#i was not built for summer i love cold i love being chilly i love layers i love soups and i love looking goofy in a big coat in the snow

[transgaysex]

every day i choose kindness and i do it through gritted teeth

[girlbloggerlovies]

Devotional Yan

Intro, Part 1, (this is) Part 2

He thinks you are nice to everyone. So when you find him being a wall flower and feeling alone at a party, you take him by his hand a dance with him, try the food, walk around the party introducing him to your friends and talking by the balcony during a cool summer night with him—he thinks you would have done this for anyone you found feeling lone and dejected from others. He knew to you this was normal and you didn’t do it because you harbored any special feelings towards him. But he was so, so happy when you choose him. When you approached and took him by his hands, his eyes widened, his heart raced, and his cheeks flushed. He enjoyed being with you, being near you made him feelings like he was surrounded by love and protection. And your attentiveness to him made him want to touch you—to keep it all to himself and never let the moment end.

So there at the balcony he took in this moment with you and all the moment before he tried to consume it drink it devour your presence for safe keep. Who knows when something like this will happen? Haha. Sounds like you wouldn’t see him anytime soon… he tried not to think of it. “Y/n thank you for” choosing me “keeping me off the wall and all the fun tonight” I really want to embrace you, to take in your scent. He gave you an vulnerable smile.

You laugh wholeheartedly, look at this fool becoming all soft because of a dance and some drinks “I had lots of fun you too,” you gave him a sweet smile that intoxicated him more thank the drinks.

“Y/n do you—“ he started.

“Y/N THERE YOU ARE!” Someone behind him roars.

“Duke!” you recognize your old friend.

“I heard you came to this party. So I been trying to find you,” Duke approaches you two (as he eyes the man next to you). “What is going on here? A confession? Why do you look so flustered, sir?”

Elias start to turn pale and cold at this new comer. “The air is chilly out here,” he tries to clam his voice.

“Oh my! You’re right, let’s go in. It’s getting way too cold.” You say.

Elias’s heart sinks as he already sees this moment becoming a memory and loosing his time with you. He wished he picked different words!

The moment—the briefest, sweetest moment he’d had with you—was already slipping away. He could feel it, a tightness in his chest as he watched you walk back toward the crowd, Duke following closely behind. Elias lingered for a moment, but the weight of reality pressed down on him.

As you rejoined the party, the walls around felt thicker. You knew he was a shy man hoping for your attention; not a man trying to piece together the truth of what was happening. And the truth was, you weren’t just here to have fun. You were here for something. You were playing him. Playing him like you’d played everyone else.

Elias’s gaze hardened as he saw how close you and this new man, Duke, were. Oblivious he was, that you, and Duke as well, had an agenda. And Elias wasn’t just some lonely man you’d chosen to amuse yourself with; he was part of something bigger, something darker. There had been whispers about his past, about connections to dangerous people. Being with him for a while you were unsure how he feels about how he has hideously kept and built the empire of his family. You were disgusted whether if he was aware of the damaged he caused or was so unfeeling as to be indifferent or careless about it.

Near you, Elias clenched his fists, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. He knew he should have walked away when he had the chance, but something about the way you’d looked at him, the way you’d held his hand—it all made him believe, just for a fleeting moment, that he meant something to you. But that was foolish. When someone else even for a moment has your attention he feels helpless, and just like anyone else to you, he didn’t feel special. He feels lost and hates it. He didn’t know why he feels this sense of longing and despair with you.

As you looked around at the room full of bolstering decorations and sounds of people without a care in the world for those they caused harm. The smell of excess greed and extravagance, it made you sick. The mission was clear now. You were here for information, and Elias was tangled in your plan whether he liked it or not. His feelings didn’t matter. They never had.

[jaesrri]

This got a bit rambling, so lemme put it under a cut- see below for long thoughts on my own experiences with climate change and humans interacting with ecosystems.

I live in Pennsylvania, and am only in my thirties. I remember white Christmases having about even odds, and it generally being cold enough even if it didn't happen to. Winter weather (consistently cold enough for coats) generally moved in by mid November, Halloween chilly enough for costumes with faux fur but usually not so cold that thinner ones couldn't be managed with leggings and an undershirt. The winter weather didn't start to break until March, and April has always been a bit of a crapshoot. May you might get a late frost or a random hot day, but should mostly be nice.

June summer moves in, July should be hot days but the nights should be cooler, and august bakes. The fireflies should rise thick as the sun goes down, all summer long. Any of the three months could hit 90- but only the latter half of July and August should hang out there. September summer weakens, and by the end of the month fall should be glorious.

Now the last few winters have been weak overall- but with spans of brutal cold- the effect of a weaker Jetstream. It's supposed to freeze and stay there- not have several days over sixty in December. The plants struggle when the temp yo-yos that badly. I saw buds in January that need to wait for march. In January we had a low of 9 (slightly colder than we usually get) and a high of 63 in the same week. January is normally our coldest time- our average January high is 35 and low 20.

The fireflies are dying. The birds are returning- but for how long without the bugs? I remember catching three fireflies with one gentle sweep of my hand, and when seeing a redtail hawk (commonest bird of prey here) was an event. Now I see one or more most days, and have the privilege to wish that juvenile in my tree would shut up for a bit. I think I caught two fireflies all season last year- granted, I'm an adult and don't chase as much as I once did..... But there should be more.

I work in a big box store in the garden center. There aren't enough hours in the day to educate everyone, to make sure they weigh the costs and the benefits of what they buy and do. Sometimes I can. Other times I see people clearly about to flout the package instructions on powerful chemicals and can't get them to understand why maybe using twice as much pesticide on your lawn as directed is a bad idea, let alone why using *any* might be.

I'm not a purist in any direction. Sometimes one of these products is the best solution for a particular problem that a particular person has. Wasps are friends, pollinators, pest managers- and I go out of my way to educate people about them. And I'm still the one spraying the nests that get built in the emergency exit door push bars at the garden center. I love you, but you cannot be here. I wish I could just explain.

Bird feeders (I hope you'll clean it well and often) in the same cart as broad spectrum lawn insect killer (kills all season long!) and weed killer. How do I get rid of.....? (Why would you want to? I sometimes think)

Winter gets more inconsistent and summer is dangerously hot and plants that I grew up with have turned out invasive and so many people don't know. I found out what I always thought were wild raspberries are actually wine berry, a different but related plant. They're invasive here, choking out native raspberries (I've never actually seen any) and other plants. Yet nothing has ever tasted so damn good as a sun-ripe ra-wineberry. I'm not sure I actually like raspberry much- grocery store ones are always so sad.

It's hard to know how to feel sometimes, bald eagles are back and fireflies suffering and the taste of summer is an invasive plant.

[jimlingss]

(sorry my tumblr app glitched so im not sure if this was sent twice) taking a chance for the requests! how about a seokjin or namjoon arranged marriage au with this: “Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.” 🎄 happy holidays!!

↳ Playground Promises

1.9k || 100% Light Fluff || Kim Seokjin

The bell rings.

Moments later, children are sprinting from the doors and flooding the playground. You watch in fondness as some climb the monkey bars while others sit and dig into the sandbox. All of them were forging their first friendships they’ll remember forever and you were their witness.

This is one of your favourite times of day. You enjoy seeing the kids have their fun, listening to their laughter and giggles, watching their games of tag to play pretend. But today, your enjoyment is interrupted by a certain male teacher that comes to stand behind you.

Tall. Dark. And handsome. His broad shoulders carry the weight of the third-grade class and practically the entire elementary school. But you’d never admit that out loud.

“It’s a bit chilly out today. You should’ve brought your coat with you.”

You hum.

Every staff member, married and single, swoons over Kim Seokjin. It’s hard not to. But if others knew what your relationship was with him, you’re sure you’d never hear the end of it. The kids would make a big fuss and so would all the staff and faculty, and you’d rather avoid that.

“I didn’t know you were on playground duty today.”

“I switched with Sana,” he says and leans over to smile. “Thought you could use some company.”

You scoff. “She’s perfectly fine company.”

The corner of his plump lip pulls. “If you want to talk about the mathletes program. And I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

Before you can respond, a boy approaches the two of you with pink cheeks and wind-swept hair. “Mr. Kim, can I go to the bathroom?” the third-grader asks in the midst of catching his breath and the older man nods.

