfortable with him to be herself. One day Max,Pietra and some other friends of Lando come to visit them in Monaco and Pietra is annoyed with Max for teasingly refusing to sit next to Y/N, P telling him that he can sit next to Y/n cause she doesn’t bite. Lando starts laughing and says that y/n does bite and moves his shirt to show a small bite mark on his shoulder. Y/N laughs it off but she gets insecure thinking that her love language is bothering Lando so she fights the urge to bite him again. After a few days Lando notices that she doesn’t bite him anymore and starts thinking that he did something to upset her. He asks her why and she eventually tells him and he gets a bit upset. He tells her that he actually likes it because its her way of showing her love and the fact that she is comfortable around him.

Idk some fluff or something

Thank you for at least reading this and I really love your work🧡

|  SINK YOUR TEETH INTO ME, MY DEAR ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando norris x reader

ꕥ summary: reader's love language is biting, but experiences a feeling of insecurity

ꕥ author note: oh to have a boyfriend to experience this with. fair warning, I refrain from using y/n in imagines unless it's really unavoidable because at this point y/n is a whole person by herself. if something is worded weirded, or 'she' and 'her' get repetitive, that's why. but anyways, I really like this request, its so cute and silly and i hope i did it justice :3

HIS BODY WAS OFTEN ADORNED with bite marks, indentions in his skin where you could see the canines had dipped it lower than the rest. it was a reminder to him of her love.

and he happily carried them everywhere with him, smiling to himself with every glance in the mirror at his bare torso. some faded more than others as they trailed along his arms, upwards to his shoulder and across to his collarbone.

the pads of his fingers slowly rubbed over them, a small smile spreading across his face, something he'd done everyday as the new blemishes came and went.

at first, he'd thought of it as strange, taken off guard by the sudden pinch on his bicep as she'd sink her teeth into his flesh. not so hard to break skin, she wasn't a vampire. but it was enough for him to be reminded of it.

as time went on and the occurrences became more frequent, he'd find himself smiling at it. it was his way of knowing she loved him, that she was comfortable around him, that she was safe with him, she always was and she knew that. at least he hoped she did.

to be loved was to be bitten, was what he knew. she had taught him that.

he had noticed a change though, it was hard not to. the sudden pinces throughout the day, he hadn't noticed weren't there because he had gotten used to them being there. if that made sense. it did to him.

but if he didn't notice the lack of sudden but light pain, followed with a trail of thin salvia leading to the culprits lips, he would notice the lack of marks that riddled his body.

lando had woken up that morning, groggy and his body sore from yesterday's training. the warm of his shared bed beckoned him to stay. to lay with her forever.

he wished he could, but he knew better than to lay around, even if it was with his girlfriend. though he might. was there ever any harm to remain within the comfort and grasp of the warm body that stayed passed out next to him, oblivious to his waking?

he always thought not. his trainer thought otherwise but turned a blind eye for the young couple. though their sickeningly love for the other made him roll his eyes behind their backs. all fun and games. something to laugh about.

his veined hands, warm and adorned with rings, traced across the low of her back. he watched the goosebumps take their place on her skin, her face stirring as she pushed herself further into the bed. he chuckled softly at her reaction, his thumb gliding across her exposed skin, dipping below the hem of the cloth on her body.

he lightly squeezed the flesh under his fingertips, pulling his hand across her back before replacing the covers on her. he slipped out of bed, leaning over momentarily.

his fingers slipped through her hair, getting caught in the knots that tied in the midst of her slumber. using his thumb, he brushed the strands from her face to see half her features smushed against the plush pillow.

another low chuckle escaped his throat, tucking the hair behind her ear as he pulled back and stared at the beauty before him. his eyes dilated the more he looked at her, but he wouldn't know.

his journey through the bathroom to get ready would be halted when he noticed a difference on his bare skin. but it wasn't bare because of the lack of shirt he found himself not to be wearing. what was different?

the pads of his fingers traced his skin for the indentions he cherished deeply, only met with the perfect evenness of his tan skin.

his actions haltered and brows furrowed. instinctively, he leaned closer to the mirror, the veins in his hands becoming more prominent as he pulled his skin. he turned in circles.

no blemishes in sight. not the work of his beloved girlfriend anyways.

he frowned, disappointed by the disruption of his routine. his ritual.

he swore to her many times that he could probably differentiate the marks of her teeth in his flesh to any other bite mark he'd come across. he knew her teeth better than his own. he swore he did.

he knew the indentions that littered his skin, but they weren't here. he wanted them to be so bad. why the change?

his heart sunk in his chest. he sighed. how could he not notice?

his eyes met his own gaze in the mirror, his fingers still tracing his bare collarbone and down his shoulder. he pursed his lips, eating away at the pink flesh until it irritated.

his hands fell down to the sink, supporting his body weight as he leaned on them as he pondered.

he surely noticed how faded they looked. how the red inflammation, that manifested on his skin, just didn't. but the change never processed in his brain.

he racked through the events of the past couple of days. nothing stood out.

they'd mostly stayed home together, other than the times lando went out for training. but it surely wasn't that, as she had no problem with it in the past. she understood what he did and the requirements of it that he had to meet.

lando groaned in realization. days earlier, lando and his girlfriend were out on the water with a few of their friends, drivers and their girlfriends.

it was a beautiful day, he had remembered because of the way the sun reflected off her skin, how her pupils shrank at the blinding light, but revealed the capsulating colors behind them.

he sat on the cushioned seats of the yacht, next to her with his warm hand on her inner thigh, a drink in the other. the rest of the group littered around the deck with various drinks in hand as they chatted.

most of them were just hanging out in their swimsuits as none of them had yet decided to take the plunge into the crystal waters.

they had sat next to each other for a while, lando leaning closer to hear her voice, the music was loud. her lips grazed his ear a few times, he remembered. the gloss on her lips left on his skin.

she remembered the scratch of his cheek as he'd forgotten to shave earlier whenever he'd lean into whisper in her ear. his lips ghostly hovered her neck, grazing her skin softly. despite the warm sun, goosebumps took their place down her neck.

he always chuckled at the rising bumps on her skin whenever he did something she liked. it always gave him a surge of confidence to know the effect he had against her.

"get a room!" the brit called out, laughing as he walked over with a drink in hand. his girlfriend followed behind, shaking her head at his words, but a smile evident on her face.

max fewtrell was one of lando's long time friends. their girlfriends also happened to be friends, long before the two guys came into their lives.

"mind if we sit?" pietra asked, not waiting for an answer as she took a place on the leather couch. leaving a space between the two girls so max could sit too.

she looked up to see max still standing, she rolled her eyes and patted the spot next to her, "there's enough room for all of us, why won't you sit?"

max shrugged his shoulder, "I don't know, mate, she might bite me if I try sitting down!" he exclaimed jokingly, inciting a laugh between the group.

she felt her body heat up uncomfortably, laughing along despite her discomfort.

pietra tugged on his sleeve, "she doesn't bite, you're being dramatic." her attempts were futile.

lando laughed and shook his head, "I don't know, mate, you might want to be careful." his hand left her thigh as he pulled up his sleeve to his shoulder, as he hadn't taken off his shirt just yet.

she felt her face flush and reddened, but hid it by laughing with the group, pushing her head into the crevice of his neck momentarily. his hand found her back again.

she felt the cushion next to her dip, followed by a hand squeezing her knee. she turned her head. pietra gave her a sympathetic look when she'd realized the girl's reaction.

pietra leaned close to her ear, like what lando and her were doing earlier. she whispered a few words to her before pulling away and taking a sip of her drink, wrapping her arm around her shoulder. she felt herself smile and relaxed in her seat.

but on the inside, she was eating herself up, overthinking to exhaustion. her stomach felt sick, was her habit a bother to him?

she found herself hiding in the bathroom throughout the rest of the hangout, claiming seasickness but denying medicine for it.

each time she find hersef back in the bathroom with anxious nausea and the door locked, lando would be on the other side. he'd knock on her door, talking her through it, asking her if he could get her anything, telling her he'd wait for her to come out again.

days past and she refrained from sinking her teeth into the perfect skin of his bicep, the valley of his collarbone, or the broadness before the drop of his shoulder.

each time she found herself with the urge to show the love she had through her teeth, she stopped herself.

it killed lando to think about how he could've made her feel. but he needed her to come to him, he didn't want to pry information out of her.

he could ask but he couldn't make her tell.

the door to the bathroom creaked open, lando's head snapping towards the noise, noticing the tired face eyeing him through the slit in the door.

he pushed himself from the counter, his heart beating slightly faster as he sighed. she opened the door more and dragged her feet against the tiled floor. he noticed the way her eyes squinted against the light.

she stopped when she collided against him. her cheek pushed against his chest as she leaned her weight against him.

he pulled her closer when he placed a hand on her head, another one around the low of her back. his lips were against her hair and he inhaled slowly. the faded tropical scent of her shampoo lingered in her hair.

in his head, he debated asking her. not only was she still tired, but he didn't want to push her farther, in case he had done something.

his heart beat heavily in his chest, muttering against her scalp, "what's going on, darling?" he caressed the strands of her hair, "hm?"

her heart skipped a beat, she thought he hadn't noticed, or that he didn't say anything because he had secretly hoped for this to happen.

she decided to play dumb, speaking softly against his bare skin, "what do you mean?" her voice muffled.

"come on, I know your biting habits. what's wrong?" he spoke patiently to her as he cradled her tired body in his arms, swaying softly as they stood admist the cold bathroom air.

her eyes fluttered shut as she mumbled, "I thought it annoyed you."

his head shook against hers, "why do you think that, love?" he held his breath for the answer, but in his heart, he knew what she was going to say.

he was met with silence for a long time, he knew she was thinking it over in her head. she finally spoke, "remember the yacht trip a few days ago?"

he exhaled deeply, his eyes clenching shut as he pursed his lips, "i'm an idiot," he muttered, pulling away partially.

" 's okay," she shrugged, looking up at him with big eyes.

he swore in his mind, if it weren't for the circumstances, he would've folded. he slowly blinked, his tongue gliding along his lower lip.

"it's not, darling. even if max and i were just messing around," he breathed in and out slowly, his hand caressing her pillow-marked face, "i'm sorry you felt that way, okay? you know, i love when you do it," he reassured, and he saw her eyes dilate when he did.

"really? but why?" she questioned him, scanning his face, eyes, body language for any hint of deceit. she found none.

"it tells me you're comfortable, baby, and that's all I want for you."

she listened for his tone. it was sincere.

and they stayed like that for a while. in each other's embrace, they knew all was well again as they talked through it some more.

"ow."

[toiletclown]

breathless. (part four.)

spencer agnew x gn!reader

word count: 2602.

there's angst but it's resolved with fluff i promise!

summary: you had confessed, finally, but it was a mistake. so you walk and you walk. then you walk right back to spencer, like you always do.

a/n: i was going to take a break but i'm doing fairly well today and should be able to finish the fic tn at work! :D i went to the gym this morning and i'm just in an all around better mood hehe.

✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.

You just kept walking. Not having your phone meant you had to listen to the sounds of the city while you wandered, and soon enough the sun was dipping behind the buildings. You were barely sure of where you were at, and you really hoped you could find your way back to the office without your phone. God, what have you done? You ruined your friendship with your soulmate. There was no reason to deny yourself that line of thinking – soulmates – because whether he returned your feelings or not, you knew that’s what he was. And your feelings were out in the open now, anyway. He was your soulmate, handcrafted to love you. Your atoms were within centimeters of each other during the Big Bang, and all these millennia later, you had ruined what the universe had so kindly set up for you. All because you word vomited instead of waiting.

The image of Spencer’s tears was burned into your brain. How dejected he had looked. The entire time you had been walking you had refused to dwell, refused to think about it. But you were walking back to reality, to the office, and, most importantly, to him. You had to face your mistake eventually. Hopefully Ian and Anthony wouldn’t mind you taking a week off. You needed it. There would be no HR relationship papers to sign, no meetings with the four of you to discuss your new relationship. There would be no soft launch, no hard launch. No launch at all. Except maybe your heart into a fucking trench. 

One-sided soulmates had to be a thing. Because even if Spencer didn’t want you, didn’t see the same things you saw, didn’t believe in soulmates, the truth of the matter was that he was yours. There’s not another person on this godforsaken earth that understands you the way he does. No one else who can see through all your bullshit quite like him. No one else who would answer your call or FaceTime on the first ring every time, or text you back within 30 seconds, religiously. No one to cook for, no one to stay up with till the wee hours watching reruns of fucking Family Guy. You had thrown it all down the drain, your heart with it.

As you walked back in the general direction you believed the office to be in, you finally let your mind wander. You shouldn't have left. You knew that. But you had spilled your heart, and he was crying. Whether those were happy tears, or sad tears, you just couldn’t stand to look at it. You had never made him cry before, from sadness or otherwise.

//

Spence POV

“I’m sorry, I’m… I’ll go.” And they did. Y/N ripped their hands from Spencer’s, and bolted for the door. They were gone.

They didn't even give him time to react. Spencer realized he had started crying, despite him not giving his body permission, and knew that was the reason they launched out of the hallway. 

He heard the door alarm ding, signaling that someone had left. He just hoped it wasn't you.

Spencer willed his feet to move, booking it down the hall after his best friend. But you were gone.

“Where did Y/N go? Did you see?” He asked Kiana, who had been standing in the lobby. 

She wrapped him in a hug, and he just let it all out. Sobbing in the middle of his workplace was not a good look, especially at his age, but he couldn’t keep it in. She led them down to an empty meeting room, sitting him down on the couch and hugging him tightly.

“Spencer, what happened?”

He tried to speak, but his throat was tight with sadness and anger, and he could only cry.

“It’s okay, let it out. Take your time, I'm right here. Do you need anything? Excedrin, another Kickstart? Another hug?” Kiana was rubbing his back softly, doing her best to help him without overwhelming him.

Spencer shook his head, still not able to find his words. After a few more moments of tears, he grabbed a tissue from the table next to him and got into it. “Y/N told me they loved me. That they’re in love with me. I started crying, I guess, and when they saw they just… ran. They said they shouldn't have told me while we were at work, but that they couldn’t hold it in anymore. And I swear, Kiana, I was only crying because I was so fucking happy. You know how I feel about them, how in love with them I’ve been for so long. And I no sooner find out they feel the same, and they're gone. I’m kinda freakin’ out, man.” He took a breath, attempting to calm himself down a bit more. “I can't lose them, Kiana. I can't, they're my fucking soulmate, they're all I’ve wanted for so long, and it was ripped out of my hands as soon as I had it. I’m scared, I’m really scared. Terrified. I wasn't crying because I was mad, I was elated. But I didn't even have a chance to change their mind. They’re just… gone.”

The tears started back up, and Kiana hugged him once more. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. They’re not gone, Spencer. They're probably just as overwhelmed as you are, and needed a minute. That’s all. Give Y/N some time to cool off and sort their brain out, okay? Let them process this, and then they’ll be back and you guys can talk. If Y/N has really felt this way just as long as you have, that was probably a really big and scary thing for them. And when you're doing big, scary things, a reaction like tears could be misconstrued. I’m sure everything will be fine once they cool off.”

“Yeah, you're probably right,” Spencer supplied, wiping at his tears with another tissue. “But I really don't know how I’m going to be able to get any actual work done just sitting and waiting for them to get back.” His tears had finally come to an end, and he was working on steadying his breathing so he could stay calm. 

Kiana and Spencer sat in silence for a few minutes, Kiana giving him little pep talks here and there and Spencer blowing his nose now and again. When the room felt a little lighter, Spencer was the one to break the silence.

“You know, I was planning on telling them soon. I was trying to figure out how I wanted to do it. They actually took some of the words right out of my mouth. It’s so tiring to come to work everyday and pretend I haven't been dreaming about them, pretend I haven't been missing their cooking and our hang outs. And I know I'm the one who pulled back first, I know I was the one who fucked everything up these past few weeks. I pulled back, I stopped being so touchy, I stopped inviting them over. That was my doing. But I thought I was protecting them. Or myself. I don't know anymore, I guess. I just really want my best friend back, in any capacity. If I ruined everything, so be it, I just need them to be in my life. At the very least as a friend.” He shuffled in his seat, suddenly filled with energy. “Kiana, I love them so much. What if I ruined it all?”

“You didn't, Spencer.” Kiana gripped his shoulders, needing him to hear her words. “Emotions are hard, but you have to feel them to get through them. And so does Y/N. Let them have their time to process, like we’re doing now, and in no time everything will be fixed. You just have to be patient. You’ve waited eight years so far, you can wait another hour or two, right?” 

This evoked a laugh from Spencer, which felt nice. He wanted to laugh with Y/N again. “Yeah, yeah I guess I can wait another hour. Two hours is too far though!”

//

Spencer sat at his desk, phone face down since Y/N didn't take theirs when they left, a post-it note placed precariously over the time on his laptop. He couldn’t linger on how long it had been since they had left. They’d be back, and they would work this out. He just had to be patient.

Luckily, no one had come over to try and talk to him. He guessed that seeing a grown man break down sobbing in public was enough for everyone to realize he needed a bit of space. He got a few Slack messages of people sending him their thoughts, which made him happy. He didn’t respond to any of them. He couldn’t find it in himself to put a happy face on and thank them for their concern, tell them he’s okay. Because in the grand scheme of things, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay again.

Deep in his own head, after far longer than he realized, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Y/N.

Spencer shot out of his chair and hugged them, the tears coming back even stronger. “Y/N, please don’t leave me like that again. I’m sorry I scared you when I started crying,” he took a breath, still hugging his soulmate harder than was necessary. “And I’m sorry I’m crying now. I need you to know I’m only crying because I’m so fucking happy, I promise. I promise you, Y/N, they’re happy tears. I love you.”

Y/N hadn’t spoken a word, but he could feel them sobbing quietly into his shoulder. It was late enough in the day that most people had left, and he knew the pod was empty save for them. He cradled their head with his right hand, his left hand rubbing circles into the small of their back. “I love you, Peach, you know I love you. More than you think, more than you know, more than you love me. I’ve loved you every day for eight years, and I will love you until the light leaves my fucking eyes. Even after that. I’m so sorry I scared you off, I love you, my peach, I love you.”

Y/N broke the hug, a bubble of laughter erupting from them. “I guess it’s your turn to word vomit, huh?” As they both wiped at their eyes, Y/N laughed again. “Oh, I’m sorry. I snotted on your jacket. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

“I’ll forgive you for anything, Y/N.”

“Can you forgive me for dropping that bomb on you and immediately running away?”

“Only if you promise me that you meant it.”

“Of course I meant it, Spinner.” You pulled out a nickname, one you hadn’t used for months, knowing that would calm him a bit. “I love you, with every fiber of my stupid being. And I’m sorry I left you like that. I won’t do it again.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky.”

You did your secret pinky swear handshake, where once the pinkies are wrapped, the person making the promise places a kiss on the other person’s hand. “I love you, Peach.”

“I love you, Spence. Always will.”

//

Reader POV

After such a painful yet wonderful day, you were ready for a calm night. You wanted to see Spencer, of course, but you knew you both needed some time apart to think about how this was all going to play out. Are you going to tell the fans? Are you going to change how you interact on camera? If you don’t tell the fans, would he be down to give them hints in videos or on Instagram stories? How long did you guys have to wait to move in together? You weren’t even technically dating yet, you had only professed your love for one another.

You should probably slow down. This was all still new, anyway. You both had forever to figure it out, luckily.

You fiddled with your keys till you got your apartment door open, ready to draw a nice, hot bath and destress in the tub. You dropped your bag off on your couch and headed to your bathroom.

God, you looked like shit. Your eyes were red from all the tears and emotions, you had a raging migraine, your dark circles were the worst you’d ever seen them. You set about washing your face, started the bath, and lit your favorite candles. You turned the lights off, turned your playlist on, and undressed.

You sunk into the heat, your muscles letting the tension seep slowly out of them, and reflected on today’s events.

You were extremely happy to have worked everything out in one day. You were aware of how lucky you and Spencer were. Friends to lovers has its perks, you guess. You were so scared that you would have to be without him for much, much longer. Any time away from him was excruciating, though you’d never let him know that. He’d bully you endlessly if he knew how attached you were. Though you supposed he felt the same way, since he loved you just as much as you loved him.

What a fucking day. You hummed along to the end of a Daft Punk song, sinking deeper into the water. Breathless came on next. Entirely unconsciously, you shot up. You splashed some water on the floor in the process, but your heart was going a mile a minute.

“Ugh,” you groaned to your empty bathroom, “Leave me breathless indeed.”

Willing your heart to slow to a normal pace, you decided your bath was over. You just wanted to lay down and decompress. As you were toweling off, you heard a knock at the door.

It wasn’t so late that a visitor would be a problem, but you also had way too fucking busy of a day to hang out with anyone right now. You stood still, silent, hoping they’d just leave you be. You can catch up with whoever it is once your brain and heart are done reeling from the nonsense of your day.

You waited a couple more seconds, silence falling across your apartment. You let out a breath, and then it caught in your throat when you heard the doorknob. You raced to put a shirt and shorts on, not caring about your looks considering someone was trying to break into your home.

You ran to grab a makeshift weapon from the hall when your door swung open. You nearly screamed, but it was Spencer. You had forgotten he had a key.

“Whoa, Y/N. You okay?” Spencer ran to you, clearly catching that you were freaking out a bit.

“I should beat you, Charles Spencer Agnew, how dare you not warn me!”

Spencer threw his hands up in mock surrender, backing away a little. “In all fairness, I texted you. You didn’t respond but I saw on Find My Friends that you were home and I just got worried, I guess.” He rubbed the nape of his neck, sheepish. “I know that today was… a lot. And I know you tend to isolate yourself when you experience big things. I don’t know, I guess I was just scared I was going to lose you twice in one day, you know?” 

You closed the distance between you and your best friend, wrapping him in a hug. He hugged back, tight. “You’ll never lose me, Spence. Ever. Not even if you want to.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.

taglist: @lokidokieokie @chaoticlizzzzzz @babble28 @starstriker027 @langaslefthairstrand @vc55bughead @kneelforloki @cosmichahn

[aaazade]

HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM ── EPISODE TWO 𖤐

⤷ 𝄞⨾ 𝟎𝟎𝟐. 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐙𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒

AUTHOR'S NOTE : i do not own any of these characters except my own. minors, please do not interact as this is mature content with dark and sexual themes. all of my characters are black women so please respect that as you read! all lowercase is intended in this writing. ( i love choso's eyebags, please don't kill me when y'all read this). i'm so grateful for all the love on my last post! PAIRING: rockstar!sukuna x tourmanager!blackreader RATING: 18+, again mdni WARNINGS: yandere-ish moments, rock band, reader is black, usage of being held hostage, dírty talk, vampire!sukuna, dubcon, biting, drinking blood, slowburn, eventual smut, sort of angsty, stalker!sukuna, set in mostly southern cities, attempted mind control, secret society, royalty, masked men, usage of foul language, fire usage, sleep watching, sukuna's pov

𝐬𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: when tour manager!reader gets sucked into the rock world after big time group ‘dark curse’ seeks her out to plan and arrange their tour in the us. heinous secrets unfold about the group as she gets closer to the pink haired lead singer in the ‘bone demon’ mask. does she run for the hills or does she play cat and mouse? find out in "houston, we have a problem!"

check out the rest of the series here!

“cheers!”

sloshes of maltreated liquor stung the back of his throat with vigor. it was appalling how humans deserted their thinking and ration for a few moments of daze and desire. small murmurs of chatter follow the background’s ambience, the team’s dinner party going slower than he imagined. truth to be told, he would be on the tour bus devouring a long awaited meal if you were knee to knee, pressing up against his arm to make room for the others at the table. 

ryomen’s eyes cut to your hazy, relaxed figure. slouching against the padded oak wood chair, you were currently in a heated debate with your sister about… well actually he didn’t quite pick up what it was about.

no, ryomen was occupied being fixated on the curves and dips of your plush duo-colored lips, the way your eyes glowed with a soft brilliance at the suggestions of greasy foods and delights, how your the ringlets of your curls fell pass the juncture of your clavicle and shoulder down to brush against your waist. 

how dare you enchant him?  make him feel as if he has an obligation to be in your orbit, an obligation to admire you as if you aren’t human like the rest of them.

pathetic.

if this damn bind didn’t constrain him, the easiest option would be to drain you and leave your body by some unknown murky riverside in the depths of a foreboding cathedral of towering greenery.

he sneers instead, choosing the route most comparable to an insolent pubescent teen.

one long, slender finger proddes the seam at your waist of your wine red dress, your rambling coming to a halt. your eyes flaring at the growing lift at the corners of his mouth. 

“fuck do you want, sukuna?” your eyebrows furrowed together, a cute little pout settling on your plush lips.

just as threatening as a baby tiger trying to show off their claws.

shit, he felt his blood rushing south like some measly fucking loser who hasn’t seen the touch of a woman in his life. all because you batted your lashes and spoke to him. 

again, pathetic. 

you had ignored him all night, opting to throw shots back and participating in team building strategies and other useless parlors. he was no fool, your scent usually stood akin to the smell of a fresh waterfall drifting into a pool of something floral. maybe water lilies? even roses. but now, it’s laced with the burning embers of something sweet. honey.

arousal. he was sure of it. 

even now, flushed together as everyone else had risen up to find the dance floor, your eyes showed your true hues of emotions. red, yellow, pinks-

“would you fight me if i said you..?” your nose scrunched up in disgust, pushing the planes of his chest to seek out your sister.

guess it was time to go, huh? 

“ugh, shut the fuck up! i’m leaving-” he couldn’t take you seriously with you stumbling and hiccuping your way down the steps, entering into the sea of people below.

and as much as he would love to sit and grovel, his heart felt like it was breaking at its enclosure at the sight of your growing distance with him. 

he groaned, taking after you with long strides. his heavy footsteps followed behind the nimble wobble of yours, grasping at your wrist. 

“look just-”

“no!” you whipped around shoving a manicured nail in the brunt of his chest. “i know there’s something-.... something that lurks in the shadows with you. i’m no fool, so stay away from m- mmph!”

smart girl. he’ll give you your credit. at least you have some survival instincts and wit about you. not only that, but you had the gall to stand your ground against him, huh?

a dark sneer rippled from his tongue, the kind of laugh that made the air thick and heavy. a heavy hand came up to cup your jaw.

your drunken fury simmered right back down to the tender laps of waves. 

those treacherous pulses of heat ate at his control. eating at his will to not to take you into the back of some shitty storage room and show you the purge of darkness you think he hides. 

not yet, you need more time.

ryomen tipped his head back to find some semblance of control, wielding the hunger and lust to draw back. 

fucking woman, you driving him insane like this must be some sort of sorcery.

“go sit your ass down, now. your sister is fucking fine with those two freaks. ” he commanded, meeting the gaze in your eyes. your stance never wavered, the fire in your eyes refusing to be snuffed out.

yet, you ended up with your ass in a chair. 

better than that, before he hung up the phone call to his personal driver, your eyes fluttered shut. the music thrumming in the background lulled you to fall asleep all less than five minutes. your head couldn’t hold it’s weight in your unconscious state, tilting until he had to clasp his hand to your forehead to catch it before it thudded against the table. opting to just sling you in his arms princess style, his boots began the journey, hitting the gravel outside of the building. 

the city hummed its gentle tune in the background of the car, each passing street light catching the planes and dips that make the features on your face stand out. your lashes fluttered on the tops of your cheek with every inhale you take, chest rising in miniscule measurements. he felt a desperate urge to swallow you in his grip and hold you tight against his icy skin. 

when the car rolled to a stop, ryomen cradled you in his arms once again, stepping into the shadows as a cloud of crimson swirled around the both of them, only dispersing seconds after in the middle of your hotel room like the parting of a fog. 

his slender palm caressed your temple, the ice-kissed temperature of his lips pressing a sweet kiss there as he lowered you into the soft cushion of your sheets, his parting goodbye.

with another unnecessary breath, he rose up, striding over to pull the balcony door open. 

“goodnight, my little tiger. you put up a good fight today.” 

he slipped in the chilled gust of darkness, scarlet eyes lazily observing his surroundings as he appeared again across the street under a pole light. he could see you from his view below, from the tiny flickers of emotion in your expression as you dream dotingly to the soft twitch in your balled up fist uncurling as though you were reaching out from someone. for him.

“here, take it old fart.”  

the younger ones these days are so disrespectful.

ryomen tilted his head over his shoulder to meet choso’s bored, chestnut irises ringed with that familiar, awful looking purple bags. pastel pink strands wisped away as he ran his hands through the base of his scalp. 

“brat…” he grumbled, snatching the damn stick away in sheer pettiness.

there was an understanding of silence for a second, before choso huffed out a cloud of smoke. 

“are you ever going to tell her? she’ll find out sooner than later, y’know.” he stated, rolling his eyes at ryomen’s antics as the second cloud of smoke filled the ice chilled air around them. 

“i know that-” he growled. “i’d promptly advise you to shut the fuck up. i didn’t bother you when you were a pathetic loser for your wife.”

but despite the intensity of emotion behind his voice, choso simply shrugged his leather clad shoulders, taking his long strides away from from the 6’3 man. as he departed ryomen was so sure he hear that fucker grumble under his breath.

“at least i don’t have to stalk my wife like some old ass creep. wait until hayden finds you ‘edward-ing’ her sister.”

to fucking hell with that brat, the duo freaks, and their bonded. even if she is your sister, nobody will stop him from making you his. 

conjuring forth a spark that gradually speared into a large crimson hue of a flame in his hand, he seeks you out till the sun bleeds a path of light through your balcony and wakes you to the day’s journey. 

and when the sun sets and your mind drifts off into a careless realm of dreams… there he is again. 

watching. waiting. protecting. yearning.

the usual humid heat of atlanta had simmered down into a drizzle calm. the streets were quite muted and lackluster from its usual loud blares of horns and activity. shades of greys and browns muddles its unique colors into a foggy storm. inside, the light flooded the room into a dim shade adjusting to the small quantity of natural rays from outside.  

ryomen preferred this weather, something dreary. the type of weather that you could slip and disappear into the shadows and no one would bat an eye. the tapping rhythm of the rain dripped down the windows, capturing the spark of each flash with it. 

“okay, everyone big smiles! one, two, three.”

his expression didn’t change much, of course. with each click next to a fan, ryomen stood tall, only a hint of impish tilt to the corner of his lips.

you stood maybe a good twenty feet away, your sister conducting the line to know that each individual gets enough time. your makeup was all done up, rocking a new hairstyle as you took long, away shots for promo.

he didn’t understand the schematics of it, but today it was a honey blonde, fading into a lighter shade of platinum around your waist.

a tinge of possessiveness curled around his ribcage.

‘pink would look better on you.’ he settled, a needy image rampaging through the cornered angles of his mind about how fucking gorgeous you would look splayed out on his onyx sheets with matching pale pink- 

“okay, sukuna. one last picture.”

he slouched, forgetting to keep up with what’s natural to humans and what’s seen as… eerie, abnormal.

appearances, he supposes.

if not for shitty rules and customs he once was a part of, drakari traditions would have no substance on his life. 

the last fan staggered on the podium taking the center of the group. he smelt… something pungent radiating from the male, face covered with a black mask.

but his eyes.. they were beady. like the life was sucked out from him, leaving only the remains of an outer shell.

“i remember something..” the man’s voice croaked alive, fingers shaky as they traveled to the edge of his facial mask.

“i remember.. that day that our village burned… so much smoke that the surrounding villages couldn’t see what really happened. what you really did-”

“alright guys! three-”

“is that right?” ryomen’s brows jumped at the man's tone, snarling, his chaos magic swirling, clawing like an animal to be released as the man taunted with those same beady eyes fusing into gold.

“two-”

“emperor ryomen sukuna”

“one!”

a loud cackle left the greasy man the same time a ‘pop’ echoed, heat spilling into the room at degrees to turn bones into ashes. screams ignited at the sight of flames blistering through the plaster covered walls in the building, crowds of people merging together to find any possible exit.

yet with each face he searched, none bared close to the resemblance of yours. 

“fuck!” he roared over the crackles of flames and fear induced screams. 

all five heightened senses working together as something ill made its way to his still heart at the thought of you stuck under rubble, lungs collapsing as you fight for your last breath. 

no, not today. not ever.

and there it was, the scent of the rushing waterfall and bright lilies. he found you grasping desperately at multiple shoulders, presumably searching for the soft touch of your sister. 

he swears some more profanities under his breath, clasping your shaky body under his. by the time your eyes opened after you blinked, you stood barreled under him in the middle of the park trail seven blocks down the street.

ryomen studied the contours on your face morphing from shock, to confusion, then finally landing in.. horror. 

“n-no. no! how do we get here like that? ryomen…. where is my sister? oh my fucking god, is she still in there?” that unyielding boldness you carried had you clawing at him as if you could escape his grasp. though, you still shook like a leaf.

“my sister- ah! let the fuck go of me! she could be still in there! and you! with your freaky shit, what the fuck are you-”

his hands find their way to your cheeks again, clasping on as he bends forward. the both of you are only centimeters apart, your eyes searching for something found and strong behind the depths of those scarlet irises. 

“breathe.”

his only command, and yet you sucked in the crisp morning air, blowing out the smears of smoke you escaped from. 

“your sister is fine.. so just breathe, mama. just.. breathe. i’ll tell you everything later..” 

those duo freaks would eat the world alive if anything happens to hayden.

ugh, especially blonde freak. 

a strong chortle rings through his mind, affirming the hayden is indeed just with freak one and two.

now that not a hair was stinged on your head, maybe it’s time he goes to visit that zenin bastard. 

it may end with the last remaining zenin’s heart clutched in his hand, as he sits on his throne in his court full of blood and bones. 

all work belongs to to @aaazade please do not copy, translate without permission, or post my work! let me know if anyone would like to be apart of my taglist as i post each episode. hope you enjoyed episode two and be sure to comment for more!

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 4.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 5,4K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: Plot thickens! From now on, I will be dipping more into Viktor's POV from time to time. Anyways, there is a party, and you know what happens at parties.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

“One fucking evening this entire month we have free, and we have to do this,” Sue scoffed, emptying the lab bin into a giant rubbish bag. It was your turn for weekend prep, and unfortunately, there was no malicious intent behind it—the schedule spoke the truth. It just happened to land on the Friday Mel had invited you to a theatre department party.

“Which one do you want? Washing the glassware or laundry?” you asked, your mind elsewhere for the past week. Not that you needed a reminder of the night of your performance, but people greeting you with “Aaron Burr, sir” more often than you wished for certainly didn’t help you forget.

“I’m sorry, is there really not one offended bone in your body? This is gross,” Sue hissed, grimacing at the chewing gum she had to scrape from underneath the workbench.

You shrugged, offering her an apologetic glance. “I think my soul fled my body a long time ago, Sue. Also—if we do this fast, we’ll only be fashionably late.”

Sue grunted in defeat. “Fine. But! Can we at least have a little fun with it?” She dramatically pulled a small speaker out of her handbag and started the Hamilton soundtrack.

You responded with an exaggerated eye roll and a sigh, but you didn’t stop her.

At first, you were determined to focus on the task and finish as quickly as possible. But by the third song, your resolve wavered. Soon enough, you were screaming your lungs out while furiously washing beakers, joined by Sue, who was waving lab coats theatrically before hanging them out to dry.

You were so absorbed in your performance that you didn’t notice Jayce peeking through the little window in the TA’s office.

“Uh… do you think they know we’re here?” Jayce whispered into the quiet space of their tiny room, as if you and Sue could somehow hear him over the clamour you were making.

“I doubt it,” Viktor replied with a subtle smile, not lifting his eyes from the notes he and Jayce were preparing.

“Well, should we tell them?” Jayce asked, glancing at his partner, but he couldn’t suppress a giggle. When their eyes met, they both burst into laughter, snorting at the chaotic spectacle unfolding in front of them—you and Sue wreaking havoc with what had to be the worst version of Hamilton the world had ever seen.

“Definitely not,” Viktor said, shaking his head as he rose from behind the desk. He stepped up to the window beside Jayce, stealing a brief, inquisitive look at the scene before him.

Jayce shot him a questioning glance, an incredulous smile playing on his lips. “Viktor, you’re evil,” he whispered loudly, his tone equal parts amused and scandalized. When Viktor didn’t reply, Jayce hesitated before adding, a little shyly, “Should we… record this?”

“Definitely yes,” Viktor said without missing a beat, nodding a few too many times. An evil smirk spread across his face, his sharp features illuminated with mischief.

Jayce laughed quietly, pulling out his phone. They leaned closer to the window, trying to stifle their giggles as they recorded your exaggerated tap dances and overly dramatic singing. You belted out all the roles at once, seamlessly switching from one caricatured voice to another. Sue, meanwhile, danced around you, waving lab coats like pompoms in a cheerleader’s routine.

“Viktor, we kind of need to leave, though,” Jayce whispered, glancing at the clock on the wall. His expression grew worried. “I promised Mel we wouldn’t be late.”

“Well, we can’t leave now, can we?” Viktor replied, still peeking through the small glass window, the smile never leaving his face. “They would eat us alive if they knew we were here.”

Jayce groaned softly, torn between his promise to Mel and his unwillingness to interrupt the chaos before him.

“Besides,” Viktor added, nudging Jayce lightly with his elbow, “I think this… experience might come in handy one day.”

Jayce turned to him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “What are you planning in that evil head of yours?”

“Ah, nothing too harmful,” Viktor said with an innocent shrug, though his amused tone betrayed him.

You and Sue carried on with your impromptu performance, finishing triumphantly with the last song of the first act. You spun theatrically, slapping the autoclave door shut with a loud clang, while Sue hefted a giant rubbish bag—now roughly the size of an adult human—over her shoulder with an exaggerated grunt.

Still laughing and singing, you exited the room, your voices and footsteps echoing loudly through the corridors.

Viktor let out a satisfied hum as the sound faded. “Well,” he murmured, stepping back from the window, “that was thoroughly entertaining.”

Jayce shook his head, pocketing his phone. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” Viktor said with a grin, “it’s your phone that now has the priceless recording on it.”

***

The party was already in full swing when Sue and you arrived. The soft buzz of laughter and conversation drifted out through the open doors of one of the theatre department's scene rooms, spilling into the dimly lit hallway. Inside, strings of fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the modest but well-decorated space. Students from various years and departments milled about, sipping drinks from mismatched glasses and occasionally breaking into animated conversations. The party felt exclusive but relaxed, an invite-only gathering of the social and the curious.

“Okay, this is cute,” Sue said, surveying the scene as she adjusted the strap of her bag.

“Yeah,” you replied absently, your eyes scanning the room. You didn’t exactly feel like you belonged among the artsy crowd, but Sue’s excitement was contagious enough to keep you from bolting. Also, Alice was going to be there.

Before you could venture further, a familiar figure waved at you. Mel. She was stationed near a small bar set up at the far end of the room, looking as effortlessly glamorous as ever in a sleek black dress. Her smile was wide as she approached, holding a glass of wine.

“You made it!” Mel greeted, pulling both of you into a quick hug. “Sue, Y/N—I was starting to think you’d bailed.”

“Not a chance,” Sue said with a grin. “Though you can thank lab duty for making us late.”

You chuckled lightly. “Yeah, but we brought the energy of ‘cleaning under duress.’”

Mel raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want to know. Just grab a drink, mingle, and enjoy yourselves. Theatre kids know how to party.”

Before long, another commotion near the entrance caught your attention. Viktor and Jayce had arrived. Viktor looked sharp as ever in his typical understated style, though there was a slight flush to his cheeks, as if the cold night air had left its mark. Jayce, on the other hand, was already waving enthusiastically to familiar faces.