“Go ahead. But don’t run in the hallway, Lucas.” 

Said boy grins and dashes off.

Seokjin turns to you and lowers his voice. “My mom’s been asking about the kids.”

Your brows furrow. “Why? They’re a good bunch.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t mean your class’ kids, I mean our kids.”

You blink owlishly. “There are no our kids.”

“That’s the problem.”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “Wasn’t getting married enough for them?”

Seokjin shrugs with a faint, mischievous smile. “They want to go out for brunch with your parents this Sunday. Are you free?”

“When am I not free?” you retort lightly, but slip your phone out of your pocket to check your calendar anyhow. Seokjin glances over to your screen and once you finish, you slip it back into your pocket. “I have some marking to do, but I’ll probably finish by then.”

“Okay.” The pair of you turn back to continue monitoring the children playing and you’re glad to revel in the silence that’s been created between you. But after a beat, Kim Seokjin pipes up again. You don’t know why you’re surprised. He’s quite the talkative guy. “Hey, Y/N.”

You look over and he meets your eye.

He asks, “Am I your lock screen?”

Your face heats. If you were once cold, now you were warm from head to toe. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” you mumble. It was just a picture from the other day and you wanted to change things up on your phone. You had nothing else to use. It was convenient. That’s it.

Your entire relationship with him is built on convenience. At least...on his side it is.

Still, Seokjin grins and fortunately, he doesn’t tease.

You rush to change the subject. “A-Anyway, yeah, Sunday works for me. But we should probably talk about this after work.”

“Why? No one’s around.” His smile is spread from ear to ear and he leans in, whispering, “Are you that scared of people finding out we’re married?”

Immediately, you whip your head in all directions. Luckily, there’s no kid or nosy faculty member. You turn back to him, glaring. “I already said, I like to keep my private life under wraps.”

“I remember. But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were embarrassed of me.”

You scoff and a murmur unintentionally spills out of you, “That’s impossible.”

You don’t notice Seokjin’s smile.

It’s been three months since you got married. It was a summer wedding. More importantly, it was an arranged marriage. And not because you were both wealthy and needed to be wedded to get the inheritance under some arbitrary contract rule or because it was your grandmother’s dying wish. No. You live a much more mundane, normal life than the dramas, movies and books.

It was your mom who threw a fuss. She was scared you’d be alone and unmarried, an old maid like your aunt — you didn’t say it, she just heavily implied it. But following her practically senile meltdown, you agreed. Partly to appease her worries and partly just out of curiosity.

You always wanted to get married. And deep down, you always wanted your own kids. But at the rate you were going, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to meet someone on your own.

What you didn’t expect on that blind date was for the other person to be Kim Seokjin, third grade teacher. Down the hall from you at the school. Someone across the room every lunchtime. Your dads were apparently long time colleagues, but Jin was still as equally shocked as you were during that first meeting. Yet, he easily agreed to getting married when you brought it up. Even when it was only after two months of occasionally seeing one another outside of your workplaces.

You still don’t know why he said yes.

“Ms. L/N!”

You’re torn out of your trance by a little girl at your knees. 

She pouts. “Jennie won’t let me play on the slide!”

“Did you ask her to share?”

“Yes!”

Before any more can be said, she drags you over and Seokjin trails after you. There’s another girl with brown braided hair climbing on the slide, and she swivels her head over as the two of you approach, eyes the size of saucers. 

“Are you taking turns, Jennie?” you ask her, and she vigorously nods.

“I am!”

“Well, you’ve been on it for a while. How about Lisa takes a turn next.”

“Okay,” she draws out and gets off of the slide before turning to her friend. “Here you go.”

It’s always little problems you have to solve — from sharing to knee scrapes and monkey bar accidents. Sometimes it’s difficult for the children to compromise, difficult for them to apologize and difficult for you to find a good solution. But you undoubtedly wish your own issues were this simple.

While you’re stuck in your thoughts, you miss Jin watching you fondly. 

“You’re good with kids,” he says as you move out of the way of running children and walk back to the perimeter.

“I wouldn’t be doing this job if I wasn’t. But I deal with older kids much better.” There’s a reason you teach fifth graders and not any lower than that. Seokjin knows it too.

“Remember when we had to supervise that kindergarten class together?”

You shudder. “It was a nightmare.”

“You weren’t that bad,” he tries to say but then laughs. You feign a glare, and he adds on, “Okay. I’m sorry, but I still mean it. It’s not as terrible as you thought. You’d make a good mom.” 

At that, your glare vanishes in favour of furrowing brows. You really shouldn’t, but you can’t help it when curiosity pries — so you break your own rule against discussing private matters at work. 

“Do you want my kids?”

Seokjin is wide-eyed and he turns to you. “Why not? We’re married.”

“Yeah….but…”

“But? Do you not want kids?” 

“No! I definitely want them,” you declare, almost a bit too boldly. He nods and you explain, “It’s just...I don’t know if you’re serious.”

Seokjin blinks. “I’m being perfectly serious.”

“I mean I don’t know if we’re serious.” You add, “Enough to have kids.”

“What’s more serious than being married?” Jin has a genuinely inquisitive and amused expression, head quirked to the side. 

You inhale a sharp breath and his gaze coaxes you to go on, so you do. “It’s just that you agreed so quickly to be married to me. It doesn’t….feel real. I don’t know if you wanted to marry me, if you did it on a whim, if this is some kind of joke—”

He frowns. “This isn’t a joke, Y/N. I wanted to marry you.”

Your mouth hangs open. Your eyes are rounded.

“Wh—”

“Mrs. L/N!” You’re interrupted by your fifth-grader, Park Jimin. He sprints to you, huffing and puffing, before leaning his hands onto his knees to catch his breath. “Have you seen Taehyung?! We’re playing tag!”

“No, I haven’t.”

Jin suddenly points to the left. “He went that way.”

Jimin books it.

Silence fills the spaces between you and Seokjin again, but it isn’t like normal. It’s filled with unanswered questions and the suspenseful cliffhanger of an unfinished conversation. The laughter of kids on the playground and field resound around you, but for the first time, you don’t listen to it. 

It fades into the background as you turn to Seokjin, wanting to know more. “What did you just say?”

The man smiles softly. “You have to know.”

“I don’t,” you assert. “So tell me.”

“I’ve always liked you.”

You blink and he continues, “Since you substituted for the art teacher and I saw you squirt red paint all over yourself. It’s something I couldn’t forget. Plus, the way you draw those stick people.” Seokjin laughs heartily and you’re trapped in your spot, unsure of how to react or what to say. He reads your expression and softens. “Did you really think I would rush into a marriage if I didn’t have feelings for you?”

“I…” Your mouth is agape. “I don’t know. Why did we never talk about this?”

Seokjin shrugs. “You never asked and I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t feel the same way. I knew you married me for convenience.”

“That’s not true,” you retort within a beat. This whole time, you thought he married you for convenience sake. But it wasn’t entirely like that for you.

Seokjin’s eyes are big and you swallow down your embarrassment. “Isn’t it obvious every single breathing person loves you? It’s hard not to.”

Slowly but surely, a grin spreads into Seokjin’s puffy cheeks and he’s smiling from ear to ear again. “Well, you’re very good at hiding it then.”

Suddenly, the bell rings.

All the children reluctantly climb off the equipment, some dusting their hands while others grabbing their friends, and they rush into their lineups. There’s a few stranglers lugging their legs while groaning. But busy in their small playground worlds, no one turns around to notice you leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to Seokjin’s mouth. It’s shy and brief, like the first peck exchanged between two for the first time. And you pull away just as fast, lips left tingling.

“We can continue this later, Mr. Kim.”

You stride off while Seokjin’s left smiling. After a breathless moment, he chases after you like children who have just made promises of their first love on the playground.

[lizzy-williams]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭

🐺Warnings: Alpha/Omega dynamic, SMUTTTT, neediness, language, mature themes, dubcon?

🐺Masterlist

🐺Summary: Every Omega knows that going into heat is rough, especially when unclaimed. All eyes are on you. So when it hits you in the middle of a coffee shop with your friends, a particular alpha is very willing to help.  

🐺Theme (All I Need by Radiohead)

🐺A/N: Lol we gonna get dirtttyyyy. By the way, you’re small in his, like body proportion wise, like 5′4 small so there’s that. I know people want the ‘independent strong hardheaded alpha female’, but in this one ur compliant, sorry if ya don’t like it. There will most likely be a part 2 :)

“Y’know, I dunno how you drink that stuff,” Anna-Lynn said from across the table, making [ y / n ] roll her eyes and look up.

“You’re just jealous cause your tastebuds are weak,” she retorted, taking a teasingly long sip of her dark black coffee. 

It was nice having a day out like this. Especially when everyone seemed so busy with preparing for the spookiest holiday of the year. Paper bats and small pumpkins littered the store-fronts of London, the summer weather fading with the light chilly breezes autumn seemingly brought. 

The calm warm light streamed through the window of the coffee shop the three young women were in, the dusk just hitting them. The tree leaves complimented the light as it covered the area in a soft blanket of pink and orange hues. 

“So, um,” [ y / n ]’s other friend, Elizabeth, began to speak, clearing her throat and shooting a daring look at Anna-Lynn, “Have you thought about Ethan at all?”

Ah, yes, Ethan. He was Elizabeth’s younger cousin, just then turning 19, a simple beta with no claimed mate. 

[ y / n ] shook her head, and to this, the two girls let out a defeated huff, “You need to chose someone,” Anna-Lynn’s voice was clipped as she huffed, but it had a hint of concern. Worry even. 

And of course there was a stipulation to one of [ y / n ]’s favorite seasons. Because for her kind, not only was it autumn, but it was also mating season. A dangerous time for any omega unclaimed. If you were unclaimed when the time came around, you were easy pray, and other alphas and betas could smell you much much easier. 

You would become a target. Even more so if you were in heat. 

“I’m not worried about it.” [ y / n ] sighed, nonchalantly, taking a large gulp of her drink before setting it back down. But deep down she truly was.

“We just don’t want you to become like one of those other omegas... you know, getting claimed by someone on the street during their heat... someone they don’t love at all and being forced to have pups, it’s just barbaric.” Elizabeth glanced down at her dwindling hands. 

“I understand that. But I’ve had no issues with this before. I’ll just... lock myself up in my room with a vibrator and some porn. That’s worked before,”

“Bullshit, you were a grump for like a month because you had built up aggression. Ethan’s a good guy. You should really consider it.”

Yes, Ethan was nice. But when it came to [ y / n ]... she just felt as if they weren’t meant for each other. And there was no way that she would consider having pups with him and-

Speak of the mother fucking devil-

It was as if she was hit with a million bricks at once, her body becoming hot, a powerful wave of uncomfortable warmth crashing through her body like a tidal wave, her mouth clamping shut tightly. Her breath hitched, her thighs tightening around nothing, her legs shaking as she felt herself feel as if she were going to throw up. The moisture between her thighs was uncomfortable as she felt her panties stick to her mound.

How could she be so careless? Now she was in heat in public and she knew that nearby alphas and betas had already caught onto the scent, most likely heading their way. She knew it was roughly the time she would go into heat. And it was hell on earth right now, knowing that now that the sun was just now taking it’s last breaths over the tall buildings, the night heightening her kind’s senses acutely. 

Her friends caught on almost immediately, knowing the mannerisms of the heavy breathing and the quivering lips. Her eyes were wide as she bit down on her bottom lip harshly, trying her best to keep her whimpers and whines in the back of her throat. 

Thoughts raced through the young woman’s mind. Thoughts of her being taken in the most delicious ways possible by any man that just so happened to look her way. And her friends could tell that there were already at least a few alphas coming in hot, the sudden howling through the now darkened air making the 2 other girls’ senses hyperactive. 

What was ironic was that there was a conversation going on between two baristas behind the counter, “The dogs are at it again, they’ve been a lot noisier than usual.”

“We need to get her home, right now.” Anna-Lynn commanded, Elizabeth giving a chaste nod before flipping through her phone as a poor, squirming, [ y / n ] sat right across from them, panting in her intense discomfort. 

She shut her eyes tightly, desperately trying to ignore the ache in her core. She wanted, no, needed to be filled up. To be claimed. But the thoughts only drove her down deeper, desperation seemingly seeping out of every pore. 

As soon as she was called an Uber, it was an agonizing amount of time before it finally came to a stop, the driver flashing concerned looks at the poor squirming girl in her back seat. Throughout the whole ride, it took everything for [ y / n ] not to touch herself, and all she could do was shift her thighs together, and thankfully, (soon enough), the car came to a stop. 

[ y / n ] let out a strangled ‘thank you’ to the driver before getting out, and after the woman drove off, she found herself stumbling into an alleyway. Her whole body was on fire and she needed release, any release. 

Her back violently hit the brick wall of a darkened alleyway, her loud and labored breaths echoing through the seemingly empty face. She needed tension. At least a little bit. 

As if her legs weren’t her own, [ y / n ] spread her legs only a small amount, just enough to slip her hand under her pants and softly drifting her fingertips over her clothed clit. 

A smooth and controlled rubs soon turned into harsh and fast circles, her needful thoughts forcing her mind to tune out the howling that was getting closer and closer to her. It wasn’t until a low and terrifying growl resonated through the hollow space, making her stop in her tracks, yanking her hand out of its position, doing her best to stand up and steady herself. 

But it was far too late, because by the time she finally started bolting towards the opening in the cold alleyway, her body was caught and thrown against the frigid brick, a pitiful yelp leaving her lips, unleashed tears forming in her eyes. 

“You smell fucking delicious,” a dark voice spoke, no doubt an alpha, and [ y / n ] wouldn’t dare look up and meet his eyes. 

“P-Please, I c-can’t-”

[ y / n ] didn’t even know why she was saying please, for there were so many reasons she could be saying it. 

Please don’t.

Please help the pain.

Please touch me.

Please don’t touch me.

Please.

But the young woman’s thoughts were cut short by a violent tug to her hair, forcing her gaze on the person in from of her. He had bright red hair, freckles apparent, even in the dull light of the closed off space. He wore a jet black hoodie, and that was all that [ y / n ] bothered to take in. 

“You’re a pretty one...” his words rattled through her mind, muffled by the sharp ringing in her heat from the sudden contact to the wall only moments earlier, “Glad I claimed you before anyone else could,” he paused to chuckle to himself, “Would hate to touch damaged goods.”

[ y / n ] whimpered and almost recoiled away, but she knew better. This alpha seemed ill-tempered, and she didn’t want to find out what would happen if she dared to disobey. 

He gave a rough tug to her hair, standing her up, and immediately started to kiss her neck in hopes of warming her up a little bit more, not that she needed it, but nonetheless, his lips continued their assault on the young woman’s neck, whimpers and whines escaping her lips. 

“Just one little thing, pretty girl, you’re unclaimed, I can smell it on you.” he spoke before leaving a long, sinful lick up her throat, “I’m going to bite this pretty little neck and make sure that nobody else is going to touch what’s mine.”

The girl’s body shivered violently. He was talking about a claim mark. If that happened, she could never escape him, it was a tracking device. Where ever she decided to go, he would know exactly where she was. 

“Please, don’t, I-”

But a violent growl made her blood run cold and her words pause half-way up her throat. But it wasn’t from her captor. His head was already snapped towards the source of the sound, which was at the opening of the alleyway, the minimal light caused by the streetlight exposing a clothed figure with its hands in its pockets. They weren’t tall but they weren’t short, but their stature was confident. 

Great. Another alpha.

“Drop her.” the voice spoke, straight to the point and commanding. 

“Fuck off, she’s mine, I got to her first.” the ginger male snapped, his eyes now a vibrant scorching gold, shining in the darkness. 

“Drop the fucking girl or I’ll rip you’re fucking head off.” this time it was a vicious growl, strong and unwavering that sent goosebumps down [ y / n ]’s spine. 

“That a challenge, pint-size?” the ginger taunted, referring to the other alpha who only stood at a good 5′8, while he stood at a large 6′1, slamming the girl onto the ground making her yelp out in pain.

Finally, the young alpha stepped into some form of light, making his face visible, and the ginger’s expression of defense faded into a face of fear and regret, the eyes that once glowed yellow dying down to it’s original color. 