“Speak of the devils,” Mel said with a smirk, watching the pair approach.

Sue elbowed you. “You think they followed us here?”

You snorted. “What, and crash an artsy party? Highly unlikely.”

As Viktor and Jayce joined your group, you couldn’t help but notice how both men exchanged glances and smothered giggles.

“What?” you finally asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” Jayce said, failing spectacularly at looking innocent. His grin widened as he glanced at Viktor, who was suspiciously quiet but equally amused.

“Seriously,” Sue added, crossing her arms. “What’s so funny?”

Viktor tilted his head, the barest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, nothing of importance.”

You and Sue exchanged confused looks but decided to drop it, instead dispersing into the party. Sue quickly made a beeline for the bar, striking up a conversation with Alice and a couple of theatre students. You, however, drifted aimlessly for a while, chatting briefly with a few familiar faces.

It wasn’t long before you spotted Ambrose. He was leaning casually against a wall, his drink in hand, wearing the same easy confidence he’d had when you first met. The warmth in his eyes made it slightly worse. You had completely forgotten about him.

“Y/N!” he called, weaving through the crowd toward you. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

“Hey, Ambrose,” you replied, keeping your tone polite but guarded.

“So,” he said, a small grin playing on his lips, “you never reached out. I thought we had a connection at that party.” He looked at you expectantly, making your stomach twist.

You shifted uncomfortably, your grip tightening slightly on your glass. “Yeah, sorry about that. Things got busy; you know how it is.” You scolded yourself for how weak your response was. You’d once gotten this kind of response from a boy, and it had hurt you deeply. Now, you suddenly understood why people didn’t bother taking that extra step to soften the blow.

Ambrose’s smile faltered for a moment before he recovered. “Sure. Maybe next time, then?”

“Maybe,” you replied, your tone dismissive but still polite.

As soon as Ambrose turned his attention elsewhere, you exhaled deeply, needing a moment to yourself. You were hoping to find Hale, but before that could happen, you slipped away from the main party area and into the adjoining dressing rooms. The lights above the vanities cast a softer, more diffused glow, and the quiet felt like a balm. You scrambled up to sit on top of one of the vanities, stealing a quick glance at your own reflection before turning away from it, letting your gaze wander across the room. Your mind raced, jumping from Ambrose to Sue and her new girlfriend—and, reluctantly, to Viktor. He looked nice today, but the glances you caught from him were, at the very least, unnerving.

“Ah, there you are,” came a familiar voice from the doorway.

You turned, startled, to see Viktor leaning casually against the frame. His posture betrayed the alcohol in his system, a slight sway giving him away. His cheeks were flushed, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and—your gaze caught on a detail that immediately soured your mood—a faint lipstick stain marked his cheek.

You raised an eyebrow, a wry smile creeping onto your lips. “Well, well. Someone’s been busy.” The words felt bitter on your tongue, and you forced a smile to stop yourself from hopping off the table and walking out. What was this reaction?

Viktor blinked, momentarily confused, before following your gesture to his cheek. His hand flew to the spot, his fingers brushing the stain as realization dawned. “It’s nothing,” he said dismissively, though the redness in his face deepened.

Your tone was light, but Viktor caught the stiffness in your smile, the way your eyes darted briefly to his cheek and then away. Was it bothering you? The idea made his heart lurch in a way he wasn’t ready to unpack. He didn’t think of himself as someone who inspired jealousy—especially not from you. Yet, the way you teased him now, your words just a shade too sharp to be entirely playful, sent a quiet thrill through him.

“Oh, sure. Just your typical party accessory,” you teased, though you couldn’t entirely mask the twinge of hurt you felt. Your stomach twisted itself into an even tighter knot as the fake smile glued itself painfully to your face.

Viktor stepped closer, his usual sharpness softened by the haze of alcohol. As he leaned in, he couldn’t help but notice how the soft light cast shadows on your face, emphasizing the curve of your lips. Lips he had stolen too many glances at tonight. How many times had he caught himself doing it now? Five? Six? More? It didn’t matter. The alcohol had stripped away the discipline that normally kept his thoughts in line.

“You seem… preoccupied,” he noted, his voice steady despite the warmth in his chest and the growing fog in his thoughts. He took a few wobbly steps toward you, his cane resting inches away from your knees, which dangled from the vanity table.

You quirked an eyebrow, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Do I? Maybe I’m just wondering if you’re collecting lipstick prints as a hobby now.”

The smirk that tugged at Viktor’s lips was faint but maddeningly confident. He could feel your gaze flicker to the stain again. Did it bother you that much? Your discomfort struck a chord in him—half guilt, half triumph. It was petty, but knowing you cared, even in this small way, sent an odd sense of satisfaction curling in his chest.

“Jealous, are we?” he asked, his tone teasing but quieter now, his accent rolling heavier as the alcohol loosened him further.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Please. I’m just concerned about your… hygiene standards.” You waved your hand around him dismissively.

He chuckled, low and warm, the sound lingering between you. His eyes darted back to your lips before he caught himself. He shouldn’t be doing this—thinking like this. Somehow, whatever this was between you had already gone beyond the possibility of remaining casual. But the distance between you felt too small, the air too charged.

“I’ll have you know it was entirely unsolicited,” he said, his smirk growing despite the twinge of nervousness fluttering in his chest.

“Mm-hmm,” you replied, narrowing your eyes playfully. “And yet, you didn’t wipe it off.”

“Perhaps I forgot,” Viktor said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “Or perhaps it’s a memento.”

Your laugh was light, but Viktor swore he saw a flicker of something else in your expression. Were you embarrassed? Amused? Hurt? He couldn’t tell, and it frustrated him more than he cared to admit.

You shook your head, fighting back a smile. “You’re impossible.” You let your head drop for a second, seeking a brief reprieve from your forced expressions, from his eyes on you. The wine burned in your stomach, and your fingers clutched the edge of the table a bit too tightly.

You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, willing your thoughts to steady. Viktor’s chuckle echoed faintly in your ears. You didn’t register the moment his hands moved to your ribs, pulling you in as he collided with your lips in a clumsy kiss. Instinctively, you spread your knees to let him closer, and he immediately obliged. One hand slid to cradle your waist, while the other kept your face close to his by your neck, his grip tight—on the border of pain.

He was hot beneath your lips, his body uncertain, his mouth greedy as if he expected you to push him away. You felt his urgency, and as your palms travelled to his hips to pull him closer, he took the invitation instantly. When your soft body pressed against his chest, he couldn’t hold back a groan that reverberated down your throat. You gave in to the kiss completely, tangling your fingers into his hair as he held you tightly, his grip on your neck unrelenting.

He wanted the kiss to be rough, rushed, and meaningless. No, he didn’t want the kiss to happen. But as it unfolded, he wanted it more and more, finding himself melting under your touch, gentle and welcoming, as if you wanted it just as much as he did. The jealousy in your eyes made him want to reassure you that the lipstick stain was nothing—just a clumsy, patronising kiss from Mel for finally accepting her invitation to something. His thoughts clattered drunkenly in his head as he poured himself into you, your body rocking underneath him, his trousers tightening, your scent assaulting his senses.

He almost told you how he had wanted to kiss you instead of handing you the phone back in his office, or during the cigarette you shared, how he had taken it from you to place his lips where yours had been seconds ago, how much you pissed him off in class, and how he had no idea what to do about it. Instead, he groaned painfully at the pressure between his legs and muttered only, “Wait,” as he pushed himself away from you.

Viktor's breath was heavy, and his chest rose and fell rapidly with the frantic rhythm of his heart. He felt the warmth of your body still pressed against his, the softness of your touch still lingering on his skin, and yet the moment he pulled back, a cold weight settled in the pit of his stomach. His hands were still trembling slightly, a mixture of desire and something darker, something unsure, gnawing at him.

You looked up at him, confusion clouding your expression. “What’s wrong?”

His mouth went dry. He didn’t have an answer—didn’t know how to explain what was happening inside him and that it was ugly. His mind was a chaotic mess of tangled thoughts that all fought each other, hurting his brain. He had kissed you, wanted you, he felt you, and the feeling was stupid, it was silly, and it was great. But now, in the aftermath, the thrill of the kiss was quickly replaced by the terror of his own compulsion.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, too quickly, trying to mask the truth. “I just… sorry, I got carried away.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked at him, almost searching for some kind of explanation. “Um, did I make you feel like I mind?”

“No,” he answered sharply, a little too sharp. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes flickered away from yours. He could still taste you on his lips, the feeling of your hands on his skin, and it made his heart beat harder, faster, but also painfully. He could feel the weight of his own indecision.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the rush of emotions made him feel dizzy. The pull to kiss you again was so strong, but so was the part of him that was terrified of what that meant. You made him feel amazing, and he scowled internally.

“Just don’t think much of it,” he said finally, his voice lower now, trying to make it sound casual, though it only made the moment heavier, dragging him lower and lower. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at you, seeing you still there, still waiting for some kind of explanation. The disappointment flickered in your eyes, and it made him want to reach for you again, to erase the distance he had just created. But fear held him back. He wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to feeling this… exposed.

Viktor ran a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. “I shouldn’t have—” He stopped himself, unsure of what to say next, unsure of how to make sense of what was happening inside him. “Forget it, I’m... drunk,” he muttered, almost to himself, trying to regain some semblance of control.

But the damage was done. The warmth that had enveloped you both now felt like a distant memory, replaced by an awkward silence that felt too heavy to bear.

You felt so many things at once. In the span of mere minutes, Viktor had managed to make you realise not only that Hale was right, but that you could accept it—and worse, that you wanted it. But you worked faster than Viktor. In the ten seconds it took for him to pull back and mumble his apologies, you had already played out five different scenarios of how this could end.

You were ready to pick the one where you confronted him immediately, demanded an explanation, but then Hale’s words came back to you: You were a king. And you bowed to no one.

So, you pushed your anger and hurt aside.

Sliding off the table with practised ease, you cleared your throat and left the room with a steady, measured pace, not sparing him a single glance. Back at the party, you slipped effortlessly into your role. You danced with Hale, smiled, and joked with Jayce. You had a heartwarming chat with Mel, kissed Sue goodnight as your friend fled the party with Alice, and laughed at things that, later, you wouldn’t remember.

And then, when you finally returned to your empty room, when the music and the laughter faded into silence—you cried your eyes out.

***

Sue abandoned you for the entire weekend. You didn’t mind—you completely understood the flutters of new love—but being left alone with your thoughts proved disastrous. Your ambitious plans to study for two days straight fell apart under the weight of anger, hurt, and disbelief swirling inside you. Instead of being productive, you did absolutely nothing.

You spent hours pacing up and down your room, practising scathing speeches you imagined delivering to Viktor, each one sharper and more damning than the last.

By the time Sunday evening rolled around, you decided you couldn’t stay cooped up any longer. You snuck into the lab, determined to practise the tedious exercises you’d be running through in class the next day. You were at the awkward stage of university where most students had a vague sense of the direction they wanted to take, but still had to slog through the general science classes to check them off the list.

You slouched over the lab bench, your notes scattered haphazardly under the dim overhead light. You hadn’t even bothered to change properly, opting for sweatpants pulled over your pyjama bottoms and a baggy hoodie that was far too warm for the room. Your hair was tied back messily, strands clinging to your face as you worked through a particularly mind-numbing formula. You scribbled furiously, the dull scratch of your pen filling the otherwise silent space.

When you finally set your pen down, stretching your arms above your head, the sound of the door creaking open startled you. You turned to see Viktor stepping in, his gait uneven, the weight clearly favouring his good leg. His usually composed figure looked gaunt and worn, exhaustion etched into his features.

He stopped when he saw you, his expression briefly flickering with something unreadable before he schooled it into indifference. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here this late,” he said, his voice calm but with a hint of weariness.

You said nothing, your gaze dropping back to your notes as if he hadn’t spoken at all. You ignored him entirely, scribbling a note in the margin of your paper.

Viktor’s lips twitched—whether in irritation or amusement, you couldn’t tell. He crossed the room slowly, setting his cane down carefully with each step. When he leaned against a bench across from you, the faint bruise on his lower lip caught the light, and your stomach twisted.

“I’ve decided not to trust Mel with invitations anymore,” Viktor said, a dry humour lacing his words. He gestured vaguely, his eyes skimming over the room rather than meeting yours. “After that party, I woke up feeling dreadful and can barely remember a thing from the evening.”

You froze mid-scribble. You set your pen down slowly, your head lifting to meet his gaze, your expression icy. “Tell me, Viktor,” you said, your tone sharper than broken glass. “Does Jayce breach some kind of university ethos by being friendly with us, or was it a conscious choice for you to become a wanker?”

Viktor blinked, visibly taken aback, though he quickly masked it. He leaned on his cane, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite your venomous tone. “Do you ever take prisoners?” he asked, his voice low and measured, though his eyes searched your face as though trying to unravel your fury.

“Never, it’s not in my nature,” you replied coldly, your gaze burning into his. “Especially not when someone can’t handle their shit and decides to take it out on me.”

Your words struck like a lash. Viktor’s smirk faltered, his posture stiffening. He stared at you for a moment, his tired features betraying a flicker of something raw—shame, frustration, or perhaps a mix of both. “Is it in your nature to be cruel?” he asked softly, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

He knew you were painfully right. He had completely lost control that night, panicked, and given you no chance to reconcile. He had made the decision for you. But he already knew what your decision would have been, surely. So why were you so angry?

Viktor’s hand tightened around the back of the chair he leaned on, his knuckles turning white. The room was oppressively quiet, so quiet he could hear the gears shifting in his head. You still hadn’t answered him, your jaw set tightly as if refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Nothing to say?” he asked, his voice quieter now but edged with frustration. “It’s unlike you to hold back, Y/N.”

Your head jerked up at that, your eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m learning restraint.”

Your tone cut sharper than he expected, another small jab that landed too close to home. Viktor drew in a breath and forced himself to stay calm. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to close the gap between you or leave before this conversation spiralled even further out of control.

“Why are you like this?” he asked, almost to himself. He sounded tired, even to his own ears. “You won’t even try to understand—”

“Understand what?” you snapped, your voice rising suddenly. “That you can’t handle it? That you’d rather pretend nothing happened than admit you actually wanted it? Even though you walk around with a fucking bruise on your mouth that I left there?”

Your words hit him like a slap. Viktor stiffened, his brow furrowing as he looked away, searching for some invisible anchor to steady himself. Of course, he remembered everything. He had spent around half an hour staring at himself in the mirror on Saturday morning, ghosting his fingers over the bruise.

“You’re wrong,” he said finally, though the words came out slower, more hesitant than he intended.

“Am I?” you stepped closer, your arms crossed over your chest as though shielding yourself from him. “Then explain it to me, Viktor. Why did you do it?”

The question caught him off guard, your voice cracking just slightly at the end, and he hated how it made his chest tighten. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. Because the truth was too dangerous and too stupid simultaneously.

He shifted, leaning against the table, his head tilting as if to dismiss the gravity of your question. “Do what?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

Your expression darkened. “The kiss,” you said slowly, enunciating each syllable as though daring him to dodge the question again. “Why did you kiss me, Viktor?”

He hesitated, the silence stretching between you like a chasm. His lips parted, a dozen half-truths swirling in his mind before he finally settled on the one that felt safest.

“Because I was drunk,” he said, the words coming out more clipped than he’d intended. “It was a mistake. I let myself get… carried away.”

Your eyes flickered, just for a moment, and he forced himself to look at you, even though guilt burned behind his ribs. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea,” he added, his voice softening.

You stared at him, your jaw tightening as if physically holding back your reaction. For a moment, he thought you might yell at him, hurl something cutting and sharp his way. But you didn’t.

Instead, you shook your head, a bitter laugh slipping out. “Right. Of course. A mistake.” Your voice wavered, just enough for him to catch it, though you quickly composed yourself.

“Y/N—” he started, but you cut him off with a raised hand.

“Don’t,” you said, stepping back from him. “Just don’t. You don’t want to give me the wrong idea? Fine. Message received.”

Your words were laced with venom, but there was something fragile beneath them. You turned away from him, picking up your bag from the desk and slinging it over your shoulder. Viktor watched you, his stomach twisting as you headed for the door.

You paused just before leaving, your hand resting on the frame. “You know,” you said without looking back, “you’re not as good at lying as you think you are.” And with that, you were gone.

The door clicked shut, leaving Viktor alone in the silence of the room. He exhaled shakily, his hand running through his hair as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. None of it. And yet, deep down, he knew he’d only made things worse.

[ppomumgranatum]

when time runs out, what comes after?

Available on Ao3

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC; Ominis Gaunt x Anne Sallow

tags: one shot, you POV, post-Hogwarts life

word count: 6.9k

Warnings: 🔞 angst as fuck, use of profanities, smut, 18+ explicit sexual content, adult characters, mild fingering, grief sex?

Summary: Because time is like a relentless river that will eventually run its course. Yet, amidst the uncertainty of what lay ahead, you found solace in the knowledge that new beginnings awaited. And you can’t wait to start your new journey with Sebastian.

Notes: I was watching FB and somehow Queenie and Jacob reminded me of Ominis and Anne. Then it led me into thinking about what life could've been for our MC and it got me feeling sappy as fuck like???? Tbh idk what this is? but enjoy it, anyway.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the quaint hamlet of Feldcroft, the autumn breeze enveloped the village in a serene embrace. The sky was painted with hues of orange, pink, and purple as if nature itself was bidding farewell to the day in a grand display of colours.

Over the years after the quaint little village was free from the gruesome terror enacted by goblins and dark wizards, Feldcroft has beautifully regained its liveliness.

In the centre of it all, a lively marketplace had sprung up, illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns and fairy lights. Stallholders peddled their wares– handcrafted jewellery, knitted scarves, jars of homemade preserves– their voices mingling with the laughter and chatter of the crowd.

The place that Sebastian once called home now truly feels like home.

His childhood house is now occupied by Ominis and his sister Anne. His best friend had promised that when they graduated, he would stay with Anne and take care of her with whatever time she had left. That was three years ago, and they’ve been living together ever since. Meanwhile, you and Sebastian found purpose living in the city. Your careers are thriving and you found solace in each other's company, living in a little space you happily share.

After your triumph over Ranrok, you had managed to gradually learn how to wield your ancient magic to its potential. Although you’ve not truly mastered how to completely cure diseases or curses yet, you found a way to somehow ease it. And that’s what you’ve been doing for Anne. Your effort managed to give more years to her life, hoping one day you would eventually master your magic to cure her.

You and Sebastian would regularly visit Feldcroft to do your mending routine on Anne, and this weekend was one of the occasions.

The breeze enveloping the hamlet felt like a gentle caress as it danced through the narrow path you were sharing with Sebastian. You were returning home after a quick grocery trip to the marketplace, accompanied by your boyfriend, who gallantly carried the grocery bag with one arm while the other was wrapped around you.

When you entered the house, Ominis and Anne were seated at the dining table, already eagerly awaited for your arrival. Your brows furrowed at the sudden lively greeting from the couple, “What’s going on?”

“There’s something we’d like to share.” The grin on Anne’s face was suspicious yet delightful.

“Come, have a seat.” Ominis’ tone was rushing the both of you to do as he said.

You and Sebastian quickly exchanged glances, feeling just a tad worried at what the other two had in mind, before finally doing what Ominis had asked.

After Sebastian put aside the grocery bag on the table, Anne quickly grasped his brother’s hand with that grin that has yet to dissipate, “You guys are freaking me out. What’s going on?” Sebastian said.

“Okay, Ominis and I were talking and we’ve been thinking about this for quite some time now..” Anne began slowly, “We have decided that..”

“We want to get married..” Ominis quickly picked up on Anne’s sentence, tone filled with excitement.

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed, equally excited, “That's wonderful news.”

“..Tomorrow.” Anne completed the sentence that was apparently unfinished.

“What?” The tone of Sebastian’s voice dropped, “What do you mean tomorrow?”

“As in the day after today, Sebastian.” She clarified like Sebastian was a Flobberworm.