“T-Tom, Jesus, man, excuse me, I didn’t-”

The alpha, apparently named Tom, harshly grabbed the ginger’s shirt, pulling him in and looking up at him with deadly eyes, “Leave.”

And just like that, he was gone, and hopefully never going to be seen again. 

Tom’s expression turned soft when he saw the poor writhing omega in a mound on the hard concrete of the ground, small whimpers of discomfort making his chest clench. 

“You live here?” he questioned, motioning to the building she was now leaned against. 

All she could to was let out a whine of confirmation, nodding her head slowly as she clamped her thighs together as tightly as possible. 

“Come on then, can’t have you out in the open, there’s already talk, let’s get you inside,” he said, kindness and understanding in his tone, holding out a hand to [ y / n ], who in turn took it almost immediately. 

It took her a second to walk, her knees weak, not to mention it was hard not to notice Tom’s muscles, and his face. God, he was truly attractive. 

She let her mind wonder as they began to walk, his arm firmly around her waist, trying to keep her steady. She wondered what it would look like when he came, filling her up to the brim, making her full, a thin blanket of sweat covering his body, his eyes glowing, hungry, and she let out a whimper at it. 

“You’re staring.” Tom smirked as they stepped into the elevator of the complex. 

“S-Sorry,” she muttered, trying to shake the embarrassingly dirty thoughts from her mind as she continued to try and focus on just getting to her apartment. 

The sooner she got there, the sooner she had her vibrator, the sooner she had release. She was convinced, at least, that that would solve her problems, at least temporarily. 

She led him to her apartment, still holding onto him for dear life as her core throbbed with need and want. When the door unlocked with a small click, she turned the doorknob, almost collapsing through the doorway. 

“Do you need any help?”

This could have meant many things. But of course, [ y / n ] was oblivious in her response. 

“N-No, I think I can manage to put myself to bed.”

Tom gave a small chuckle as he sat her down on the couch, sitting next to her as she slouched back, “No, I mean I can help with your problem... that is, if you want me to,”

[ y / n ]’s mind was clouded in a haze of neediness, so with no hesitation, she whimpered a small yes, before immediately unbuttoning her jeans and slipping them down a little bit to eagerly. 

She knew this was happening to quick, almost irrationally quick, but the need in her pounding cunt was much more important to her at the moment than her petty morals and reason. 

“Are you sure?” he looked at her with sincerity, watching as she shifted out of her pants and took his hand, placing it on her covered mound. 

“Please, just touch me, Tom,”

Hearing his name on her lips was almost enough to make him lose his control and say ‘fuck it’, but he figured that if her were to do this, he might as well try to do this right. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice, darling,” he muttered, easily finding her sensitive bud, even through the material of her panties.

She let out a soft and breathy moan, taking her hand of his own and moving it to his bicep, squeezing, as if it were anchoring her down to Earth, because she had never been touched like this, especially by someone else. 

As if Tom had read her mind, he looked up at her, drinking in her reactions before speaking, “Are you a virgin?”

She nodded her head, his pace never faltering. 

“I’ve been waiting- ugnh - for the right person... I trust you,” she managed to get out between moans.

“You barely know me,”

“But I want to. There’s - ah, fuck - something about you. I l-like you,” she admitted, the filter between her mouth and her brain nonexistent as she felt nothing but pleasure and a release from the uncomfortable pressure she was feeling only moments before. 

“Fuck,” to Tom, it was nice to hear that somebody needed him, trusted him, especially with something like this, so sacred and meaningful. She was giving him the gift that could only be given once, and he was happy to receive. 

After a few moments of him rubbing her in all the right ways, he hesitantly pulled his hand away from her, hating the noise of protest that she released. 

“Come on, princess, let’s take this to you're bedroom, yeah?”

[ y / n ] was compliant to his suggestion, standing up best she could without Tom’s help, but soon leaning on him as she directed him to her bedroom door. 

The door was busted open, and she was thrown onto the bed, and as soon as she hit the mattress, she stripped off everything else, leaving her completely nude, and her actions inspired Tom to do the same. 

He quickly got on top of her, grinding the length of his cock against her soaking wet folds, making him growl. 

“Fuck, darling, I’m not even inside you yet and you feel heavenly-” he hissed, the little omega nodding in response. 

“Alpha, please, I need you inside me, I want you to fill me,” she desperately pleaded. 

Tom let out a feral snarl at the use of the word ‘alpha’, surprised it had so much of an effect on him being used like this. It was so fucking hot. She had him wrapped so tightly around her pinky and didn’t even know it. 

“Anything for you, darling,” he muttered, lining himself up and ever so slowly easing himself inside his new mate, a pained whimper escaping her, his cock seemingly splitting her in half. 

Tom finally remembered that she was a virgin. And that made him even harder inside her. He waited for him, for her mate, while he was out fucking every omega that crossed him. But with her, she wasn’t just an omega. And he wanted to prove it to her. 

He took his time, almost cockwarming, staying still inside of her as her body naturally adjusted to his size, feeling so close to each other, it was enough for the two of them to almost fall in love right then and there. Tom finally took in how perfect she was to him. Someone he knew he wanted to keep around in the long run. Someone he knew he wanted to protect, even when she didn’t need protection. 

[ y / n ] scratched up his back, signaling that she was ready, and confident that he could move with little to no discomfort from her. 

The alpha started to move his hips, her tight cunt making his eyes roll back in his skull as he dropped his head into the crook of her neck, leaving soft and reassuring kisses to her neck as she made the most delectable noises, making him addicted, almost like his own brand of opioid. 

“So fucking tight, princess, you feel like fucking paradise,” he praised as he drank up the omega’s reactions as she experienced her first time with him. 

She’s like this for me and only me.

Her face was scrunched adorably in pleasure, her eyes shut tight as she felt the moment, his skin under her finger tips, the burning that was set in her core easing as she finally had pleasurable relief. Like getting a refreshing drink on a particularly hot day. 

Tom couldn’t help himself, and as if his body wasn’t his own, primal instinct took over as he began to make his strides harder and quicker, making the most pathetically cute noises release from her mouth. 

“You like that, darling?” he panted licking and sucking her neck, making one of her tiny hands weaving itself though his chestnut curls, “Why did I bother asking, of course you do. You love it when your alpha fucks you.”

All she could do was nod her head as she felt a coil inside her tighten. Tom felt his cock inflate as he continued to drive into her, pounding her into the mattress as he growled praises into her neck, her moans and whimpers never stopping. 

Soon the praise turned into a single word, falling out of his mouth like a prayer, even though what they were doing was the farthest thing from holy. 

Mine. Mine. Mine.

The omega could take it anymore, whimpering out, “P-Please, I... want you to b-bite me. Please, I need you to claim me,” she begged, which made his assault on her cunt falter slightly, slowing down to a calm and intimate pace. 

He knew what that meant. When an alpha bites an omega, she’s claimed. It means that nobody can touch her. Almost like an unbroken bond between two of their kind, and it meant a lot. 

And though they had just met only a half an hour prior, he knew that she was special, and he knew that this was who he was meant to be with, and his heart swelled at the thought of getting to know her inside and out. A true connection. 

“You want me to claim you, huh?” he paused his movements, [ y / n ] nodding frantically, wanting more than anything, “I’m not going to go easy on you. I want you to feel nothing but you inside me while I claim you, nothing but rapture as I claim you as mine.”

[ y / n ] nodded once again, to while Tom protested, “Words, darling,” 

“Yes, alpha, I understand, I- OH FUCK-,” she yelled out. And she thought he was going hard before, but that was nothing compared to the pleasure she was now presented with, his cock properly railing into her as he left a long and sinful lick up her neck before taking a bite, his eyes glowing a bright fluorescent gold as she let out one of the most pornographic moans she had ever heard. 

The copper taste in his mouth tasted like candy, and home, the sweet substance covering his lips as he finally pulled back, knowing that she was close. 

And close she was. She was so close to release she could almost taste it, and god did it taste good. Without warning, the coil inside her snapped, making her vision cloud, her thoughts unable to collect themselves as her vision clouded, and she swore she blacked out for a second. 

She was so overcome with pleasure, she didn’t notice that he had cum himself, the sensation of him pulling out and his cum spill out of her enough to get her riled up enough. But if what just happened didn’t vanquish the heat she was experiencing before, God only knew what would. 