“Yes, I know what tomorrow means.” He was ticked off by the treatment, “But what– how– why so soon?”

“Why not?” Anne sounded disappointed that Sebastian wasn’t as excited.

“Are you pregnant?” Sebastian bluntly and inconsiderately shot his chance.

“What?!”

“Sebastian!”

“No, I am not!”

Sebastian's face winced at the overlapping aggravation that came out of everyone, “What? It’s a valid question.”

“You don’t think it’s a good idea?” The timbre in Anne’s voice made you feel bad for her.

“Of course, I think it’s a fantastic idea to get married.” He was quick to reassure her, trying not to sound lacking in spirit, "But don't you want more time to prepare for something like this?"

Anne sighed softly, her disappointment evident as she exchanged a glance with Ominis, who seemed equally deflated by Sebastian's response, "It's just.. we've been together for quite some time now." Anne began, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "And we don't want to wait any longer than we have to."

“And it’s not like we got a selection of family to invite.” Ominis added, “You guys are our family.”

Sebastian’s turned to you like he was looking for an extra pillar of certainty. And his expression softened with understanding dawning in his eyes when he was met with your supportive smile.

“I’m sorry,” He tightened his grip on his sister’s hands, “I didn’t mean to dampen your excitement. If this is what you both want, then I’m behind you one hundred percent.”

You nodded in agreement, "We're here for you, whatever you need. And if tomorrow is the day you want to have a wedding, then we'll make sure it's perfect."

Anne's face brightened at your words, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice filled with emotion.

“I can’t believe tomorrow you’re going to be Mr. and Mrs. Gaunt.” You're basically kicking and giggling at the thought of your two best friends finally sharing their names.

“Sallow.” Ominis corrected, “It’s going to be Mr. and Mrs. Sallow.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but smile ear-to-ear, “That sounds even better.”

Everyone seemed to be filled with joy at the decision. But you understood where Sebastian’s suspicion stemmed from. If they were so worried about waiting, why not three years ago? And if there wasn't any particular urgency, why does it have to be tomorrow?

While everyone was exchanging joyous hoots and gazes, your eyes met with Anne’s and you almost didn’t notice that tiny twinge of gloom behind the yawning grin on her face. But it was there, ever so subtle. The sight gave you a small discomfort but you didn’t want to ruin the mood.

So you pushed the thought aside and were ready to get on with the dinner you promised everyone you’d prepare. There’s no room for anything but delight when a celebration awaits everyone tomorrow.

-

Since the wedding practically only had an invitation for two, naturally, you became the maid of honour. Today your service and dedication were solely in the courtesy of Anne Sallow to make sure that you had everything perfectly prepared for her.

As the bride settled into the chair in front of the vanity, you stood behind her, ready to assist with her makeover. With gentle hands, you brushed through the thinned and fragile strands of her hair, feeling the delicate strands beneath your touch. Taking Anne's fragile hair into account, you opted for a gentle half-up, half-down that would be both elegant and comfortable. Soft tendrils framed her face, lending a touch of romance to the look without adding any unnecessary strain.

Once it was arranged to perfection you moved onto her makeup, selecting colours that would enhance her natural beauty without overpowering her delicate features. You couldn't help but notice the prominence of her cheekbones like a stark reminder of the weight loss she had endured. Her complexion, though still beautiful, lacked the healthy flush of vitality it once held.

While you were intently putting your best work into Anne, both of you shared jokes and stories to accompany the duty. She had a way of making even the most mundane moments feel effortless and joyful. Her laughter was infectious, and her ability to find humour in any situation never failed to lift my spirits. Despite everything she had endured, Anne's eyes still sparkled with a glimmer of mischief and resilience.

As you shared laughter and fond memories, Anne suddenly clutched her abdomen, her face contorted in pain. Your heart skipped a beat as you realised the source of her distress—it was the curse. With a surge of panic, you hurried to grab your wand and kneeled beside the chair where she was sitting. Anne attempted to contain the pain at first, her efforts were evident in the furrow of her brow and the tight grip of her hands on her abdomen. But soon, the intensity became too much to bear, and despite her best efforts, a soft yet pained groan escaped her lips.

You had one hand holding hers, allowing her to clutch into yours while your other hand began to work your wand, channelling your ancient magic to help her ease the pain. Your heart clenched at the sound of her agony and your hands trembled with fear.

“Hang in there, Anne..” Your voice provided soothing comfort. You could tell the magic was slowly doing its work as the grip on your hand loosened and Anne regained control of her breathing, “I’m here..”

You stayed by her side, hand never leaving hers like a silent comfort as the magic continued to work its healing touch. After Anne's strength gradually returned, she managed to open her eyes and gave you a knowing smile, “I’m alright now.. Thank you.”

You put down your wand so both of your hands can grasp into hers. Worry still settled over you. It was only yesterday since you did your mending on Anne. The effect would usually last her a month– or two even when she was doing so well. But for it to not even last twenty-four hours meant the curse was only getting stronger, and your magic was becoming futile.

“How long?” You began to ask. Your voice was soft but still laced with anguish.

Anne let out a heavy sigh before answering, “Almost six months now..” Her breathing was still a little bit unsteady, "I’ve noticed the effects have been getting shorter and shorter.”

“Oh, Anne.. why didn’t you tell me.” Your heart ached even more knowing she must have endured it on her own.

“I didn’t know how to.” She admitted.

As a deep sense of despair washed over you, you couldn't help but grasp the gravity of the circumstances. Meeting her gaze, you glimpsed a reflection of your own emotions mirrored in her eyes. While kneeling beside her, you took a moment to observe the woman before you, her faint smile betraying the anguish she must have been enduring.

How awful it must’ve been to pretend everything was fine while she was crumbling inside.

“Does Ominis know?”

She nodded, “Not long ago.” Anne didn’t have to say it, but now you understand the underlying reason for the impulse on the wedding, "I tried to hide it for a while, but that man knows me too well not to find out something was wrong."

"How are you feeling?" You gently asked like a fragile little petal that she was. There were layers of concern in your voice.

She hesitated for a moment like she was contemplating whether to share the truth, "Not so good." disappointment coloured both her expression and tone, “I knew it couldn’t cure me. But I truly thought it would still last me forever, you know.”

“I know..” Your thumb caressing the back of her hand, "I thought so, too."

She let out a heavy sigh, "Well, it was good while it lasted."

“Have you told Sebastian?"

"Not yet. Not today," she said, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I just want to get married to the man that I love and pretend, at least for this day, that I am not withering."

You felt a surge of empathy for Anne. Despite her hardships, there was a quiet determination in her voice. She just wished to find joy amidst the challenges she faced.

"You don't have to pretend with us."

"I know that." She smiled softly, "But it makes me feel a little bit better. Just for today."

She lifted her trembling hand to gently stroke your hair. And when her eyes met yours, the sorrow that reigned over her eyes pierced through you, shattering your heart into a million pieces.

"You have no idea how grateful I am that Sebastian's questionable behaviour ended up being the thing that brought you two together.” You chuckled at her remarks, and the twitch in your eyes finally allowed the tears that had been so desperate to fall to cascade down your cheeks, "And I'm grateful to have found a sister in you."

At that moment, neither of you could hold back the tears any longer. The floodgates of emotion burst open, releasing a torrent of tears that had been held back. Amidst the overwhelming grief, there was also a profound sense of gratitude for the strength you had found in the brief but powerful bond you shared with her.

"You can fight this." You choked out, "Please.. Just a little bit more, Anne. I'm getting better with my magic. I think I'm almost there."

"No.." She shook her head, "I don't think I can wait anymore."

You nestled your head on her lap, finding solace in her gentle touch as she continued to stroke your hair. It felt as though she was the one offering comfort.

“Promise me.” She said softly, “That you’ll watch over them when I’m not around. Merlin knows what those boys will do without supervision.”

And once more, amidst the tears and sobs, a faint chuckle escaped from both of you. It was a moment of bittersweet release.

And when you lifted your head, you met Anne's gaze with a solemn nod, though your heart felt heavy with the weight of her request. "I promise," You vowed, "I won't go anywhere. But you have to know, Anne.. I could never replace you."

“You already have.” She reached out to wipe the tears that streamed down your cheeks, “When I'm gone, they’ll have no one but you in this world. You are their family– my family. You have to understand that you mean the world to all of us.”

You took a heavy, deep breath, trying to stifle the uncontrollable sobs threatening to consume you. But it was no use– each inhale and exhale only trembled more with emotion. The thought of Sebastian and Ominis losing Anne, the person they loved, filled you with crushing despair. You couldn't bear the idea of witnessing their pain, knowing that you held the power within you to help her, if only you knew how.

Everything felt agonisingly close yet impossibly out of reach, leaving you feeling utterly helpless in the face of Anne's impending fate.

You don't want to lose her.

"I wish we had more time."

“You gave us more time when we thought there was none left. You gave me a chance to live, to love Ominis, and Sebastian..." Her voice trembled from the emotion, "You have no idea how much joy you've brought back into his life. And you've given me the gift of witnessing that happiness.” She managed to put up a smile and you wished she didn’t. Pretending was no longer necessary, and you wanted her to feel free to express her true emotions, “You have given me a lifetime. And for that, I owe you everything.”

You reached out and pulled her into a tight hug, holding her close while trying to imprint every moment of this precious connection into your memory. This could be one of the few last hugs you'd be able to share with her, and you wanted to cherish every second of it.

"Alright, that's enough tears for now," she said gently, pulling away and wiping your tears. "You've got to save it for when I'm actually dead."

“Anne!” You protested at the inappropriate joke. Although you’ve got to admit there was a mix of amusement inside of you at her attempt to lighten the mood.

“I’m sorry.” A faint smile playing on her lips.

The both of you shared a final chuckle before you set to work on redoing Anne's makeup, realising that almost everything was ruined from the intense sobbing. But you didn't mind– in fact, you welcomed the opportunity to spend more time with her, cherishing every moment you had left together.

After you finished, you picked up your wand and cast a spell on Anne's clothing. In an instant, she was adorned in a stunning white dress, radiating an ethereal beauty that took your breath away.

You took a moment to cast the same spell on your own clothes, transforming them into attire more suitable for the event. You left Anne to rest inside and headed outside to begin setting up for the ceremony this evening.

Working your wand with precision, you crafted a beautiful yet intimate setting in the confines of their backyard. Despite the limited space, you conjured an enchanting atmosphere, transforming the modest surroundings into a magical haven fit for a wedding. The flowers bloomed in colourful bursts, intertwining with lush greenery to create a picturesque backdrop for the ceremony.

Despite the simplicity of the setup, every detail was carefully curated to evoke a sense of intimacy and romance, ensuring that Anne's special day would be nothing short of unforgettable.

While you were immersed in the enchanting setup, you were surprised by the sudden embrace that came behind you, “Hello, beautiful.” Unable to resist the exposed skin from your updo hair, he planted tender kisses along your neck. Sebastian is always such a tease.

With a soft smile, you leaned into his embrace, “I’m doing something here.” you teased, but still couldn't help but enjoy the affectionate gesture.

Sebastian chuckled then nuzzled his head into your neck. His warm breath sent shivers up and down your spine, "Anything I can help with?" he whispered in your ear. You could feel his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

Just as you finished with your setup, you leaned back against his strong frame, feeling completely secure in his arms. "You can be here with me, holding me."

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, taking in the intimate moment and the romantic decor. The scene before you stirred thoughts of your own future wedding, prompting a gentle curiosity about when that moment might come.

"How's Anne doing?" Sebastian's voice broke the silence, drawing your attention.

You turned to face him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you loop your arm around his neck, drawing him closer. "Very happy," You replied softly, "She's ready."

“Ominis is, too.” There was a mix of joy and relief in his face,“I’m so glad they finally get to have their happy ending.”

His words hit you hard. Sebastian remained unaware of the true extent of Anne’s condition. Because the happy ending he thought she’s having isn’t as perfect as it seemed.

“Are you alright?” He noticed the change in your expression.

You nodded, masking the trouble brewing inside.

“Are you sure?” He persisted. His voice sounded more concerned this time.

You wanted to confide in him, but it didn't feel right. Anne deserved to share the news with her brother herself. "I just think it's a beautiful day for a wedding," you lied.

Sebastian smiled, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss on your lips, his affectionate gesture momentarily distracting you from the weight of the secret you carried.

-

As the ceremony finally commenced, you and Sebastian stood side by side, bathed in the glow of the evening sun. The gentle breeze carried the soft rustle of leaves and the sweet scent of wildflowers, adding to the serene ambience of the outdoor setting. In the distance, the rolling hills provided a breathtaking backdrop for the intimate gathering.

Anne, radiant in her flowing white dress, walked down the aisle with grace, her eyes sparkling with love and anticipation. Ominis stood at the altar, his expression a mixture of nerves and excitement as he awaited his bride.

The sound of their vows filled the air, heartfelt and sincere, weaving a tapestry of promises and dreams for the future.

It was time for them to exchange rings. And finally, as they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, the world seemed to stand still, capturing the beauty and magic of this momentous occasion. You and Sebastian watched with pride and happiness, your hearts overflowing with love for the newlyweds.

But the joyous atmosphere shattered in an instant as Anne fell to the ground, her agonising scream piercing the air. Shock and fear gripped everyone present as they rushed to her side. The curse had struck once again.

The pain seemed to be worse than before because Anne's consciousness began to fade. Ominis lifted and carried her inside while his face etched with fear and worry. You and Sebastian followed closely as Ominis gently laid his bride on the bed.

You quickly tended to her side and began using your magic to ease her pain once again while Ominis sat beside you, holding Anne’s hand tightly in his own.

Sebastian stood by, watching his sister fighting her pain, feeling utterly helpless. Her screams tore at his heart, shredding it into pieces.

He finally began to realise the true situation of Anne’s condition.

Unable to bear the sight any longer, he stormed out of the house, his breath ragged from the onslaught of negative emotions. He wandered aimlessly, searching for a space where he could calm himself down and gather his thoughts.

-

After tending to Anne's needs and ensuring she had something to eat to regain her strength, you realised that Sebastian had been conspicuously absent. Concerned, you stepped outside and immediately knew where to find him. Following the familiar path atop the hill that overlooked the hamlet, you remembered how Sebastian always loved this spot for its breathtaking view of the village below.

Upon reaching the hilltop, you were greeted by the sight of your lover, standing at the edge and gazing out over the village. The fading light of the setting sun casted a warm glow over the landscape.

Sebastian's shoulders were tense, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stared into the distance. You approached him quietly, the soft crunch of gravel beneath your shoes barely audible over the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

You stood just a little bit behind him, giving him the space he needed to collect his thoughts. Despite the distance, you could feel the stress emanating from him.

"You knew, didn't you?" He finally said, breaking the silence. You expected something sharp and judgemental coming out of him, but there was none of it. His stare remained fixed in the distance.

You nodded even though he couldn't see it, "Just today."

"Did she tell you how long ago?"

You hesitated for a moment, "Six months."

Sebastian scoffed and his expression hardened, his eyes narrowing with a hint of anger. "Six fucking months," he muttered, "Why didn't she tell us sooner?"

You felt a pang of guilt at his tone, knowing that Anne's decision to keep her condition a secret had hurt him deeply, "I think she was trying to protect us."

He shook his head and his jaw clenched tightly. "Protect us?" he repeated, voice rising with emotion. "From what exactly? From the tremendous amount of pain we’re already living with every single day? We're her family, for Merlin’s sake, we should have been there for her."

You knew that Anne's silence had shaken him to the core, and the road ahead would be filled with challenges as they grappled with the consequences of her decision.

"I should’ve been there for her." The quiver of regret was evident this time, “How many times have we gone to visit her in the past six months? And not once did she mention anything. She pretended like she was alright.”

“That’s exactly why, Sebastian.” You replied gently, "She didn’t want to keep pretending. She just wanted to cherish the time she had left without constantly dwelling on her illness. By allowing her to live her life the way she wants to, we were already there for her."

“But she’s my sister.” His voice cracked with emotions.

“I know..” You murmured, feeling the weight of his pain.

Then, a single tear escaped from the corner of his eyes that was clearly betraying the emotions he struggled to contain. He instinctively turned his head, his hand moving swiftly to brush away the tear.

You wanted to give him space to be in his own vulnerability, so you stood in place.

“To think of the fact that she decided to endure it on her own..” There was so much guilt in his voice. Then he fell quiet for a moment before continuing, “It's funny, isn't it? How time seems to slip through our fingers, no matter how tightly we try to hold on."

You listened in silence, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a heavy blanket. The realisation that time was finite– that eventually, it would run out.

"We spend our days chasing after hope, trying to cure Anne," Sebastian continued, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "But the truth is, time waits for no one. Even for those who possess magic, it marches on, indifferent to our hopes and desires."

It was the first time you’d seen Sebastian being this vulnerable. It only showed how much love he carried for his sister.

"And when it's gone," Sebastian murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "all we're left with are the memories of what could have been– what I could’ve done for Anne.” His tone carried a sense of despair and it unsettled you deeply. It felt as though the fierce determination of a man who would move mountains to save his sister had been extinguished.

"I just wish I had done more for her," He admitted.

“Hey,” Closing the distance, you gently lifted his chin, urging him to meet your gaze with compassion while his eyes were shimmering with tears, "You've been there for her in more ways than you realise. And she knows that.” His tears flowed more freely at your comforting words. Without hesitation, you cupped his cheeks and brushed away the tears, “She’s made her choice, Sebastian. The most important thing now is to cherish the time we have left with her and make every moment count. Because you can’t go back in time, it only runs out."

As harsh as reality was, Sebastian knew you were telling him what he needed to hear. Because if you don’t make the most of your time, the only thing that will remain is regret.

“I can’t promise you that it will be easy," you continued. "But I can promise you that I'll be here every step of the way."

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if seeking refuge in your warmth. Taking your hand, he pressed a tender kiss to your palm before meeting your gaze, "I don't know what I'd do without you." He whispered,

"You won't have to find out." You replied with a reassuring smile.

Sebastian's eyes held yours, filled with gratitude and a hint of vulnerability. In that shared moment, you both understood the depth of your connection and the support you offered each other.

Then he pulled you into a tight embrace and you yielded to his warmth, feeling the comforting strength of his arms around you. Resting your head against his chest, you listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a reassuring cadence amidst the uncertainty that surrounded you.

He fell quiet for a moment. Stroking your hair with one hand while the other rubs your back with comfort.

“Thank you.” He finally said.

“What for?”

“Everything.” He whispered as he reflected on how different things could have been for Anne, and how her current happiness was beyond anything he had dared to hope for. “If you asked me five years ago what life would be like for Anne today, I’d say she’d be long gone and buried deep in the ground. I never thought I’d see her get married. This is all happening because of you.”

“You know I would do anything for Anne.” You replied softly.

He pulled away to meet your gaze, “And I would do anything for you.”

There was something special about the way he looked at you, the way his dark eyes were captivated by yours. The warmth of his embrace and the tenderness in his touch made you feel cherished in that moment.

It felt like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of intimacy. Everything else ceased to exist as you were enveloped by his presence, captivated by the depth of his gaze and the warmth of his embrace.

Sebastian drew nearer, his eyes locking onto yours with intensity. His hand trailed through your hair, tenderly caressing your cheek as he leaned in closer. The sensation of his chest against yours sent your heart into a flurry of anticipation.

It was kind of funny to you, how this man could still make your heart flutter in the most exciting ways ever even after sharing hundreds of kisses.

Right before his lips touched yours, he paused, looking at you intently. The intimacy grew with each passing second as he leaned closer until finally connecting his lips to yours.

Sebastian's touch was sensual, yet tender. There was a delicate balance of passion and tenderness in his kiss. His lips felt warm and inviting, like the gentle warmth of a summer in the middle of the cold autumn breeze.

The kiss deepened and the intensity rose with every passing second. Lost in the kiss, you could feel all the worries and stresses of life wash away– like maybe Anne wasn’t dying, or Ominis wasn’t about to face his worst heartbreak, and Sebastian wasn’t going to lose his sister, and all that was left was the warmth of his touch.