Tom stepped back, taking in the sight of his new mate, completely fucked out and covered with marks, his cum dripping out of her like a faucet. He wished for this image to be branded into his mind so he could see it every time he closed his eyes. 

“Absolutely stunning.” he praised, his hands now running up and down her thighs. 

[ y / n ] was finally Tom’s, inside and out, and Tom couldn’t be more proud. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, love, yeah?”

The morning was soft and filled with nothing but admiration to each other, the two staying in bed most of the morning until they finally went to the omega’s kitchen to make breakfast/lunch.

[ y / n ] was cooking the bacon and eggs when she suddenly felt arms wrap around her from behind, a chin resting on her shoulder. 

“How’re you holding up?” he questioned, and it make [ y / n ] blush at how considerate she was about her state, his fingertips dragging lightly over the violent-looking bite mark on her neck.

“I’m absolutely perfect,” she smiled, “Feels nice to belong to someone.”

“You know what? I was thinking the exact same thing.”

And for once, the two of them were truly excited for the future. 

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.15

Stressed

01/16/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,747

Warnings: angst, jealousy, anxiety, talks of pregnancy, conception troubles

A/N: I’m sorry this came so late and that it’s taking me time to get these out. I’m writing very slowly right now and I only have my brain to blame. I’m finding it so hard to focus right now and I’m not sure why. I’ve gotten away from my usual habit of writing when I wake up and before I go to sleep. Hopefully, I’ll get back to normal soon. I hope y’all like (hate?) this chapter! Things will start to get tough from here on out. I hope y’all will stick with me through it. xoxo

“Well, I’ve got to get back to my girls. Some of them have taken to sneaking out at night in an attempt to earn their wings. If I catch them, I get to make them do whatever I want and I’m not going to lie, it’s the best part of my day.”

Hilde smiles at you, and you try to give her a returning social exchange with the same energy but your mind and eyes keep drifting back to the astronomer across the room currently chatting with Bruce and Tony animatedly about something scientific that you don’t understand.

“Are you seriously stressing about her?” Hilde asks, exasperated with you already.

“No,” you answer with your feathers obviously ruffled. “I’m not.”

Hilde clearly doesn’t believe you as she skews her lips and tilts her head.

“I’m not!”

You say it too loudly and the trio on the other side of the table turn to look at you.

“Not what?” Tony asks, brow furrowed a little with curiosity.

“She’s not tired,” Hilde covers. “How about a tour from Her Majesty?”

“Uh, yeah, I can give you all a tour of the palace. It’s really big.”

“No,” Tony shakes his head. “No tour for me. As fun as following you around while you brag about how much bigger your house is than mine sounds, I just spent weeks in the trenches and I’m going to try and get some sleep or Pepper will ground me and won’t let me come out and play. So, I think, good night?”

“Right. Of course, yeah. Estrid?” You call out to the two large open doors.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Estrid hurries into view, giving you a quick curtsy before standing with her hands at her front.

“Can you show Mr. Stark-”

“Really?” he asks, incredulous.

“Sorry, habit,” you laugh nervously. “Can you show Tony to his room, please? And Bruce?”

“Uh, yeah. I’d love some sleep,” he nods, rubbing his chest with one hand in slow circles.

“And Bruce as well,” you nod to Estrid who gives you another curtsy.

They all begin to stand, shoving their chairs back in under the table and taking a last drink.

“And…” with odd trepidation, you look at your husband’s very recent former lover and try not to feel too overwhelmed. “Jane?”

“No, actually I was hoping I could speak with you?”

She takes a step towards you, hands pulled to her front as she fidgets with the tips of her fingers for a second then drops them at her sides.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Thank you, Estrid. When you’ve escorted the gentlemen to their rooms, come find me so that you can show Jane hers when she’s ready.”

“Very good, Your Majesty,” Estrid nods, another curtsy before she turns to Bruce and Tony who now look nervous too as they give you and then Jane inquisitive looks. “This way, gentlemen.”

As Estrid disappears into the hallway, Tony and Bruce follow slowly leaving you, Hilde, and Jane to stand awkwardly in the smaller of the two dining rooms in the palace.

“Should I stay?” Hilde wonders, inching a little closer to you and reaching out to grab your elbow.

“Hm? No. It’s okay. But if you’re going-?”

“Your Majesty,” Heimdall’s warm voice fills the space strangely washing over you with a soothing calm.

Something about Heimdall always makes you feel at ease and the night suddenly seems very bearable.

“Heimdall will be taking over your care until Thor returns, is that alright?” Hilde checks, sounding genuinely worried.

“Will I do, Your Majesty?” Heimdall asks, his voice a gentle teasing.

“Of course, Heimdall!” your huff of a laugh pulls from him a gentle chuckle and he moves around towards you to draw your hand up to his lips.

It’s a genuine sign of respect and it warms your heart.

“Alright, well, I’m off. I will see you tomorrow, Your Majesty. Jane.” Hilde gives her a nod and quickly slides from the room eager to catch her troops out of bed.

Heimdall makes his way towards Jane and as she turns to him, she smiles wide, “Heimdall, it’s so nice to see you again.”

“Jane Foster,” he says her name in full though it doesn’t sound as if he’s being formal.

In fact, they sound pretty close.

“It has been quite a while.” They hug and your heart gives a strange uncertain clench. “How are you?”

“I’m good, all things considered,” Jane says.

All things considered? What things considered?

“Yes, well…” Heimdall leaves his words hanging there, full of meaning that you don’t understand and suddenly the warmth his greeting had left you with is gone and in its place is a sense of intrusion.

Jane was the Queen they had all been expecting. Suddenly feeling dismal, you turn away from their reunion to fill up your fancy silver cup with wine and take a nice long drink.

Without turning back around to look at her because in the moment you can’t really bear it, you address her and hope that your voice doesn’t give you away.

“What was it that you wanted to speak to me about, Jane?”

Hopefully it has nothing to do with Thor or you might just lose your head a little. While a part of you would very much like to bury the hatchet and put everything that happened with her and Thor in the past behind you, in this moment, the last thing you want to do is talk about how she is or was the love of his life.

That you know, right?

This is all so fucked.

“I was actually just wondering if you had a space that I could set up my equipment? Somewhere with clear access to the sky is preferable, and lots of space? I’ll need to set up my equipment to show Thor--and yourself what I’ve been seeing the last few months.”

You can hear it in her voice that she added you as an afterthought. She came to show Thor. To see him?

You hate this sudden insecurity growing inside of you, this second guessing that didn’t even exist until she walked into your home tonight.

Are you thinking too much? Is this wrong of you? Thor is your husband. He loves you. He says it every day. Several times a day because he knows you need to hear it. He physically shows you, also several times a day if he can. Just today, in the hallway downstairs…

“Your Majesty?” Heimdall prompts, pulling you from your thoughts.

You dismiss his concern without acknowledging it because it’s in his all-seeing eyes. Instead, you focus on Jane.

“I have the perfect space. It’s a bit of a walk. I mean, it’s still on palace grounds, just a bit further up the hill behind us. But it’s an observation tower Loki was having built probably for this exact reason.”

“Perfect,” she smiles, then moves to her chair to pick up a large brown bag you hadn’t noticed she’d brought in here with her. “After you?”

Heimdall follows behind the two of you and Jane follows a step behind as you lead her out of the palace back entrance which is hidden behind a smaller room behind the throne room.

The night is chilly and you wrap your arms around yourself and regret the shorter choice of dress.

Jane also seems to shiver for a moment but her own clothes are more tailored to the weather outside than yours is. Her shiver passes.

“Do you enjoy living here?” she asks.

For a moment you don’t realize she’s talking to you, then when no one else answers, you start and quickly clear your throat.

“Yes, I do. I mean, it’s cold a lot. I’ll be glad when Summer’s here. Spring is also kind of on the chillier side.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, as if she’s been here often.

The silence after her affirmation grows tense and your heart begins to pound as your mind goes into a flurry of what she might have gotten up to here in New Asgard before you’d come into the picture.

Warmth suddenly envelops you and you turn to look at Heimdall as he places his dark cloak over your shoulders.

“Thank you, Heimdall,” you gasp, reaching up to pull the cloak around yourself more tightly.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Heimdall nods, “It’s my honor.”

The terrain suddenly grows more rugged and Heimdall is quick to offer you his arm as you adjust your steps to accommodate the rockier path.

You make a mental note to have this pathway fixed. Smoothed out and maybe even given a railing as it gets steeper.

The only thing you can hear is the sound of three pairs of feet trudging along shifting stone and dirt then a softer step as the hill evens out a bit more and becomes covered in grass.

When you don’t have to look down at where you’re stepping anymore, you look up at the tower that looms ahead.

The base is made of heavy stone, each placed with precision and reinforced with steel supports. Wooden beams line each of the corners, decorated with carved images of what you can only assume are Asgardian moments in history.

When you’d come to see its progress at the beginning of its creation, you’d recognized the images of Thor and Odin in battle just above the beam that lines the doorway.

The rest of the tower is a mix of wood, stone, and iron. The aesthetic is very much like the palace, Asgardian curves and shapes fit into more modern Norse lines.

The three of you stop as you reach it and Heimdall hurries forward to throw the large door open.

As you step through, you see that the inside of the tower has not changed much since the last time you came to inspect it.

The bottom floor is a large empty room with only a fireplace against the back wall, exposed rafters up above before the height is cut short by the ceiling.

“Wow,” Jane does sound impressed, “This is great. Is there a-?”

“Upstairs,” you point towards the staircase to the right that rises up around the side of the room. “There’s another room, smaller, but it has a lot of balcony space.”

“Great! Thanks,” she sighs with relief as if she really didn’t expect you to give her some space to work, then heads towards the staircase.

“Um, there’s no furniture in here yet. I’ll have someone bring you some tables and chairs, is there anything more specific that you need?”

Jane stops at the foot of the stairs then turns to look at you and then the space of the bottom floor.

“Would it be possible to get a bed in here? You’re right, and it is a long way from the palace. I’m gonna be in here probably all the time so…?”

You know that she isn’t asking for the impossible or anything out of the question, but suddenly the idea of making this tower her little space has a whole other life playing out in your head.

A life where you had married Thor and he had been unable to give up Jane. A life of her living here at the palace with you in her own space where Thor can come and be with her in private away from prying eyes while still giving the appearance of being with you, his Queen in name only.

“Your Majesty?” Heimdall prompts you quietly, reaching out to touch your elbow again and pull you from the pain and panic you’re trying to hide.

You force a smile, a small shake of your head, “Yes, of course. Sorry, I’ve had a busy day. I’ll have them bring you everything you need within the hour.”

“Thank you. Once I have everything set up I’ll make sure to show you what I’ve found and then Thor can um, plan for what might come?”

“Of course,” you agree, eager to get the hell out of here and back to your room where you can fall apart in private. “Now, I hope you’ll excuse my bad hosting skills, but I really am super tired and I think I’m going to turn in a little early.”

“Oh, yeah, sure! No problem at all,” Jane smiles, “Thank you for all your help. And dinner! Dinner was so good. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. I’ll let Cook know,” you nod, hoping that your smile isn’t too tense for the moment. “Good night.”

“Night!”

You’re almost grateful for the cold night air as it bites the skin of your cheeks. Anything is better than the stress you just felt in that tower.

You hear the heavy door of the tower close behind you, then Heimdall’s footsteps join your own though your heavy breathing is alone as he walks calmly beside you.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Heimdall wonders, gentle and honestly concerned.

“I’m fine,” You lie.

“Does having Jane Foster here bother you? There is no need for you to worry. I have seen Thor be with many women-”

“Oh, my God,” and you can’t help but huff a laugh. “Not helping, Heimdall.”

“-and I have never seen him be with anyone the way he is with you. It’s more than just love. It's a partnership. Companionship. It’s friendship. Trust. After their initial reconnection, Thor’s trust in Jane and their courtship dwindled and as you know, by the end, it was completely gone.”

“So, what you’re saying is he’s so sure that I love him that he has no reason to worry?”

Which is true, you do and he has no reason to worry about you not loving him or falling for someone else at this point. You can’t even imagine being with anyone the way you’ve been with Thor.

“He’s not afraid to lose me?” You hate giving into these thoughts.

Honestly though, talking about them to someone will help you sleep tonight. Maybe.

“Yes,” Heimdall agrees. “And no. Even now, this very moment, all he can think of is you.”

You stop walking, stunned by his words because you’ve never asked him to look for you. You’ve heard Thor ask him to see things before, to search, and Heimdall always has. It had never crossed your mind to do the same.

Then again, this is the first time you and Thor have been apart since before you were married.

“What-You can see him?” Heimdall looks down at your feet, focuses what must be his mental eyes, and then slowly nods.

“He’s distressed at leaving you here alone, he’s finding it hard to focus on what Fandral is telling him and Fandral is growing more and more upset.”

You smile, completely absorbed by this information.

“Did he ever ask you to look for her? For Jane?”

Your words are quiet, hesitant, though your heart feels slightly more at ease by Heimdall’s reassurance.

“In the very beginning of their courtship, just after he left Earth and the bifrost was destroyed. Their love was new then. It was short-lived. Then Thor came back to Earth and they were able to be together, for a time.

“But their compatibility has always had its trials. After some time together, Thor was called back to the Universe and Jane had her own work to do. Their responsibilities have always pulled them apart and if I’m honest, Thor is the more hopeless romantic between them.”

You think about all of the small things that Thor has done for you since you came back home. The flowers, the baths, surprise dinners, the small presents hidden under your pillow or in drawers he knows you’ll get into. He’s done a lot more to show you he’s thinking about you during the day than you have and you can understand what Heimdall is saying.

You’re not so much a gift giver in love it seems, and instead give him all of the affection he’d seemed so starved for in the beginning.

“Her being here will not damage your marriage. Trust me.” Heimdall finishes.

You lead the walk again, moving slower but calmer after Heimdall’s reassurance.

“Will you come back up and check that Jane gets everything she needs? We really should have had the tower set up a long time ago.”

“As soon as I am certain you are in your quarters safe, with a guard outside your door, yes. I can ensure that she has everything that she requires.”

For a few minutes you walk in silence, at ease. When you reach the back doors of the palace however and he holds the doors open for you, you turn to Heimdall and after a quick bite to your lip, “Is he still with Fandral?”

Heimdall smiles and nods, “Fandral is yelling at him for not paying attention.”

Both of you laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s so early when you wake. It’s still dark outside and you’re almost sure that sunrise is still a few hours away.

You’re exhausted. Eyes burning as you push yourself up and the night plays itself over.

So suddenly you’re anxious again, nerves making your fingertips tingle and your stomach do an uncomfortable flip as you turn over onto your back to look at Thor’s side of the bed.

It’s undisturbed. Both pillows are still in their made up position.

He said he’d be back very late at night, early morning at the latest. You’d been hoping for the former.

With a groan, you sit up, sliding slowly down to the end of the bed and the bench where Thor sits to put his boots on.

You’re so groggy. The night was restless and you’ve really only gotten about an hour of sleep. Two at the most.

It’s stuffy in the room, the fire still burning and leaving you a little sticky from being huddled underneath a heavy blanket because you’d missed the weight of Thor’s arms all night.

The large glass doors across from you rattle from the wintry breeze outside, beckoning you forward for relief from this heat.

As you step on the floor, your body is rocked with a shiver that pushes you up onto your toes. As fancy as this palace is, you’ll have to ask Thor if it’s possible to get some heated floors installed.

Moving as quickly as you can, you don’t stop until you’re at the doors and then thrust them open and absolutely inhale the frigid late night air.

You scan the distant ocean as it spreads into the horizon, the sky it touches still an inky black with a breathtaking scattering of stars.

You can hear the Valkyrie below in their barracks and training grounds already working hard to get into shape. Hilde must have really caught them sneaking out.

Heimdall should be waiting close by. You really want to see if he has news about Thor’s schedule and if maybe he’s on his way home and just running late.

As you turn to walk back into the room, you freeze as your eyes scan the tower you’d set Jane up in.

From this angle you have a clear view of the balcony. She’s already set up her equipment. You didn’t know that you could see this well into the tower.

It’s all lit up like a beacon in the dark.

It’s an unpleasant reminder that she’s here and you make a mental note to keep the curtains drawn when you know she’s up there. Which you realize that unfortunately, will probably mean all the time.