As the weight of everything going on amplified the intensity of your emotions, it also seemed to intensify your desire, heightening every sensation, every touch, every whisper of longing. It was as if the urgency of the moment fueled the fire burning between you and Sebastian.

You didn’t want this to end. You wished you could live in whatever intoxicating illusion this feeling was.

The kiss went on and Sebastian tightened his grip, pulling you closer to him. The sensation of his lips and the heat of his body pressed up against you had your mind spinning. Every touch of his lips on yours was more arousing than the last.

The heat was becoming too intense, and you wanted more.

Sebastian continued to explore your body with his hands, grazing his fingers along your curves. He moved his hands upwards towards your chest and your breath hitched at his touch.

Despite the lust that was slowly eating away your rational thinking, deep inside, in the back of your mind, you had a sudden realisation. Sebastian’s griefing and this felt like an unhealthy outlet. The guilt weighed on your mind but the brunette began trying to unzip your dress.

“Sebastian..” You pulled away and whispered breathlessly against his lips, “You’re grieving.”

He shook his head, “I want you..” He put trails of kisses along your jaw and neck, making everything even more irresistible.

You bit your lip. “Not like this.”

“Please..” He whispered in your ear and you couldn’t hold the soft moan that escaped your lips.

The sensation of Sebastian's kisses sent shivers down your spine, his breath hot on your skin. You tried your best to resist him, but it was becoming too much to bear. And when his hand slid under your dress and touched your heat, temptation took over you and your body yielded under his touch.

“Fuck.. Sebastian.”

"I know you want me, too," He whispered. Your body betrayed your words as you grew wetter with desire. The sensation of his touch on your clit, using your own fluids as a lubricant, sent waves of pleasure through you. At that moment, you no longer wanted him to stop.

Your body responded instinctively to Sebastian's touch. Your back arched into his hand as pleasure washed over you and your hips rolled around to the movement of his finger. Giving in to the pleasure, your eyelids fluttered shut and your head fell backwards.

As Sebastian kissed your collarbone, your dress slipped off your shoulder, exposing more of your skin and eventually revealing your breasts.

Sebastian groaned softly at the sight before him, unable to resist the temptation of your hardened nipple. With eager anticipation, he lowered his lips to take it into his mouth, his fingers continuing their skilful movements. The combination of his touch and his lips against your skin sent your senses reeling.

Your moans were like music to his ears. With each gasp and whimper that escaped your lips, his craving only intensified, driving him to seek out more ways to please you, “Oh darling, I can’t take it anymore.”

He pulled away, allowing your dress to fall to your feet with a soft rustle of fabric. With gentle yet firm hands, he lifted you, then carefully guided you to lie down on the ground beneath you.

As you lay there, the cool earth beneath you provided a stark contrast to the heat of your desire. You watched Sebastian undress himself, his muscles rippling beneath his skin with every movement. With each article of clothing he shed, your anticipation grew, knowing that soon you would be able to feel his warmth inside of you.

When his thick, hard cock came into view, your hand instinctively reached out to touch it, but Sebastian was quick to grab your wrist and pin it above your head. Leaning in close, his hot breath washed over your skin. While his cock, wet with precum, brushed against your stomach. "So eager now, aren’t we?" he whispered huskily.

“Just fuck me already,” you begged so desperately wanting to feel him inside of you.

Sebastian's lips curled into a wicked smile at your boldness. You didn’t have to tell him twice.

With a low growl, he released your wrist and positioned himself between your thighs and without a word, he entered you slowly, savouring every inch of the delicious friction between your bodies. His hand slipped under your thigh and pushed your knee so he could gain better access into your depths.

And just as he expected, the position allowed his length to slide inside you so gracefully deep. As he settled fully inside you, a groan of pleasure escaped his lips.

He began to move and each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, you surrendered completely to the ecstasy of the moment, lost in the rhythm of Sebastian pumping you, “Ah.. fuck– yes..”

Your moans echoed through the silent night, mingling with the rustling leaves and whistling wind. The sounds of nature seemed to fade into the background and were replaced by the sound of your lusts.

His movement was slow but he hit you deep and right exactly where you wanted him to be. You clenched hard around his cock and it sent him frantic, “You feel.. so damn good..”

Your hand gripped his toned arms, your back arched, and your head leaned back in ecstasy. Without missing a beat of his thrusts, Sebastian seized the opportunity to lavish on your bare skin, trailing kisses along your neck and collarbone.

Then, he took the moment to give your bouncing breasts some attention, taking one in his mouth and sucking it gently. And by Merlin’s beard, this man knew how to multitask.

You spread your legs wide and angled your hips, meeting each of Sebastian's deep thrusts with equal fervour. When his rhythm intensified, the nails of your hand dug into his arm and it elicited a sharp intake of breath that came out of him.

With each thrust, you felt a different kind of connection with Sebastian, a deeper sense of intimacy. It was as if every movement, every caress, carried the weight of the world and the depth of your emotions. This felt more than just physical pleasure– it felt like a shared understanding of the fleeting nature of time and the preciousness of the moments you shared together.

Sebastian brushed aside the strands of hair that obscured your face, his gaze penetrating, filled with a tumult of emotions—lust, grief, love, all swirling together. At that moment, when his eyes locked with yours, you felt the depth of his presence. The way he looked at you, the way he felt inside of you, it was overwhelming– it was so, so good it made you want to cry.

Your legs wrapped around his hips, urging him to delve deeper. Sebastian's deep, husky voice filled the air with a moan, your name escaping his lips in a desperate plea for more, “I.. I love you..” He declared breathlessly, his words laden with raw emotion, “I love you.. so much..”

“I love you too..” You cupped his cheek, pressing your foreheads together, “I-im so.. so close..”

He tightened his embrace around you, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he chased his own climax. With a fervent kiss, he whispered against your lips, "Come with me, darling.”

The intensity built and you felt the tension coil within you, ready to unravel at any moment. And then, as if on cue, you felt it—the wave of pleasure crashing over you. Your body tensed, every nerve ending alive with sensation as cries of ecstasy escaped your lips, filling the air with the sweet sound of your orgasm, “oh fuck– Sebastian!”

With a guttural groan, he cried out your name and reached his peak, his body shuddering with release as he spilled inside of you.

Sebastian collapsed against you, his chest heaving in an attempt to catch his breath. You wrapped your arms around him, basking in the afterglow of your moment.

He kissed the line of your shoulders, then your cheek, and eventually your lips.

As he pulled back slightly, he took a moment to stare at your face, his eyes filled with all of the emotions that were left, like he was trying to memorise every detail, every curve, every expression– he never wanted to forget this moment.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said with a smile that reminded you of all the reasons you fell for him.

“Oh, shut up.” You kissed him to mask the way your cheeks flushed red.

When you both pulled away from the kiss, you found yourselves lingering in the intimacy of the moment. Your noses brushed together softly, eliciting a gentle smile from both of you. Sebastian's fingers traced the contours of your jaw with delicate precision, his touch telling you how much he loves you.

You reciprocated by running your fingers through his hair, feeling the silky strands intertwine with your touch. The closeness between you felt electric.

“Marry me.” He suddenly said and your loving gaze swapped into confusion in an instant.

“What?”

“Marry me.” He repeated, “Today, tomorrow, next week– I don’t care.”

Sebastian's sudden proposal left you speechless as his words sank in slowly. His eyes bore into yours and you searched it for any hint of uncertainty. You know he’s grieving, and this could be just that. “Sebastian..”

“This is not grief talking or merely an after-sex impulse.” He assured you as if he could read your mind, “This is something that I’ve been thinking about for some time. With everything that’s been going on with Anne, don’t you think it’s telling us something?”

He was begging for your consideration, wanting you to believe that he meant every word.

“Cherish every moment we have left, you said.” He stroked your hair with a touch so gentle it felt so tender and reassuring, “You gave me a life to live. And I want to spend the rest of my time loving you.”

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts amidst the chaotic feelings swirling inside you. Sebastian's proposal was unexpected, but you know it felt right. There was something about his sincerity that was hard to deny.

"Do you really mean it?" You whispered.

"Yes." He brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, his hand lingering by your cheek. "I mean it with all my heart. I want to marry you."

A smile painted across your face, your lips curling into a wide grin. Without any inhibitions, you pulled him into a kiss, expressing your love and acceptance through the tender gesture. The passion ignited once again.

You lost yourself in the intimacy of the moment, wrapped in Sebastian's firm grasp, letting your mind and body surrender to the joy.

Sebastian quickly pulled away, eyes flickered with anticipation when he realised you hadn’t really given your answer, “Wait, is that a yes?”

A playful glint danced in your eyes as you nodded, a grin spreading across your face. “Of course, it’s a yes.”

Sebastian's face lit up with a radiant smile, relief washing over him as leaned in to resume the kiss.

Because time is like a relentless river that will eventually run its course. Yet, amidst the uncertainty of what lay ahead, you found solace in the knowledge that new beginnings awaited. And you can’t wait to start your new journey with Sebastian.

[monsterbunny69]

Julian devorak x Gn!Reader smut part 1

18+!

Context: you and Julian have come up with an agreement where if he has a sex dream you are allowed, and have his consent to, wake him up by giving him a hand job or blowjob. Tonight is the night you finally get to execute this.

Hehe

Mc’s POV

Stir awake after feeling Julian toss and turn a few times in his sleep. I sat up, thinking it was a nightmare at first “jul-“ I begin to call his name and set my hand on his shoulder before I am interrupted but a low, desperate sounding moan. I freeze, not knowing what to do. He shuffles again, laying on his back now. I debate waking him up to ask what he was dreaming about because I know if he’s having a wet dream he’ll be very embarrassed~

Instead I decide to slide under the blankets, planting myself slowly and carefully between his legs. As I do this I hear him moan again, a little louder this time. I have the blanket covering me up to my neck so I don’t get cold. I set a hand on his left thigh, trailing it up his shorts that he slept in. His skin is flushed pink and warm, his breathing is picking up a little. I finally look down at his crotch and see his bulge pressing against the fabric. I bite my lip a little and reach up, beginning to stroke and massage his hard on over his pants. His dick twitches in his shorts as I palm it, drawing a breathy moan from my sleeping lover. I stroke him with a good grip so it feels like he’s fucking something, which causes him to jolt his hips forward into my hand. I’m glad he is a heavy sleeper because it’s interesting to see how his body reacts to my touch without him being awake to suppress its urges. I don’t stop stroking until I see drips of precum staining through his shorts. I stop the movements of my hands and slowly drag his shorts and boxers down his pale thighs so he won’t wake up. I sigh a little, knowing what I’m about to do will wake him up eventually. I watch as his dick twitches, leaking precum onto the shirt he slept in. I look up at his sleeping face, it’s flushed and there’s a bead of sweat on his forehead. Whatever he is dreaming about has him really fired up. I scoot a little closer to Julian, gently grabbing his erection and wrapping my lips around the head, sucking and licking on just the tip to test the waters. My actions cause him to let out a loud groan and I freeze, not wanting to wake him just yet. Once he settles again I start bobbing my head, sucking his dick all the way down to the base. He thrusts his hips forwards again in his sleep, so I pin him down, hands gripping his thighs. I don’t mind if I leave bruises on them, Julian has a thing for marking. Then I keep blowing him, speeding up. He is moaning a little with each dip I take and eventually his eyes flutter open, and I catch him staring at me with half-lidded eyes and desperation. “G-good morning to you too” he says, biting his lip and arching his back straight after. I try not to smile as I keep his hips pinned and my lips wrapped tightly around his twitching cock. Now that he’s awake his hands are gripping the bed sheets beside us and he’s moaning as loud as he feels like it- which is pretty loud. His moans are music to my ears and motivation for me to keep giving him the best blowjob I can. “Ah! Mc-“ he cuts himself off with another moan, back arching off the bed. I abruptly pull away from him, licking my lips. He whimpers and locks eyes with me “t-that’s not fair” he huffs, letting go of the bed sheets. I knew he was getting close, and I want to make him beg for it. “You know what I need from you first” I say, doing my best to be intimidating. He huffs, I can watch the gears turning in his head as he tries to decide whether he wants to be a brat or obedient. I cross my arms and give him a look, he knows I won’t let him cum if he’s a brat. Julian locks eyes with me and almost immediately softens his gaze and slumps back down on the bed “please make me cum” he gives me the same half lidded look as earlier, a red blush dusting his cheeks. I chuckle at him “good choice~” I reply, grabbing his wrists this time and pinning them by his sides. He’s avoiding my eyes now, embarrassed by how turned on he is. Instead of jumping right back into blowing him I lean down farther this time and place kisses on his thighs. I stare up at him while I do this, causing him to swallow and stare at me in awe. I then bite into one of his thighs hard enough to leave marks, causing him to moan loudly, balling his fists. I smirk and continue to bite along his thighs, leaving behind bruises and hickeys. When I’m done I look up at him. He lets out a shuddering breath and shuts his eyes, leaning his head back against the pillow. I remove my hands from his wrists and place them on his hips again.

[galebrainrot2024]

Gale x Tav Enemies to Lovers Part 13 Read on AO3 Tav's POV Content Warning: Bullying, Self-Harm

To some of the companions chagrin, Tav was set on exploring every crevice in the Underdark. She intended to head for the shadowed lands as soon as they were able to free Barcus and the iron hand gnomes and bring Nere’s head to Sovereign Spaw.

Astarion fussed, uninterested in helping slaves despite his sordid past and Lae’zel couldn’t be bothered either way. Halsin, ever the team player, seemed content with whatever Tav decided and Wyll was happy to help those in need, while Karlach was just happy to be alive. 

The conditions were brutal in Grymforge so tempers were short. It was sweltering like a humid summers day, even the parts away from the lava seemed to be uncomfortably warm. It was so hot that Tav wanted to rip off her armor, protection be damned.

Reprieve eluded them even as they camped in the coolest, darkest places they could find. Even still, the heat, grime and sweat were suffocating. She reassured everyone that their quests were almost complete and they’d be moving on promptly. But, something always came up.

Now that Shadowheart knew the forge to be an artifact of a Sharran temple, she was meticulously exploring it, reading every plaque and brushing her fingers against every fallen statue. Tav, ever one to please and ensure her companions felt supported, obliged to the annoyance of others. 

Astarion, for the most part. 

"It's beautiful... a past tribute to the Dark Lady..." Shadowheart murmured while she admired the architecture. Tav bit her cheeks to hold her tongue, hoping that eventually Shadowheart would recognize that Shar was an abusive, manipulative Goddess that she would be better off turning her back on. 

Tav was ready to sell her soul to Raphael if it meant she could dip in a cool river - the collar of her robe was a little too high, too itchy and she flinched, peeling her gloves back to get some air circulation. It didn’t work, obviously. Sweat dripped in rivulets down her back, feeling it pool in the most uncomfortable of places. Hells, even a luke warm river would have relieved her at this point. 

They had just secured the runepowder and were headed back to clear the rubble blocking those from freedom, and Tav couldn’t imagine how Karlach felt since she was already burning up. Tav asked about it which in hindsight, felt inconsiderate. Karlach took it graciously though. 

“To be honest, I don’t even notice heat temperature that much anymore. I’m so uncomfortable all of the time on the inside, I don’t have a lot of time to be worried about how I feel on the outside. Thank the gods we’re usually so close to running water so I can cool off every so often, but down here… we’re all uncomfortable, so I can’t complain. I can and will complain about the bloody stench coming off those robes, though, grandpa.”

Shadowheart snickered, “Heh. Gale you could use a proper bath. The rest of us don’t smell quite so… ripe..” 

Gale rolled his eyes and wiped the sweat dripping from his brows. “Lucky for you, I intend to do that first thing we’re near any source of water again. We don’t need to keep bringing it up. AND,” he hissed, “I’m not sure why you insist on sneaking around when my smell gives us away for miles.” 

Tav was staring at Gale when he turned to hurl a teasing accusation at her and her breath caught in her throat when he caught her staring. She tried to look away, yet felt compelled not to. Her cheeks were hot and her heart felt like it would explode. 

Tav ripped her gaze away when Shadowheart gave her a nudge. “What do you think, Tav? I know you must have an opinion.” 

“Um,” Tav had no response and her mouth felt like sand. Tav quite liked the way he smelled, actually, and was having a hard time focusing on much else. She kept getting distracted by how his forehead and skin gleamed with sweat and she felt too hot, needed to claw out of her armor and couldn’t. She felt beside herself, he was the only thing she could focus her attention on as if he bewitched her. 

Tav saw Gale smirk and blush as if in a silent understanding. He mumbled something incoherent, his eyes still fixed on hers. Karlach groaned and covered her nose with the front of her shirt. “The two of you need to get a room.” 

Shadowheart snorted, eyeing Tav pointedly. “It might do everyone some good...” 

Tav was shocked. It was like Karlach to hurl these jokes - but Shadowheart? Tav’s eyes fluttered to meet Gale’s and as he stood there, sweating and flushed she felt ungodly. Sinful. She turned away and moved faster towards the rubble, trying to escape the feelings that consumed her. 

As she rushed ahead she heard the whispers between Shadowheart and Karlach, her ears were hot and burning. What were they on about? Gale and she just had a complicated history… that was all. 

***

Karlach collapsed, rummaging through her bag until she pulled out water, “Oh thank the gods…” she chugged it, thirsty and dehydrated after carrying them to victory. Yes, magic was incredible, but nothing could stop some good old fashioned rage. Although Gale, Tav, and Shadowheart could be silenced and rendered impotent, Karlach was ever the heavy hitter. 

The gnomes were filtering about, mourning those who were lost and celebrating their new found freedom. Tav had just finished talking to Marcus when she saw Gale knelt over Nere, studying the lifeless corpse crumpled at his feet.  Tav cocked a brow, tilting her head inquisitively as her eyes drunk him in, how the sleeves of his robes were pulled back - just - to show his sinewy forearms and wiry veins. Her mouth began to water and she felt the tell tale blooming of heat at her core. 

Why was she so drawn to him? The magnetism, the pull of rivalry and the tension that had built in their past was born anew in the present, the feelings of angst and desire blossoming into an all consuming need. She cleared her throat, the sudden increase of saliva in her mouth making her uncomfortable, and wiped the sweat from her upper lip. 

There was something inexplicable about Gale. She recalled the first time she met him - it was her first day at Blackstaff and she was horribly nervous, her stomach twisted in on itself and her body shook from adrenaline. They must have been about ten and Gale, as confident as he was, tried to approach her. Tav had been terrified at the time and could only offer a small smile and head shake before walking away. It was a memory that made her baulk in embarrassment, how her tongue was so tied she had been unable to say a word. They were in almost all the same classes that year and it started Tav’s fascination with him. It wasn’t often she was met with someone whose mind and wit were as sharp as her own. Magic had been as much a part of her as her right hand, from the time memory solidified in her brain, and she quickly learned the same was true for Gale.  

Tav was sent to Blackstaff after an unfortunate turn of events involving frost and ice and a brief stay at a neighbor’s while her father adventured. Tav had been having a difficult day, her peers at her prior day academy were relentless - picking her apart for her tattered clothes, her weird abilities, her wild hair and when she arrived back at the home that wasn’t hers Gerald, the neighbors son, made a snide comment about her and… she snapped. She couldn’t remember what he said now - she did remember the streaks of blue ice that wrapped Gerald in its tendrils, choking him, freezing him and the look of abject terror on Gerald’s face. It wasn’t until Gerald’s mother intervened that Tav realized what happened. The wail that left her body wrought her core when she stopped Tav - she was consumed with guilt, had rushed to the bathroom to try to scrub her hands with scalding water in hopes it would take away her ability. As she rubbed her hands together the boiling heat burned her skin, her body shaking with violent sobs and heaves. 

By the time her father was able to get there, her hands were so raw they needed to be salved and wrapped for a few days. 

And so, it was decided it would be in everyone’s best interest for her to hone her talent, learn how to wield and master her abilities and the intensely growing emotions that coursed through her. 

Tav took the opportunity to transform herself, to camouflage and fit in with her peers. It was also exciting, to be among others who shared her thirst for knowledge even though many could not match her talent or ability. Gale could, though, and she found it thrilling. She couldn’t help herself, she spent so much time challenging him, poking at him, taunting him for a reaction because she needed to chase the trill it sent through her body. Even if it meant it was at Gale’s expense. 

She was too young to recognize what that feeling was at the time. Tav had always been one who felt a stronger desire for a persons mind, their spirit rather than for their external appearance - but, looks certainly weren’t a hindrance. Gale was wiry and gawky in their youth and the man before her now was quite different and yet exactly the same. Tav touched her lip, thinking of how close his face was to hers a few nights ago. 

A hand on her shoulder pulled her back to the present, “Tav?” Shadowheart’s gentle voice touched her ear, “Are you ready?” 

“Sorry, you startled me… I was miles away.” Tav blushed and rubbed the back of her neck and looked back towards Gale who had a curious expression. She began, unconsciously, to walk towards him.  

Gale pulled something from the body - a broken lantern of some kind. Tav sighed as his face scrunched, unable to decipher what it was, and she found his concentration delicious. Pull yourself together, she rebuked herself, trying to refocus her attention. Tav recognized it to be a pixie lantern - she had seen one once before, a broken one her father brought back. 

“A pixie lantern?” Tav asked, kneeling beside Gale and extending her arm to take it. “May I?” 

Gale was flustered and he thrusted the lantern towards her hand, his finger lightly brushing hers. “By all means. It seems you’re more familiar with this contraption than I am. Can you feel the magic of it?” Gale murmured, his eyes wide. “It feels dark…” 

“Likely a creation from the Shadow Weave…” Tav mused, biting her lip in concentration. “I wonder what this was used for…” Pixies weren’t known to be hospitable captives and what purpose could a lantern serve in the forge? Tav felt warm, too warm, and licked the sweat from her upper lip and she heard Gale’s breath hitch. Her eyes flicked to his, the brown irises drowned out by endless black pupils. 

Her mouth parted and she reached out to brush the sweat pooling beneath his lips. Gale sighed, “What are you doing…” The shock that swept through her was almost palpable, interrupted by Karlach’s voice. 

“Let’s GO,” Karlach fussed, growing impatient with their investigation. “If we don’t leave soon, we’ll never make it back to camp.” Her voice rose and fell like an over-tired child’s. 

Gale’s soft laugh ignited her and her eyes were glued to him, “Ah, Karlach - what would we do without your exceptional time keeping skills?” 

He was goading her and Karlach frowned playfully, holding up her axe in a faux threat. “I can show you some of my other skills, too, if you’d like.” 

Gale grunted as he pushed himself up, his knees cracking a bit. “Oooo, did you hear that?” He looked down at Tav, a smile playing at his lips and he held out his hand. Although surprised, Tav took it and stood, her hand remaining in his until he begrudgingly released it. “Knees aren’t quite what they used to be.” 

“I’m pretty sure they heard that crack in the hells,” Karlach tossed at Gale, smirking. “Now, I’m moving and you can follow or not.” 

[ambiguous-avery]

Chasing Shadows, Part 5

Dean Winchester x OC fem!Touched!Reader/You | WC: 6525

Summary: She’s never been afraid of the dark, not really. She’s more concerned about getting lost in it. He’s haunted by every dark deed he’s ever done. It’s constantly nipping at his heels like a hell hound. He’s her light in the dark, and she’s the one bit of darkness he’s willing to embrace.

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical violence, eventual romance,  eventual smut,  fluff and angst, POV alternating (sometimes a little all over the place), no beta we die like men

Disclaimer: The base concept of Touched comes from @aylacavebear and is used with permission. I’ve taken creative liberties with it.

A/N: Aaand the Kripke curse is real. I originally estimated that I would have this whole story told in about 8 chapters plus an epilogue. With how this chapter turned out, I’m now up to 9 (leaning more towards 10) and an epilogue, so more content for all you lovelies out there! Chasing Shadows Series Masterlist

You had spent the entirety of their absence getting to know the bunker’s layout a bit more in depth, and in your wandering, you had happened upon a storage room that had a bunch of lab-like supplies. Beakers, test tubes, bunsen burners. You vaguely remembered some of the things from your science course you had taken in college, but what had drawn your attention the most was a box of small vials that had been haphazardly tossed into the box and chucked into the corner of the storage. After a bit of digging and a couple of glass shards dug out of your skin later, you had two small vials just a bit larger than your middle finger cleaned and stoppered. They clinked in your hand as you meandered down the bunker’s hallways, red liquid trembling as you moved. 

Dean wasn’t in his room or the library or even the kitchen. If you had learned anything about him in your almost-month of living at the bunker with the brothers, you knew the one spot you could for sure find Dean at. You could’ve laughed at how predictable he was. Despite having been torn into like a cat’s scratching post the night prior, you found Dean in the garage, presumably working on Baby. Presumably because when you found him, he was stretched out on the front bench of the car, arms crossed and leaning against the closed driver side door. The ever-watchful Dean Winchester, fast asleep in the front seat of his car. You brought a hand to your mouth to stifle the giggle that bubbled up. You couldn’t think of a time you had seen Dean so unguarded. Even last night as you had taken care of him, his eyes had been on you almost the entire time, watching you work. Watching every little movement you made. But now, as you took careful, quiet steps closer and closer to the car, you got a glimpse of a rare moment when Dean was entirely relaxed. 

It was unfair just how pretty he looked. The sharp angle of his jaw softened by a couple day’s worth of stubble. His long lashes that he didn’t have to work for. His lips that you wished you could feel pressed against yours again. And his eyes. Those green eyes that you wished would always be focused on you. Green eyes that looked at you with affection and care and–

Green eyes were looking at you.

Dean was grinning at you, his hunter senses having kicked in and told him that someone was watching him.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” he asked, sitting up and stretching like a cat.

“You look good,” you said before you could catch yourself. You met his gaze, and a hint of knowing weaseled its way into his smile. “Your wounds and your eye, I mean.” Even you didn’t believe what you were saying.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he teased slowly. He scooted to the passenger side of the bench, legs dangling outside of the car. The passenger side door had been removed and set off to the side, and you finally noticed that a portion of the roof on the passenger side dipped down, as though something or someone had fallen against it. You could be forgiven for missing that the night before, though, since you had been more concerned about the brothers than the car. Silly you and your priorities. Dean’s swollen eye had gotten a little better, but you would be happier if he spent some more time with a cold compress over it. You drew closer. “What do you need?”

“Oh, I don’t need anything, Dean. I actually have something for you.” Dean quirked an eyebrow up, curiosity getting the better of him. With a quick breath to steel your nerves, you drew closer and held the vials out for him. He tilted his head, looking at them momentarily before holding his hand out for them. You set them on his outstretched palm, and he rolled them a bit. “If you won’t take me on your hunts, then at least take these. I don’t think it has to be fresh for the healing effect to still work.”

Dean just about dropped the vials as if they had bitten him but managed to catch himself last second and keep them in his hand. However, his hold on them shifted, holding them tentatively by the stoppered tops rather than in his palm. He all but tossed them into the Impala’s open glove box before wiping his hands on his jeans, as though you had handed him something dirty or dangerous.

“Sweetheart, what are you thinking?!” The volume of his voice suddenly raised, catching you off guard. You shrank at his sudden shift in demeanor, but he didn’t let up. He grabbed your shoulders, shaking you, and your eyes went wide.

“I... I just thought that if something happened while you were out hunting and something happened–”

“Sweetheart.” You couldn’t decipher the tone in his voice as he met your gaze. It sounded like a combination between disappointment and confusion and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “I’m not gonna lie to you. That’s too weird, even for me.”

“How is it any different than like... Dead Man’s Blood?”

“The difference is that I don’t know the poor bastard who bled into the jar. And he’s dead.”

“And me being alive makes it weird?”

”Frankly, yeah.”

Your eyes must’ve been as shiny as they felt because Dean’s whole attitude seemed to do a one-eighty in the space of a breath. His hold on you loosened, and instead of holding your shoulders, he stood up to pull you into a hug.

”I just wanted to be helpful.” Your voice was quiet. Your time alone at the bunker had given you far too much time to think, and self-doubt was awfully chatty when no one else was around to drown it out. It didn’t help that you knew the reason that they had kept you benched.

”Sweetheart, you’re plenty helpful.” Dean ran a hand up and down your back soothingly.

You didn’t know enough about hunting to go with them. Despite all your time with your nose in the books, you hadn’t come any closer to finding the answers you had come here for. Plus you hadn’t made any headway on the pendant you had bought – speaking of which, you really needed to figure out where you had misplaced it. Really, all you had in your favor was that you could patch the boys up if they got particularly beaten up. If you didn’t have that, they wouldn’t have a single reason to keep you around. You took a shuddering breath in, and Dean just held you, running a soothing hand up and down your back.

”Sorry…” you mumbled into his shirt, wrapping your arms around him and just breathing him in. His presence was grounding, his scent washing over you and quieting your doubt.

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. You got plenty of things going for you. The fact that you wake up early with Sammy and watch over him when I can’t is worth more than you know. Besides,” he backed up a bit and lifted your chin to look at him, “you’re the cutest nurse who’s ever put her hands on me.” You flushed pink and tucked your face back into his shirt. His low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

You fell back into routine with the brothers in record time. Morning runs with Sam were getting easier, and you dared to say that you were enjoying them. Looking forward to them, even. Dean’s comment about you being there with Sam probably played a part in it, even though it was more likely Sam who was watching over you rather than the other way around. Plus, it made you feel a bit better about yourself whenever you’d end up with a burger and a milkshake for dinner. You had never been the most health-conscious person in the world, but you tried not to make a habit of eating terrible food all the time. Dean didn’t share the same concern as you or Sam for what he put in his body. He shoveled down greasy burgers and beer like it was going out of style, and you were never going to forget the first time you had seen him practically unhinge his jaw to swallow down a piece of pie. Was it weird if you found it kind of hot? Being stuck in such close quarters with two attractive men was starting to affect you. You had eyes and a functioning brain, and your mind had not let you forget about those goddamn dimples on Dean’s back. 

It didn’t help that Dean had decided to make it his life’s mission to kill you. Not literally, of course. But a few days after their return from their hunt, he had suddenly decided that it was the most important thing in the world for you to learn some hand-to-hand self defense techniques in the name of safety. Because being around a sweaty, panting Dean who was grabbing and manhandling you with his big, calloused hands was just what you needed when you were already struggling with keeping him out of your daydreams. 

“Come on, sweetheart. It’s like you aren’t even trying to get away,” he said, releasing you from the full nelson hold he had on you. Your arms dropped to your sides as you stepped away from him and turned around, facing him on the mats you had found in one of the storage rooms of the bunker. Your breaths came hard, sweat dripping down the side of your face. 

“Sorry my three days of lessons can’t keep up with your years of experience,” you drawled, rolling your eyes at him. He grinned at you, all teeth and dimples, and fuck there went your focus. If Dean ever decided that he was going to try and kill you, you’d stand there and let it happen so long as he just kept smiling at you.

“Let’s try one more time. Then we can call it good for the day,” he insisted. You sighed in resignation. 

It wasn’t like you hated all this. Your research had slowed way down as all the words in books seemed to blend together faster and faster with each day, and you could tell that you were slowly approaching your limit for just how many times you could run into a dead end and keep going. Plus you were on day seven of your futile search for your necklace. You only spent time in a few rooms of the bunker, but you wouldn’t have been surprised if it had slipped off in a random room during your exploring. Both Sam and Dean had said they hadn’t seen it but assured you that they would keep their eyes peeled for it. You tamped down the anxious feelings that bubbled up by not having it. Dean was a great distraction for it.

You were never going to turn down more time with Dean, especially not more time with sweaty Dean. He slid behind you and hooked his arms beneath yours and interlocked his fingers together behind your head before hefting you up until you were practically on your tiptoes. You felt his belt buckle – had it always been that prominent? – dig into your lower back, and you struggled to find purchase on the ground as he stood almost to his full height. Dean was careful, holding you in such a way that kept you restrained but didn’t put any excess stress on any one part of you. And even though he had you at his mercy and you fought against him, there wasn’t an ounce of fear in your system. You were safe with Dean.

He had been trying to teach you how to get out of grapples for the better portion of the day’s training, and you had succeeded at none of them. With the combination of your inexperience, his strength, and your overwhelming desire to never leave his hold, you had been doomed from the start. Even though he had given you all the tools to escape. Find a foothold, knock your assailant off balance, drop your weight to the ground. In theory, it was a solid plan. In practice though, with your feet just barely touching the mat, you were struggling with step one. You grunted with effort as you tried to shift in his grasp, and in response, he held onto you tighter. Bastard. How were you supposed to learn if you couldn’t ever translate that knowledge into experience?

Fed up with reaching another potential wall in your learning, you kicked a leg out in front of you, aiming to get some semblance of momentum on your side more than anything else. Dean adjusted as your center of gravity moved, giving you the briefest moment to place your foot on the ground. And from there, you were gone. You dipped into the shadows just long enough to free yourself from his hold. Then, before the lights in the room could get swallowed up, you left, Stepping out of Dean’s shadow behind him. You shoved him – hard – and he stumbled forward, pivoting on one foot to face you. Wanting to push the only advantage you had gotten, you charged at him, dropping low and digging your shoulder into his midsection like a linebacker. His footing slipped, and you followed him down to the mat, grabbing for his arm or wrist or anything to try and turn the tables and get him in a headlock. 

In the end, though, Dean’s experience and physical advantages over you spelled his victory. He wound up clinching you from behind, one arm across your chest like a seatbelt and the other pressed against the hand you had brought up to protect your throat. His legs were wrapped around your hips, and as the muscles in his arms flexed and pulled you closer against him, a very stark realization hit you. That certainly wasn’t his belt buckle pressing into you.

You went abruptly still.

Dean froze. 

There was a long, drawn out moment between the two of you, and you would’ve given just about anything in the world for just a fleeting glimpse into his mind. Just few brief seconds to read his thoughts to gleen whether or not there was something – anything �� between the two of you. Emotionally-speaking, of course. Because physically, well...

Dean’s hold on you loosened ever so slightly, and the not-down-bad-for-Dean portion of your brain kicked in, remembering the situation at hand. You turned into a whirlwind of sharp elbows and knees. Before Dean knew what hit him, you had him flat on his back, you sitting astride his hips and both of his hands trapped against his chest. Your free hand flew towards his face, stopped at the last moment, and then tapped the tip of his nose gently. Dean only gazed up at you, and you dared let yourself believe that there was awe somewhere in those eyes.

“I win,” you said, a smirk playing on your lips and a haughty tone in your voice. Dean’s face was flushed pink, his eyes wide and bright with wonder, and you made every effort to burn the memory of him in your mind’s eye because you were unlikely to ever see him like this ever again.

“Yeah... I’d say you do.” Dean’s throat made a dry clicking noise as you shifted to stand up. You offered your hand to him and, after taking his time to sit up and not-so-subtly adjust himself, he took it. He snatched his overshirt off the ground, and as he bent down to grab it, the hem of his t-shirt rode up just enough to confirm your suspicion. No belt. You diverted your gaze, suddenly finding an odd discoloration on the mat on the ground very interesting and digging your toe into it. “You hungry? I can whip up some burgers, if you want,” Dean said.

“A burger sounds great. If we have bacon, could I bother you for that too?”

“You’re a woman after my own heart. Tell me you can bake a pie, and I’m all yours.” He winked at you, and you had never had more motivation to learn a new skill ever in your life. “Just lemme shower first, then I can get on that.”

You returned to your room, stripping out of your sweaty clothes as soon as the door was closed behind you. As you tugged a fresh shirt from the chest of drawers, you rooted through your clothes, wondering if maybe you had accidentally dropped your necklace in with them. It was incredibly unlikely. The cord that it hung from was secure, using one of those sliding knots that let you adjust how loose or tight it sat, so even if one knot had loosened, you should’ve had plenty of notice before the second one gave way. After checking beneath your bed for the umpteenth time, you gave up. It would show up eventually. Too bad your ability wasn’t locating lost items. That would’ve been helpful so much more often than Shadow Walking.

Life at the bunker almost felt domestic. A month and a half of living there would do that to someone, though. The brothers had gone on one other hunt after you patched them back together, but it had apparently been a ‘routine demon possession’ which were words you didn’t expect to hear in that order before in your life. You couldn’t place exactly why, but demon possessions didn’t seem... routine. Dean had assured you that, in their line of work, routine was a good thing. Needless to say, you had been stuck on your ass at the bunker while they went out. Thankfully, that hunt only left you to stew in your thoughts for two days rather than a whole week. 

You and Sam had exhausted most of the formal books regarding creatures of the night, and he had moved onto a collection of journals that other hunters had put together. You, on the other hand, had grown bored of dry texts and branched out into lore books from across the world. Were they less likely to have any relevant information for you? Yes. Were they far more entertaining than reading paragraph upon paragraph about the alterations to the limbic system that a werewolf went through during their transformation? Also yes. Funny how reading about something when you thought it was a myth was more fascinating than when you knew it was rooted in actual research.

You flipped through the pages in your book, skipping past a story of the Greek god Zeus seducing someone as a swan. Swan-fucking in fiction? Weird as fuck but whatever, it was fiction. Swan-fucking in real life? Yeah that was weirder than shit. And illegal. Shaking the mental image from your mind, you turned another page, finding a full-page illustration of two women with outstretched hands reaching towards each other. It reminded you vaguely of the painting that depicted Adam reaching out to touch God. 

The woman at the bottom of the page was reaching upwards, a handful of rocks and dirt and plants in her hand. And the woman positioned at the top of the page extended her arm down, a mass of darkness almost entirely obscuring her hand. You eyed the page curiously. You didn’t remember this part of Greek mythology. The text at the bottom of the page read:

Nyx grabbed a handful of the night sky and gifted it to Gaia. Gaia scooped up the earth beneath her and combined the two, giving birth to a stone as dark as the night itself.

”A gift for your children not born of your blood, and a reminder of home both in the sky and on earth,” Gaia said.

You blinked, mesmerized by the words and image on the page. Something about it felt… right, although you couldn’t place exactly why. You ran your fingers along the picture, feeling a strange sort of draw to it.

You are my Touched, and I bestow my blessing upon you.

The words thrummed through the very center of your being, resonating within you like a chord. As if a veil had been torn down, the memory of leaving the pawn shop hit you, sliding into an empty spot in your mind that you hadn’t realized had been missing. And you remembered it. You remembered her. Your next breath in was sharp because you swore the woman on the top of the page turned and looked at you. She snapped her fingers soundlessly, and you watched as the ink on the page seemed to melt away. You threw the book on the table, stumbling backwards out of your chair. Sam was on his feet and at your side in an instant.

“What’s wrong?” He said your name, concern laced into his words as he looked from you to the book and back. Upon seeing what you were looking at, his shoulders relaxed, a small smile playing on his lips.

“That image,” you said, reining in your moment of panic. Sam placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, glancing at you through side bangs that had fallen into his face in his haste to stand.

“Is she having sex with a goose?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You looked at him, confusion etching its way across your features.

“Wha-? No, I mean the–” You cut yourself off when your eyes landed on the page in question. Lo and behold, gone was the image of the two ladies reaching for each other, and in its place was an illustration of a large waterfowl in a very compromising position with a naked woman. 

Incredulous, you dove back to the book, flipping back and forth between the pages. “There was a different picture here a second ago! It had two women – not like that, Sam – reaching for each other – not like that – and a blurb about mixing the sky and the earth into a stone.” You shot Sam a dangerous glare as he snickered beside you. You shoved him, only half upset at him, when his chuckled devolved into a low, genuine laugh. It was infectious, and before you knew it, you were laughing alongside him.