Sighing, you move towards the door but then freeze again as Thor moves from the balcony doorway towards a large telescope attached to what looks like heavily modified computers.

He’s still in uniform, smiling. Behind him, Jane follows, arms wrapped around herself before she stops too close to Thor for your liking.

She rushes around him and looks through the eyepiece. You can see her talking away, mouth moving at the speed of light as she explains something to him, her hands flying around her as she talks, apparently the cold is forgotten.

She pulls away from the telescope as Thor chuckles then moves back inside out of sight as Thor sidles up to the eyepiece but doesn’t touch it yet.

The telescope moves, clearly Jane adjusting it from inside where she must have set up her computer equipment.

Thor takes a step back then the telescope stops and Jane flutters back out onto the balcony and gestures for Thor to look through.

He does, Jane moves in beside him, saying something that must be a whisper if she’s standing that close. He says something back.

The two of them having a pleasant conversation.

The clench in your chest feels choking.

Thor pulls back from the eyepiece and turns to look at her.

He’s too far away for you to see his expression, too small. But their faces are so close and he doesn’t pull away.

You sink back into your room, terrified to see something that will ruin the perfect bliss you’ve been in these first three months of your marriage.

Not that it isn’t already ruined. You’ve been a mess since Jane showed her face and now with what you just saw, how can you feel anything but lousy?

You don’t do what you want to do. You don’t slink back into bed and hide under the covers to wallow.

Instead you move to your closet and look for a dignified dress. Something that you can wear that will scream Queen of New Asgard but also be relaxed enough for you to work in.

You choose something with a simple cut. Long sleeves, a deep V in the front, with a loose flowing skirt but a tight bodice to match the equally tight sleeves. The color is an iridescent black that shimmers in teal and startling pink.

The color reminds you of the northern lights with a splash of the hazy pink in the orion nebula. It’s beautiful and otherworldly, and it screams Queen of Asgard in casual formal.

With the dress you move back into the room and hang it on the small stand in front of the full length mirror by your vanity before grabbing some new underwear and moving into the bath.

You ignore the large tub you and Thor have spent hours upon hours in and quickly shower instead. You emerge fresh and clean, though not exactly refreshed.

You’re stepping out of the shower when your bedroom doors open and you freeze, staring at them as they swing forward with your hands pressed to the top of your towel holding it shut.

Your heart drops when Estrid smiles prettily at you, turning around to close the doors as she greets you.

“Good morning, Your Majesty, did you sleep well?” She moves straight for your vanity to pull out the brush, pins, and makeup she usually uses on you in the morning.

She’s in here much earlier than normal and she can’t have gotten that much sleep herself. She’s so attuned to you now that you’re worried for her but also grateful.

“Good morning, Estrid,” you reply, refusing to answer her question because she’d only worry. “Did Ms. Foster get all of the things she needed in the tower?”

“Yes, m’am. Heimdall made sure that she had everything she would need for her research before he retired to stand guard at your door.”

You have an endless stream of questions about Thor in your head, things you want to ask Estrid but you bite your tongue as Estrid helps you on with your dress then sits you down at your vanity to dry your hair and work on today’s set of braids.

Time passes as she works. Time that feels like seconds to you as your mind works hard to try and reassure your heart that you have nothing to worry about, and yet, it still aches.

“You’re very quiet this morning, Your Majesty,” she observes.

“Yeah. I don’t really feel like talking unless I have to.”

“Very well, Your Majesty,” she accepts, but then after a few minutes of silence. “Are you not feeling well? Shall I send for the doctor?”

“No, Estrid. I’m not sick. I’m-shit, what’s the date today?”

Reaching around, you look for your phone to check the date.

“‘Tis the fifteenth, Your Majesty,” Estrid informs you.

“Did you forget about me already?” A deep smooth voice slides in from your doorway and you turn in search of the comfort the tone gives you.

“David!”

On your feet and across the room, David greets you with open arms. A small firm hug is what he gives you before kissing the side of your head and then pushing you back to look at you.

His eyes linger on your stomach for a moment before he frowns playfully.

“Nothing yet? I guess we’ll find out today if we’re to expect anything in the next month.”

“No pressure,” you reply sarcastically.

David chuckles, his fancy four piece navy suit a display of his busy nature. As much as he wants to visit, you know that he’s busier now with so many people wanting his services. The prestige of being the Queen of New Asgard’s lawyer has brought him a windfall.

Not that he needs it, but he appreciates the work.

“I did forget we had a testing today. Something happened yesterday.”

Your voice filters into a whisper at the end, though you’re not even aware of it.

David matches your energy, though he doesn’t whisper, he recognizes your stress and concern saturates his entire person.

“What’s happened?”

“I-” You look towards Estrid, and she’s so good that she’s cleaning your vanity, ignoring your conversation as best she can, but still. “Estrid, were you finished with my hair?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she turns to you and smiles. “Will you be needing anything else? Breakfast in the breakfast room?”

“Are you hungry, David?”

“No, I’m not. Thank you.”

“No breakfast, Estrid. Thank you. When the doctor arrives, can you show him in?”

Estrid curtsies, and without another word, she leaves you and David in the room.

“You look beautiful today, by the way,” David tells you as he moves towards the small table in the corner to sit but waits for you to reach your chair first to pull it out for you.

“Thanks, I chose it very carefully,” you admit. “Does it make me look like a real Queen?”

“You are a real Queen,” David assures you, then cocks his head as he registers your stress again. “What happened last night?”

You sigh heavily, using your nails to pick at the woodgrain of the table, shoulders slouched a little as you deflate.

“Jane showed up with Tony and Bruce,” you reveal, a shaky breath accompanying your desperate information.

“Oh? At Thor’s invitation?” David wonders, which honestly sobers you up a little from your depression.

“No. I don’t think so. I mean, Tony and Bruce were supposed to come to install a security system for the palace and I guess maybe she just tagged along?”

“And you are upset that your husband’s former lover has forced her way into your new home.”

It’s not a question. David has always been very observant and he sucks for it. Jerk.

“Well...yeah. But that’s not why-”

“Something else happened?”

David leans towards you and places his hand over yours, a soft knowing look on your surrogate father’s face.

With a quick little sigh you tell him about your stress over not getting pregnant and the pressures from the ambassadors to do that before more time goes by to secure the ties between the Asgardians to Earth. You tell him about your worries about Jane that have died down a little since you and Thor got married but have never truly gone away. Lastly, you tell him about what you saw this morning and how you’d been expecting Thor to come directly to you when he got back but clearly that’s not happening.

“Maybe I’m being too sensitive? But I mean, it’s been what? An hour and a half since you got here and he still hasn’t come to look for me?”

You reach over and rub your arm, the soft fabric of your dress pleasing but only in the back of your mind where you’re not thinking about Thor and Jane.

“If that is how you feel, then that is how you feel. The important part now is talking to Thor about it. Couples lose out when they feel about something the way that they do and then keep it to themselves. Even Gods are not mind readers.”

David tilts his head, eyes looking across the room for a moment before he looks right back at you.

“At least not to my knowledge.”

You almost smile, but the stress of talking to Thor about this is giving your anxiety a nice boost.

“What if I don’t like what he says?”

“Then you don’t like it. You cannot avoid the confrontation because you might not hear what you want to hear. That is not how a marriage, or any relationship works. In big moments like these, honesty I think is the best policy.”

He’s right of course. You know he is. That doesn’t mean you have to like it.

You close your eyes and try to see Thor’s handsome face smiling sweetly at you, just as he had yesterday before he left. Instead you see him smiling down at Jane next to that stupid telescope, him chuckling at whatever she’s saying as she talks away about her work.

Two knocks to your door pull you from your stupid thoughts and drop your heart into the pit of your stomach, but Estrid peeks in to make sure that you’re okay to see her.

Suddenly, you’re dreading seeing Thor.

“Come in, Estrid.”

She moves in, behind her follows two doctors. One is a woman with a lovely heart shaped face and long full dark brown hair that compliments her olive skin. She’s wearing a sleek gray pantsuit, pink camisole underneath, and a thick black coat draped over her arm.

Her name is Amana Wilson and she has been your gynecologist since David gave you your inheritance and you were able to afford better healthcare.