“Look, if you don’t wanna see that kind of imagery, you should probably step away from all Greek mythology. There’s all sorts of weird stuff like that in that pantheon,” he said, closing the book for you. You shook your head.

“Please, Sam. I’m an adult. I can handle stuff about sex. A picture melting off the page, though? That seems like something more down your alley.”

“I’ve been through this book before,” he said, looking over the cover of it. “There’s no image like what you’re talking about in here.”

Despite Sam’s insistence, you tore into the book again, looking for any sign of the picture you had seen before, and to your dismay, he had been correct. You combed through it until dinner time, chewing on your lip all the while. Why? Why did it seem like you would get so close to finding something out just to have it slip through your fingers? Your answer was smoke. Ethereal. Intangible. Slipping away from you in wisps that were probably never yours to begin with. But this time, it had left something in its wake. 

Touched. 

The word was almost palpable in your mind. And you clung to that feeling because it was the first breakthrough you felt you had gotten in all of your research thus far. You would have to ask Sam and Dean if they had heard of the term later on because currently the two of them were knee deep in an argument about music and whether or not it had peaked with classic rock.

“I’m telling you, Sammy. It’s called ‘classic’ for a reason.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean that everything that came out after it is trash. I’m just saying that if you just turned on the radio for once instead of one of the same ten cassettes you listen to on repeat, then you might find something new that you enjoy.”

“Come on, sweetheart. You’re on my side, right? Can’t beat classic rock?” 

“Oh no you don’t,” you laughed. “You’re not pulling me into this. You two have to figure out your own quarrels.”

You bid the boys goodnight before dipping into your room. It was still a mess from when you had pulled everything out of the drawers and all the blankets off of the bed in your search for your necklace. The feeling of comfort that the necklace gave you? It was the same sort of feeling you had when you recognized the depiction of Nyx on the page before it had disappeared. There was a connection there that you didn’t know the full extent of, but it was the first and only solid lead you had. And you were going to follow it all the way until the end no matter where that took you. If only you could find the damn thing, maybe it would unlock more doors for you in your journey. After another five minutes of throwing things around and going so far as to check down the sink drain, you called it a night.

If by ‘call it a night’ meant you laid in your bed staring up at the ceiling. 

You weren’t really all that tired and a good sized part of you was tempted to head back to the library and continue your research. Technically, you had two leads to go off of. Touched and Nyx. Surely you weren’t so special that you were the only one out there. But the fact that there wasn’t a huge entry into any of the books you had read so far had to mean that there weren’t many others. Or maybe there were plenty others out there, but they had never been bitten by the curiosity bug. Maybe they had just lived out normal lives, content with never knowing if they were a part of something bigger. 

A thought occurred to you. You had first encountered that other being in the Void, so theoretically, it should still be there, right? Maybe it existed there and you just never knew to look for it before. But now? The prospect was too enticing. You dug your keys out of the bedside table and flicked the light on. When was the last time you changed the battery? Had to be recent. Recent enough that you were confident for a short trip. You could change them before you actually went to sleep for the night. So, with the lights flashing in your face, you Stepped into the shadows.

Slowly but surely, the Void was becoming like an extension of yourself. You never thought it would truly be a part of you, but you were becoming less and less afraid of it. The way it numbed everything was familiar and didn’t scare you like it used to. In fact, the Void seemed just a little less dark than it used to be. Not literally, but the shadows of the bunker were getting easier and easier to navigate. Even without the fading light fixtures, you had a vague sense of where you were. 

As you turned to look around, there didn’t seem to be any sign of that profound darkness you had seen before. No one spot of the Void seemed to stand out to you, and nothing felt like it was missing. Had you overestimated things? Just because you had a piece of the puzzle didn’t necessarily mean that everything else would fall into place like dominos. Life was rarely that easy. Still, you had hoped. You wandered the Void a bit, your bare feet leaving brief imprints behind you as you walked on black glass. You glanced behind you, making sure that your beacon home was still flashing. The dancing lights quelled your rising anxiety. 

When you turned around to return to where you came from, something new in the Void drew your attention. It seemed like you were always learning new stuff about this place. Choosing to stick with the Winchesters was proving to be a smart idea in the long run. You wouldn’t have ever gotten close to where you were now without them. The new thing in the void was a light source that was unfamiliar to you. It was softer than what a normal lightbulb and more whitish-blue in color than the usual yellow you had come to know. 

The light seemed to pulsate lightly, in a rhythmic pattern that reminded you of a heartbeat. It wasn’t attached to a more profound darkness like what she was – the only other entity you had ever encountered here. But the shadows of the bunker here were unfamiliar, and you couldn’t place exactly where you were. Unsurprising since there were still quite a few rooms you didn’t know. You watched the light for a moment, waiting to see if it would do anything. It didn’t. Slowly, you approached it, half expecting it to disappear or dark off into the darkness. It stayed put, the glow still dimming and brightening. You couldn’t recall ever seeing it before while you had been here. 

Emboldened by your earlier find and not willing to let this lead slip through your fingers, you reached out for the light, determined to prove to yourself that you were capable of solving your own mysteries. All at once, your hand was pressed against something warm, a pulse matching the glow of the light beating beneath your fingertips. And before you could register where you were or what you were touching, your world was flipping upside down as your feet left the ground. Your back crashed against something surprisingly soft just before the wind was knocked out of you by a heavy weight settling on your torso. The sound of a gun cocking echoed in the dark.

“Who are you, and how the hell did you get in here?” a gruff voice asked. You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Dean?”

“Jesus christ!”

The tension in the room immediately dissipated, and you sucked in a breath as he let go of your wrist and moved off of you. You flinched as he turned the bedside lamp on, flooding the room with light. “Sweetheart, you can’t do that!” And you understood why the shadows here hadn’t been familiar to you. You had never been in Dean’s room – or Sam’s for that matter – and neither of them had ever been in yours. It just made sense that, since you all shared space throughout the rest of the bunker, your rooms were just that. Your own. Your own private space where no one else intruded or saw what sorts of things you wanted to keep behind closed doors. Had you been curious? Absolutely. But never curious enough to go snooping. 

Dean’s room was quite similar to yours, unsurprisingly. It had the same bed, end table, chest of drawers, and even the same desk that was in your room. But Dean had put his own spin on it. There were guns mounted on the wall above his bed along with crosses and several knives sitting on the shelf. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face after setting the handgun on the bedside table. You looked at him, feeling slightly guilty at the sight of his disheveled hair and tired eyes. However, the guilt was quickly pushed aside as you noticed his other hand which hung at his side. There, a braided leather cord was wrapped around his hand and dangling just beneath his fingers was a crescent moon. Your crescent moon. You frowned.

“Tell me you just found that tonight,” you said, your voice dropping low. For a brief moment, Dean looked confused, but as he followed your line of sight, his hold on your necklace tightened.

“Let me ju–”

“Tell me you just found that tonight, Dean,” you repeated, your tone quiet and dangerous. Dean didn’t answer. You made a grab for it, but Dean stepped back, just out of your reach, bringing the necklace close to his chest. “You know I’ve been looking for it.” You stood from his bed, fire rising inside you.

“Just listen to me for a moment, okay?” He held up his hands in a placating gesture, although the necklace hanging around one hand only served to add fuel to the fire.

“How long, Dean? How long have you had it?” Dean heaved a sigh.

“Since we got back from the first hunt.” Your nostrils flared, and you must’ve looked as threatening as you felt because he took another step away from you. You felt dangerous and powerless all at once. Dean had proven time and time again that it wouldn’t take much effort for him to physically overpower you in a fight. But presently, you weren’t above biting and scratching to get your point across that you were not happy with him. “I wasn’t planning on keeping it. I found it in the showers that night we got back, and I was going to bring it back to you. But when I got close to you, it started glowing. I was going to ask Cas about it. Make sure it wasn’t something dangerous.”

“And you didn’t think to just tell me? Instead of letting me tear apart my room and go crazy searching for it? I asked you if you had seen it, and you flat out lied to me. Told me you hadn’t seen it, but you’d let me know if you did,” you seethed, your anger curling off of you like flames.

“Look, I shouldn’t have lied about it. But I’ve got a lot of experience with these sorts of things. I couldn’t let you keep wearing it without knowing what it did. I’m trying to protect you.”

“Then protect me, Dean! But don’t infantilize me! I’m a grown-ass woman. I can make my own decisions, even if they’re wrong.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. I li– I care about you.”

“Life is all about getting hurt, Dean. We get hurt, and we learn, and we move on. That’s how life works!” You weren’t sure when you had started yelling, but it was the only outlet you had for the fire that roiled in you.

“But this is different!” It was Dean’s turn to raise his voice, but this time, you didn’t cower away. “Hunting is different! I don’t want you to get involved with it because it will just take and take and take from you! You’re not ready for that!”

“You don’t get to decide what I am and am not ready for!”

“Yes I do! You don’t know the first thing about hunting! You don’t know the dangers that are out there. I’ve faced them head on, and trust me, sweetheart, you haven’t got a goddamn clue about things that go bump in the night!” Dean’s gaze bore into your own, but you refused to step down. Refused to yield because even though he might have been right about your lack of knowledge, you were nothing if not stubborn. He shifted his weight from one foot to another. “You can read a million different books about werewolves or witches or shit, but until you’re out there ganking some ghost and getting your hands dirty, you don’t get to say what you’re capable of because you don’t know! All I’ve seen from you are the two times you’ve frozen when face to face with a vamp!”

The last line struck home, and you visibly winced. It was a low blow, and you could see that he knew it. The second the words left his lips, he turned away from you and took several steps towards the other side of the room. He let out an exasperated groan. “That’s... that’s not what I meant,” he finally conceded after a long, drawn out silence, his voice full of regret. You didn’t respond, just watched him as he paced back and forth at the end of the bed. He reminded you of a cat, anxiously worrying a path into the bunker floor. His words stung, but something about the way he said them didn’t cause the pain to sink in. Plenty of people had said hurtful things to you, but Dean's words, despite the potential for a greater impact given your infatuation, lacked half the intensity that others had. Maybe it was because you had seen this before with other people in your life. Part of you almost knew that he didn’t truly mean what he said. It was just an outburst of frustration. Or fear. There was something there that he wasn’t saying, and that realization put a damper on your burning fury.

“Then what did you mean?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, a pained expression crossing his face as he turned back to face you. 

“I meant... I meant that I care about you, okay? More than I should. And I can't stand the thought of something happening to you out there. I've seen too much, lost too many people.” He paused. “I can't lose you too.” His words hung heavy in the air between you, and you felt the fire of your anger die out to ashes, replaced by a mix of emotions. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? Or was that your desperate desire for something more coloring your view on things? You had spent the better part of the last month wondering if there was anything more between the two of you, hidden just beneath the surface of banter and flirting. But to hear it spoken out loud… 

You took a tentative step towards him, closing the distance that had felt like an insurmountable chasm just moments ago. His gaze flickered up to meet yours, uncertainty clouding his eyes. You reached out a hand to gently touch his arm, the leather cord and crescent moon pendant forgotten for the moment.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean,” you whispered softly. 

“I...” his gaze dropped to the ground. “I just know what it’s like to chase after an answer you desperately need to know. Believe me when I say that I understand it. I’m not trying to hold you back,” his voice was softer now, stripped of its defensive edge. “I just know it can take you down dangerous paths that you might not be ready for.” As he spoke, you couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth towards him, realizing that his concern stemmed from a place of genuine care rather than mere frustration. The realization washed over you like a wave, softening your features as you studied his face, etched with worry lines that seemed to deepen in the flickering light.

“Then it’s a good thing I know two very-experienced hunters.”

---

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Series Taglist: @wendichester @jacxx2

Dean Taglist: @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @jollyhunter

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Part 4 --- Part 6

[stellamalonesolaria]

BTS Jeon Jungkook x Reader X Kim Taehyung FF | Standing Next To You | mini series

pairing: husband’s brother! jungkook wife!reader husband! taehyung

warning: mild swearing, minor nsfw scenes, minor dni.

synopsis : when the time comes, will you choose your husband or your husband’s brother?

genre: rom-com, action thriller (you’ll know why eventually), love triangle au.

—————————————————————————

Episode 1:

Y/N's pov:

"it's been two years and we have no new lead whatsoever in this case. i'm as distraught as ever.", my firm partner and associate Alex turns to me and says this. I sigh as there's nothing I could do either. "the evidence was completely tampered with leaving no substantial proof", Alex fumes, "you go home Y/N, your husband must be waiting for your arrival, we will investigate this further tomorrow, goodnight", I nod and say "Goodnight Alex."

I get into a cab to commute to my apartment where my husband and i reside together.

I've lost the spark. I was once known as the devil's advocate but as of now I can't even properly review this. if only someone could just find the missing puzzle to this mystery.

time skip

narrator's pov

you reach your apartment. You remove your shoes and place them in the shoe rack situated right near your apartment gate. You get in the house only to be greeted by the aroma of a delicious supper. You immediately furrow your eyebrows because your husband doesn't know how to cook and you don't have a housekeeper or a cook. You usually do the cooking.

"Taehyung, have you finally learnt how to cook?"

You teasingly ask your husband

"Babe he'll never learn how to cook in this lifetime and even if he does it's probably when the pigs fly"

You roll your eyes identifying the voice immediately

"Who gave you the right to insult my husband, Jungkook", you poke as you enter the kitchen to see the muscular man with alarmingly ferocious and eye grazing looks wearing an apron with bunnies embroidered on it

"And of course, you're wearing this apron", you laugh

Jungkook suddenly looks at you intently with a spatula in his hand.

"so instead of replying back, you're gonna physically assault me now? Jungkook you know i'm a lawy–"

you were cut short by this man looking you up and down and then whispering under his breath "still as ugly as ever"

You get mad and say, "still an asshole"

Jungkook rolls his eyes and then takes out a spoon, dips it in one of the dishes he's preparing and inserts it in your mouth

"how is it?", Jungkook asks

"can't believe this scrumptious meal is made by a dick like you" you reply

"scrumptious huh" Jungkook raises his eyebrows

"made by a dick" you remind him that you didn't compliment him

"i know you like my dick" Jungkook retorts

"I don't like microscopic things" you feel your cheek flushing with a shade of pink

"Exactly why you like my di-" Jungkook is interrupted by Taehyung's entry in the kitchen.

Taehyung's eyes are glued to your figure

"di-ctionary, right brother in law?" you stifle a laugh as you say that

"i meant to say dick but okay" Jungkook whines as Taehyung looks at the both of you perplexed. You notice that and chuckle silently.

"Dear husband, go to the dining room, I'll fetch your dinner apparatus" you then look at Jungkook, "Babe, go follow your brother as well, I'll manage the rest, thanks for this though", you wink at them as they both exit the cooking area.

in the dining hall

Taehyung's pov

Y/N sets up the table so meticulously as I watch her, she's beautiful, I keep admiring her features till my eyes set on my brother, gross, didn't even let me feast my eyes with the view.

"Hyung and Y/N, you both haven't even asked my purpose for this sudden visit." Jungkook states, clearly offended.

"Brother, you're here like every month, you practically live here", I respond to him thinking how much that disturbs my alone time with her

"Well that is because I miss you guys too much but the reason of my visit here is work related this time, unfortunately." Jungkook says, satirically of course.

Jungkook and Sarcasm are soulmates; he can't go on without sneering, it's like his life is empty without the touch of mockery in it.

"That means you won't be home much, good for us" I state coldly

"NO THAT IS NOT GOOD AT ALL, I'LL HAVE TO COOK FOR THREE PEOPLE, ATLEAST JUNGKOOK AT HOME HELPED OUT WITH CHORES AND COOKING BUT NOW I'D HAVE TO DO IT ALL ALONE", Y/N exclaims

both of us laugh at her words, she's just perfect.

Y/N's Pov

I sit down for dinner after i finish serving food to the brothers but as I'm just done sitting on the chair in tranquility, I hear my phone ring.

I get up from my seat to take the call. It's from Alex. It must be about the case, this is important.

"Y/N, I have received an anonymous tip related to this affair." Alex states, cryptically.

"Is it an integral piece of evidence?", I ask demanding for him to not beat around the bush.

"it's definitely a mind blowing one." he replies

"what is it, Alex?" I ask

"The witness protection program authorities just informed me that the witness has been officially released from their center recently" Alex goes off

"How recent, Alex", I ask

"Let me complete Y/N, the spectator has been discharged from the institute today—that opens up many possibilities—" Alex says

"—Like the eyewitness may be associated with the culprit or the witness was a ploy to deceive us and distract us from the real perpetrator" I finish his sentence.

"Yes and what's even more shocking is that the whereabouts of the person is near your vicinity" Alex continues

"Huh—that means I'll have to examine this case properly and go on a lookout for the witness, you're telling me I have to work as a private investigator on top of being a criminal lawyer?" I ask in disbelief

"Y/N you're more than capable for this—plus I've hired a secret agent to assist you with this mission." Alex states

I scoff

"Professionalism can go to hell right? this violates work ethics, you cant just hire a private investigator." I deadpan tell him this

"Y/N, we need to do whatever it takes to find the one behind this—you do not understand the severity of the situation" Alex says sternly

I have to comply with him either ways.

"Okay Alex, goodnight." I say

Alex reciprocates the wish and we end the call.

I go back to the dining room to see Taehyung and Jungkook seated at the table looking like they were waiting for me?

"You're back Y/N", Taehyung says acknowledging my arrival

I smile as Jungkook remarks "No, you're hallucinating Taehyung". Taehyung rolls his eyes of course Jungkook has said that.

I take my seat and we have our dinner

Narrator's pov

dinner :

"I watched this romantic movie recently, it was amazing" you state trying to start a conversation

"What was it about" Jungkook asks

"Idiot, first tell us the name of the movie no" Taehyung adds to Jungkook's statement

"Okay okay, it was about two brothers and their love for the same girl and the extent they were willing to go to pursue the girl and articulate their admiration for her via actions and do you wanna know who the girl picks at the end—" you are suddenly cut off by Taehyung

"Save the spoilers, I'd like to find it out on my own" Taehyung says sternly

Jungkook adds on to Taehyung's statement "of course the main lead would pick the brother most apt for her"

You just slouch your shoulders mockingly indicating that you won't be telling them anything regarding the movie now.

"All i know is it takes courage to be able to go to any lengths for your one true love—that's why I liked the movie honestly" you remark

Jungkook's pov:

love? that's bullshit. i can't ever see myself falling head over heels for someone to an extent where i can do anything for them—including sacrificing my life for them because i know i can't love anyone more than myself

Taehyung's pov:

i mean i do like Y/N but i'm not sure whether i love her and even if i do allow myself to fall in love with her—i don't know if i'd love her enough to go to any lengths to do anything for her

Taehyung's and Jungkook's pov: (in unison)

“i guess only time will tell”

Narrator's pov: at that very instant Y/N gets up to put her plate away into the sink but she ends up slipping and falling backwards.

Y/N's pov:

I fear I'd injure myself badly. I just know my head will severely get hurt. I close my eyes as I prepare myself for the painful fall— I feel a hand—wait no two hands—two very different hands—on my back.

I open my eyes slowly just to see Jungkook and Taehyung holding me by my waist.

—————————————————————————

to be continued

[lady-embers]

Where does the Gwyn and Azriel ship come from?

For me, the Gwy/Az ships stems from a lot of things. From their banter to their interactions and how Sarah chooses to have Cassian and Nesta both noticing Azriel looking at Gwyn as well as the expressions Azriel has when he's not known to be so expressive with his emotions.

For instance, Cassian notices Azriel attention being fixed on Gwyn and looking at her with 'admiration and quiet encouragement shining from his face' when she's about to cut the ribbon.

When Gwyn has let out a sound of pure excitement, Azriel turned from talking with other priestesses across the ring with his brows high.

After Gwyn says, "See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger" Azriel stares after her with brows high with amusement and then we have Nesta saying Azriel was the new ribbon in regards to him and Gwyn so she was paying attention to their interaction and making a pretty telling remark on it that hints at foreshadowing.

We have this banter/competitiveness between them:

Gwyn asked Az, her teal eyes bright, “What do we get if we finish the course?” Az’s shadows danced around him. “Since there’s no chance in hell any of you will finish the course, we didn’t bother to get a prize.” Boos sounded. Gwyn lifted her chin in challenge. “We look forward to proving you wrong.”

Also, notice his shadows dancing around him during this scene? His shadows have a very distinct reactions to Gwyn. Something that can't be tied to any other character. His shadows are different with Gwyn and honestly I'd expect them to be if they are actually end up as mates/endgame. I wouldn't want them reacted to anyone else the same.

Plus, we have the similarities of them which I'll list here:

Both are competitive. We see that in ACOSF and the somewhat competition interactions between them.

Both have singing associated with them. Azriel revealed he does in fact sing in his bonus chapter and we know Gwyn sings herself. Also, there is this: "He could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang back in answer."

Both have competed in AND completed the Great Rite.

Both have intense trauma that was dealt at the hands of others. Azriel with his hands because of his brothers and Gwyn with her SA.

Both have spying associate with them. Azriel is the Night Court Spymaster and Gwyn displayed *actual* spy tendencies during the Great Rite with the monsters and waiting and watching them for days in a tree to eventually lead them to the Illyrian to help Nesta and Emerie.

Both have a preference for daggers. Azriel even gave Gwyn a private dagger lesson and Gwyn has been mentioned with daggers in ACOSF. More so than Elain, who gave truthteller back and never looked back and that was the ONLY point of connection between Azriel and Elain as Feyre thinks in her pretty picture of them.

Azriel has blue Siphons and Gwyn has a blue Invoking Stone.

Both deal with feelings of unworthiness. Azriel pretty much feels unworthy of love and Gwyn feels unworthy of wearing the stone.

And of course, we can't forget about the bonus chapter from Azriel POV where these take place:

"It's fine. I came to retrieve something I forgot." The lie was smooth and cool, as he knew his face was. His shadows peered over his wings at her.  The young priestess smiled--and Azriel thought it might have been directed at his curious shadows.

"How was the party?" Her breathe curled in front of her mouth, and one of his shadows darted out to dance with it before twirling back to him. Like it heard some silent music.

Azriel dipped his head in a sketch of a bow, something restless settling in him. Even his shadows had calmed. As if content to lounge on his shoulders and watch. We have direct reference to his shadows calming with Gwyn as well as something restless settling in him. Something we can't tie to anyone else.

Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer.

And this is how it ends:

I also can't forget that at one point in the book it mentions how when Gwyn was cutting the ribbon, the world paused and there was a shift of one path to another and that was after the bonus chapter took place in ACOSF 👀

[fic-recommended]

Steddie Fics

more to be added, if I feel like adding

—————————————

Across, Diagonal and Upside Down – rajumat

(2,889 words, 1 chapter, Teen)

Tags: Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Fluff, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bingo, no beta we die like men

After Billy beats the shit out of Steve, Dustin makes the entire party Upside Down Bingo Cards, because awful things suck less when you have something fun to think about. Or: Steve wins at bingo.

Cute intro to Steddie and just fun trauma bonding times.

Camp Folktale, Summer of ’86 – cairparaels

(113,859 words, 47 chapters, Not Rated)

Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Hurt Eddie Munson, Eddie is nice to everyone but Steve and no one knows why, Miscommunication, Swimming, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is Trying His Best, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Friendship, Campfires, Cryptids, Ghost Stories, Power Outages, Secret Admirer, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Found Family, Eddie and Steve are reluctant dads, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Humor, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Jealousy, eddie munson is a virgin, Flirting, Sexual Tension, Eddie Munson Gets Flustered Very Easily, So does Steve but he would never admit it, Not Beta Read, Tolkien References, Kissing, Making Out, Makeup, Flea Markets, Skinny Dipping, underwater kissing, Saving the camp, Eventual Smut, Smut, Overuse of italics

When Steve applies for a summer camp per Dustin's request, he doesn’t expect to have the most interesting summer of his life. Featuring a sulky metalhead who hates Steve for no reason, eight kids set on driving Steve to an early grave, Robin Buckley’s ability to charm any girl she wants, and Steve’s bisexual disaster/dream/nightmare. But hey, that’s what summer camp is all about. Right?

This fic made me obsess over making summer camps in the sims with queer romances. This fic is good. Simple word but an incredible feat.

The One in Which a Time Loop is Fucking Exhausting. – badpancake

(41,496 words, 12 chapters, Teen)

Tags: Time Loop, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington-centric, Hurt Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, im so sorry, steve deserves a little sexuality crisis, as a treat, Eventual Happy Ending, steve is sick of this shit, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, it takes a time loop for these fuckers to get together, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Suicide Attempt, Whump, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Groundhog Day (1993) Fusion, Dyslexic Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Has ADHD, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Slow Burn, Kinda, BAMF Steve Harrington, Suicidal Thoughts, Steve Harrington Whump, can be read standalone!!, Touch-Starved Steve Harrington, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Protective Steve Harrington, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, in the end.... eventually, Families of Choice, Vecna Possessing Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Powers, kinda??, i guess we can call it that

It’s the first time in a while that he doesn’t know what comes next. He’s dove into the water hundreds of times. Screamed as his flesh was torn apart, heard Master of Puppets in the distance and held back tears. Felt Max’s cold, small hand in his as she laid in the hospital bed. There are things that always happen, no matter how hard he tries: El doesn’t arrive in time. Eddie dies. Max is put in a coma. Steve fails. They lose. “Steve, how many loops have you been through?” His head is nodding, and his eyes are watery, and Eddie has approached him like a spooked animal. “I lost count.” AKA: The one where Steve Harrington is stuck in a time loop, and Eddie Munson is really fucking hard to save, or: fuck Volume 2, these bitches are in love.

I cried alot reading this fic. Yet it is the only Steddie fic I can really think of that gave me such a lasting impression that I find myself quoting it even to people who have no idea where it’s from. 

You’re Divine – Oonionchiver

(259,565 words, 8 chapters , Explicit)

Tags: Slow Burn, Falling In Love, Codependency, Human/Monster Romance, Steve Harrington's Medium Tendency to Self Destruct, Blood Kink, BDSM, Choking, Painplay, The Worst/Best Bath Ever, Blood Drinking, Eating Disorders, Suicidal Ideation, Rough Sex, Daddy Kink, this might fuck you up, Vampire Eddie Munson, Human/Vampire Relationship, Monsterfucking On Main Oh My, DO NOT ADD TO GOODREADS, Robin and Steve are Soul Mates, Affectionate Obsession, Subdrop, Sharing Blood Before They Ever Kiss, Dom/sub, Happy Ending Literally Always Guaranteed In This House, Fuck Me Up But Make It Devastatingly Disgustingly Romantic, Switching, But y'know we cant be normal about it, Size Kink, This Might Awaken Things In You, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Possession, now with art!, Suicide Attempt

‘Blood?’ Eddie says again. Eyes black but for the slice of iridescent white in the centre. His teeth are sharp, his hands are weapons and Steve thinks maybe he’s made a mistake doing this without telling Eddie first. Eddie’s focus lowers, it moves to his left hand which is… Oh fuck. It’s dripping blood onto the floor. ‘Shit,’ Steve says, takes a single step back, swallows. ‘Eddie, I’m so sorry, fuck.’ Eddie can’t seem to look away, can’t bring his ethereal gaze back up where it belongs. Steve thinks he should run, he should flee. A tiny part of him knows Eddie will chase him. Eddie will catch him, outrun him easily. It's more than a little fucked up how that thrills him.

I think where I went wrong is not seeing the teeny tiny pesky little tag that says this might awaken something in you I know if I were to have see it I wouldn’t be who I am today. Because holy fucking hell does this fic make something inside you hatch. Like what the fuck. Incredible writing I love a monster fucker.

Suspended Bridges - foresthearts

(243,553 words, 35 chapters, Mature)

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Steve Harrington, Alpha Eddie Munson, Stancy is not endgame, Steve thinks he’s afraid of Eddie when he really just has a big fat crush, Oblivious Steve Harrington, mentions of Mpreg because omegaverse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Steve meets Eddie before s4, Slow Burn, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Period-Typical Homophobia, Steve is an omega pretending to be an alpha, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Unreliable Narrator, Tall Eddie, Dom/sub Undertones, Dom Eddie Munson, EMT Steve Harrington, Mileven will break up in this i am sorry, Mutual Pining, Family Dynamics, Redemption Arcs, Found Family, Misunderstandings, But hopefully not in an obnoxious way, Protective Eddie Munson

“Steve really needed to get his stupid thing he had with Munson under control. He struggled to find a word for it. It was like an anti-crush or something. The same awareness and panic that a crush brought, but not because he had feelings for the guy. Because of the opposite. Because any time he saw Munson, his heart kicked up in fear, his breathing got shallow, his whole body started to warm. Munson made him want to turn heel and run.” In which Steve has the opposite of the suspended bridge effect. (Featuring omega!Steve pretending to be an alpha and alpha!Eddie silently losing his mind.)

I think I can sum this fic up better in a scene. So you see me standing in the middle of my kitchen, hand over my mouth, eyes wide, as I read the big reveal and a certain metal heads reaction. My partner is astounded. I am shaking and blushing. Nothing is more magnificent or earth shatteringly embarrassing for all parties, real or otherwise, involved. Magnificent fic if I do say so myself.

[starlightandfairies]

Glitter ~Joel Miller~

Description: Reader find glitter and bedazzles Joel

Warnings: she/her pronouns, swearing,

(View whichever Joel you want, show or game. I don't have any in mind. Regardless of what the gif is)

Random 2am thought

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Last name, POV = Point of view

Word Count: 815

The Last of Us masterlist

I think he's going to kill me. I'm going to die at the hands of Joel Miller. 

Earlier while Joel and I were on a run, I found glitter. I loved glitter before the outbreak and I found some. I suppose the little things make everyone needs something to keep them going. Glitter was my thing. Joel's was guitars I suppose. I found like 2kg worth of assorted glitter, it was the equivalent of disneyland! 

Now, in our house at Jackson, I was sitting at the table, making something crafty while Joel played a song on his guitar. He got up with a grunt, walked over to look at what I was making. 

"That's a lot of glitter." Joel mused. I brought him down, cupping his face with a glitter covered face. Smiling as his beard was decorated with glitter. 

"What are you grinnin' at? Hmm?" I pecked his lips, swaying slightly and continued at him. 

"Nothin' I just love you." A smile graced his lips. Unaware of the glitter in his beard. An hour or two later, Joel came forward with his arms crossed against his chest. A not so happy face gracing his rugged features. This was it I was going to die at the hands of Joel Miller, my one and only love was going to kill me just because of some glitter. 

"Darlin, I been scrubbin' my beard for the last twenty minutes, still can't get it out." A smile was all I could muster, a little shrug too. I stood up from the couch, going in for a hug and chuckled as he moved back. 

"I ain't letting you get your dirty little mitts on me again." 

"But I wanna bedazzle you again." 

"I don't wanna that stuff on me." I gave him a look of mock pity, patting his cheek teasingly. 

"Baby, I hate to tell you, you're gonna be finding glitter everywhere for the next six years. That shit is practically permanent. Sorry. Not sorry." Joel let out a low grumble, shaking his head and eventually rested a kiss on my forehead. Trying to wash away his look of disdain. It made me smile, always, forever and ever. 

"You are a evil woman." I leaned forward, wanting to tease and taunt him with this glitter thing.

"You'll be finding glitter in your shoes, in your guitar, on your gun and even on the saddle for your horse and just when you think it's all gone. Bam! It's coming at you like a clicker." A sigh escaped his lips, there was a smile so I knew none of this was angry and that he really wasn't going to do anything. Even if his eyes held some kind of desire to act on whatever was going through his mind. 

"I don't want glitter on my damn horse or my gun." 

"Yeah but just think, whenever you find a new spec, you'll be carrying my love with you." Joel grunted, still scratching his beard. glitter raining down, it was a sight to see the great and powerful Joel Miller covered in glitter. 

"You are lucky-" 

"That you love me too?" Yeah, I am." Joel hummed with a chesty chuckle. Joel grabbed a hold of me by my hips, placed me on the counter and rested his hands on my thighs. Joel reached to my jar of glitter, dipped three fingers in and ran them through my hair. 

"There. you're all... uh bedazzled now." He had a shit-eating grin on his face. 

"Smug jerk. I didn't even use that much glitter in your beard!" 

"It's gonna make up for the next six years." I could see this working very poorly in my favour. If I acted on the thoughts to sprinkle some around him like some disney character. I could see this ending in swimming around in glitter. A glitter fight instead of a food fight. Did I really want to be finding glitter in places I really didn't want to? No, I didn't. 

"You've got your thinking face on." 

"Yeah, just trying to figure out how I wanna do this." Joel grabbed my chin with his pointer finger and thumb tilting my face up to kiss my lips and brush glitter through my hair. 

"What? Between not risking consequences and facing them? Darlin' I think you know what the correct choice is." I thought on it, trying to deceiver that suggestive look in his eyes. Should I play into his thoughts? Nah- I don't wanna give Joel the joy. 

"I choose... no. No more glitter fights." He grumbled, patting my thigh again. Helping me off the counter. 

"Come on, I'll take you on the that horse ride." Joel wrapped an arm around my waist, leading me out the door. 

[apathetic-pixel-42]

Hi can I request reader who is a cat girl with hao asakura??

Hello!! Thank you for sending a request!! I hope you like it <333333

Reader is female for the record, but I'll still do this from a 2nd person POV!

Hao Asakura w/ A Cat Girl 🤍

When he first met you, he found your appearance peculiar. Whether you were fully covered in fur or not, his curiosity peaked.

After getting to know you, befriending you, etc. he'd begin to initiate small acts of physical affection.

Y'know that thing where the villain sits with a cat on their lap? That's how I see it with Hao.

Initially, it'd start with just petting your ears. He'd pet your head briefly before pulling away and returning to his original task.

Eventually, if you were both comfortable with it, you'd two would have little cuddle sessions in private.

These cuddle sessions would probably be short, since I'd assume you'd both get hot very quickly. Your fur paired with his natural heat would get uncomfortable very quickly.

Let's say that you had light footsteps as part of being part cat. I honestly think that he'd put a bell on your tail or something. Not for his sake, but for the sake of the others.

He'd seen how startled his minions would get when you suddenly showed up, so he figured the bell would help. Plus, it's fun to play with when he's bored.

If you happened to be entertained by lasers or toys, he'd wholeheartedly exploit this. He found it funny when you'd run around chasing a laser.

If you had retractable claws, he'd enjoy seeing you use them in a fight. Watching you scratch and hiss at your opponent brings him a rare spark of joy.

When he first heard you purr, if you could anyway, it was when he let you lay your head on his lap for the first time.

He had been running his fingers through your hair and rubbing your ears, not really paying attention as he basked in the rare silence.

Suddenly, he heard you begin to purr. The soft rumbling noise brought him joy, something he hadn't felt in a while. He smiled and closed his eyes, relaxing with you for a bit longer before heading back to base.

One time, he wanted to see if you could land on your feet like most cats could. Luckily, he didn't even have to do anything.

You had been sleeping on some random shelf and accidentally rolled over. You yelped, but quickly landed on your feet. He chuckled while assessing you for any injuries, finding the situation funny.

He can and will use the Spirit of Water against you. If you're misbehaving, he just makes a very light rain appear, cackling as you scramble away. If you actually like water, he'll gently dip his fingers in water and use it to rub your head and ears. It's a sweet gesture, and it acts as a form of grooming.

I think he'd really bond with you, because you'd remind him of Matamune. Sure, you were very different from his old friend, but it was the little things that you did that brought up some old nostalgia for him.

Overall, he'd be gentle and playful with you. As someone who's dealt with cats before, he'd enjoy your company and the joy you'd bring to his life.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

WIP Wednesday + Writing Share + Out Of Context Line Tag Game

WIP Wed + Out Of Context Line tag: @holy3cake

Writing Share tag: @aintgonnatakethis

No Pressure Tags: If you tagged me, you're tagged to do the other one/s + Open Tag

Rules: WIP Wed/Writing Share: Share any snippet of your writing, often the last thing you've written. Out Of Context Line: Share any line, but give no context.

The fatigue is high today so I'm gonna post these all here, open tag!

Something new today, snippets from a Gwayne Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen (Gwaenyra? Gwanyra?) House of the Dragon "oneshot" since the idea of this pairing ruined me. (I am very much team Black, this is from Gwayne's POV!)

Late WIP Wed/Writing Share;

"Who's this?" The Lady spoke, gentle voice clear and commanding, it echoed through the room. If there was any doubt in his mind as to who this woman was, then the Whitecloak's immediate response confirmed it.

"My Queen," The Whitecloak said, bowing quickly, "We believe it to be Ser Gwayne Hightower, brother to the Dowager Queen Alicent."

The Lady Rhaenyra Targaryen herself, Pretender-to-the-throne, once-heir, enemy of his kin. Whore of Dragonstone, Cole called her. Her violet eyes fixed upon him, doe like in evident suprise.

"Is it true? You are Ser Gwayne Hightower?"

"If you believe you can ransom me, My Lady, you are sorely mistaken." Gwayne told her, dipping his head briefly to make at least some effort to be courteous.

"You will refer to Her Grace with her proper title!" The Whitecloak at his side snapped, to which he scoffed. Lady Rhaenyra held up a hand, waved the man away.

"I do not wish to ransom you, Ser. I want what I am owed, and I want peace. Too much blood has been spilt already." Lady Rhaenyra spoke calmly, but Gwayne could hear the demanding petulance clear as day.

"I'm flattered, Your Grace, that you think of me so highly," Gwayne cared not to hide the sarcastic emphasis he placed upon the false title, smirking up at the Lady of Dragonstone before he continued; "Perhaps once my good sister would have harkened your words, sued for peace for mine safety. Alas I fear those days are long gone."

Her silvery brows knitted into a frown, as she appeared to deliberate what he'd said. The room was silent in anticipation of her response, and Gwayne suddenly found his throat dry, eying the winecup atop the table with a wanting envy.

"Your own sister cares not if you live or die?" She eventually replied. Gwayne wasn't sure he'd been expecting that as a response. Gwayne realised it unsettled him that she hadn't risen to his disrespect, had he spoken to his dear nephew King Aegon that way, he was liable to have his guts strung up with the damned ratcatchers. Not that his dear sister would allow that, but threats would surely have been made.

This though... He knew well enough no matter her standing that Alicent wouldn't be able to do a damned thing amongst the posturing fools that sat at her side, and if Cole had his way, Gwayne would probably be left to rot.

"Oh I'm quite sure she cares, in her own way. But none else share the sentiment, I fear I am quite expendable."

"What of your father? You are his only son- his firstborn. Surely he has a care for you?"

"My Father..." Gwayne paused then, gave an emotionless laugh, "I'm sure it would please him to see you try to use me for political gain."

He had spoken true, Gwayne knew well enough if his father, Otto Hightower, the great Hand-of-the-King could see him now... then the man would be disgusted. Gwayne had ever been the family disappointment to Lord Hightower, his "only son a damned disgrace", and now? Bitterness welled up within him at the thought.

The False Queen had grown silent again at his words, appearing to ponder them. The way she had spoken reeked of desperation. Surely he could exploit that somehow, prove that the lessons his father had taught him were not lost on him entirely...

"No matter. Queen Alicent will still desire to see you returned unharmed. We may yet come to some accord with her."

Queen Alicent. And quite suddenly the contrast between how the Lady before him spoke, and how she was spoken of intruiged him. No matter who said it, her name was spat with venom, if there wasn't an outright insult used in place of it instead. Yet Lady Rhaenyra spoke of Alicent with a quiet dignity, no insults hurled. At least not yet. That earned her a modicum of respect, he supposed.

Out-Of-Context Line:

"Your Grace," He kneeled, unwilling or just unable to meet her gaze now, "Please, I-I humbly beg of you, show him the mercy that they denied to you."