The second doctor is an older man with a thick black beard streaked through with bits of gray. He glows an almost ethereal way. Clearly Asgardian. Your general caregiver since you moved to New Asgard, Doctor Alric Orvinson smiles eagerly, kindly, a pure excitement radiating off of him.

He’s always so eager to put everything he’s learning into practice.

Doctor Wilson curtsies and Doctor Alric bows before they both greet you in unison.

“Your Majesty,” they say.

David waits until you’re standing before he stands too, but then he moves towards the doors.

“I think I’ll go have some of that breakfast you offered me,” he tells you then makes his way towards the large doors. “Doctors, I know you will give Her Majesty the best care you can offer?”

“Of course,” Doctor Wilson assures him and he leaves you with a quick wink of his eye.

“Thank you, Estrid. Make sure David gets a proper meal? No pop tarts!”

“Party pooper!” David shouts back.

Estrid curtsies, “Right away, Your Majesty.”

She leaves you quickly with a chuckle in her throat at your exchange with David.

As the door closes, you take a step towards your doctors and slowly release a held breath.

“So, what will it be today? Should I go strip or…?”

“No. Not today. Since we did a physical on you last time, we won’t worry about that during this visit,” Doctor Wilson assures you.

“Today, Doctor Wilson will be watching me take some blood and perform a pregnancy test to see if you are expecting our heir!”

Our heir?

New Asgard sees the future prince or princess to come as their own. It’s not just your and Thor’s baby. This baby, if and when there is a baby, is an entire people’s baby.

You feel your anxiety rise again. Clenching your hands, you nod and force a smile as Doctor Alric moves towards you with a large metallic box that he places down and opens.

Inside comes a rush of cold air and what looks like medical equipment used to test blood. You don’t know what it’s called and it’s super high tech. Nothing that you’ve ever seen before.

Your two tests before had been sent to labs and then you’d received the results a few days later, if they’re testing the blood here, does that mean faster results?

“So, how long will I have to wait this time then? To know whether I’m doing my job or not?”

Doctor Alric looks up at you with slight surprise and worry.

There must be something in your voice since he seems to realize what he’s said is putting pressure on you because he stands up straight and fixes his own suit jacket before speaking.

“Your Majesty,” he begins, but Doctor Wilson moves to stand beside you and places her hand on your shoulder.

“Within the hour. This is Stark tech, so it’ll be quick and accurate. Have you been stressing about getting pregnant?” She’s so much softer than Doctor Alric, but not because she’s a woman.

She just knows you better.

“Kinda hard not to with an entire planet waiting for it,” you admit. “Do you think that if-if it’s negative, should Thor and I stop trying so hard? We’re trying daily. No breaks.”

“I think the stress more than the trying will probably make it harder but you’re both healthy. It will happen. If you are tired and you think the stress is too much, then take a break. It won’t do any harm if you lose a couple nights of sleeping with your husband.”

You feel a swell of relief for this human woman who knows just what to say. You give her a sly smirk.

“Have you seen my husband? It’ll hurt.”

She laughs a quick knowing chuckle, “Trust me, you don’t gotta tell me how fine he is, Your Majesty.”

Both of you laugh a few seconds then you take the seat that Doctor Alric sets beside you and while you roll up your sleeve, he and Doctor Wilson fly off into medical jargon that you don’t understand and consequently zone out into thoughts of Thor and why the fuck he still hasn’t come to see you.

[echo-three-one]

How ‘bout Jealous Soap x reader?

Hello Earthisdonut 🌍 🍩

I saw your ask while I was at work and I can't stop thinking about how the story goes... I had a lot of ideas but as I wrote, it kept on swinging on the other direction. Maybe it's my feelings being resonated into the words or an entire force telling me to go this way. Anyways here you go...

A jealous soap x reader fic.

Take me home

You take a deep breath and closed your eyes, clearing away the mixed sounds of random chatter, loud tv commentary and the all the yelling. 'Friday evening shifts are the worst' you thought to yourself as you make your way back to your station, wearing a smile on your face.

"Hey miss!" a customer whistled from the far end of the counter. You hastily walked to him and smiled. 

"What can I get you?" you asked with sincerity in your voice. You've worked long enough to master the art of faking a smile when in fact you are tired, but this job is all you have and the tips kept the bills afloat.

"Two beers and roasted nuts, please." He ordered, you were impressed at how kind he was, unlike the other new customers who reeked of rudeness and bad manners.

"Coming right up, Sir!" you winked as you tend to his order, mentally noting his tab for later. You hand him over the beer, placed on a circular chip that served as a coaster, followed by a heaping bowl of roasted nuts.

This kind of scene continued throughout the night, just with different kinds of people with different combinations of orders. You feel tired but you tend to forget it when you look at the tip jar, the thing that kept you moving forward. It's also the thing that's holding you back from life, you remembered when your best friend told you that you should unwind sometimes instead of rendering overtime during your day offs, to which you replied : "Soon enough", and that was well over a year ago.

As you wiped off the recently left spot by the counter, a well built man immediately took the spot and sat down, you tilted you head upward as the action surprised you. There he was, you couldn't miss his look, he stood out on the crowd because of his haircut, a perfectly cut mohawk and a scar on his left eye. He grinned at you, his blue eyes looked excited as soon as it met yours.

"John? I didn't know you'd be home!" You gasped as soon as you realized he's actually there, quickly putting a shot glass and pouring his favorite drink.

"Hey Y/N! I knew I'd find you here!" his hand gestured for a shake but he quickly dismissed it as soon as he realized he couldn't do it while you're at work.

"Yeah, working as always." you replied, trying to sound contented. He smiled at you as he raised his glass and downed the drink. You couldn't help but look at the way his Adam's apple moved as he consumed the drink.

His face turned into something incomprehensible as he let the taste of the strong alcohol set in, making you chuckle a little. His eyes turned to you as he heard you laugh.

"What's funny?" he asked. You simple shook you head and poured another pint on his shot glass. 

"I'll be back in a few. I have to serve drinks for these wild crowd." You informed him, but as soon as you were about to step out, you hear him stand up.

"What time will you be off?" He asked.

"Two more hours." You replied without looking back. You could feel your cheeks warm up and an uncontrollable smile plastered on your face. 

"Okay. I'll be here till then." he yelled as you entered the door to the employee's area. 

'Shit Shit shit shit.' you whispered to yourself as you regain composure. He felt way off. He didn't act like this toward you before. You could feel something odd between you two, and you're very distracted about it.

You made your way to your manager's office to request a five minute break. You knew he'd approve a breather from you because he was a accommodating to you since day one. You believed it's because you always give it your all in every shift.

You softly knock on his office door and pushed it slightly ajar, peeking your head through it as you saw him on his desk, doing some paperwork.

"Ah, Y/N. You need anything, love?" he greeted in his usual tone. His endearment didn't matter you as he calls every female "love".

"Can I take a five? Just needed to breathe." you huffed. He nodded in approval and stood up. 

"Let's puff it out, yeah?" he smiled as he offered a stick of cigarette.

The cold breeze of the Saturday evening wrapped around your work uniform. The noise from the bar was muffled but occasional screams would echo across the street. You exhaled a long stream of cigarette smoke through your mouth as the relaxing feel of nicotine coursed through your system. Smoking was your go-to activity whenever you feel extreme unexplained emotions, such as seeing John MacTavish after a long time.

"Tough crowd?" Your manager turned his head to you as you casually leaned on the cold metal railing.

"Not really. I just saw someone I least expected to see." You retorted, pressing your lips against the cigarette butt as you closed your eyes and inhaled the vice.

"Someone you hate?" He queried. 

"Not necessarily. But at one point of my life, maybe... It's just... it's complicated." You complained, sighing at the thought of him once again. You mentally fought against yourself whether to reminisce or not, reminding yourself that the reason you went out here was to clear your head, not to fill it with memories of summer 4 years ago.

You fixed your posture and flicked off the cigarette butt to the ashtray. Your boss followed, escorting you back to the office. 

"Thanks for the company. I needed it." You thanked him as you crossed the street. He hummed in acknowledgement as he opened the door for you. You couldn't help but scan the room quickly for a mohawk, but he wasn't around. Maybe he went to the bathroom, you thought to yourself as you get back to your station.

9:59 pm. Your eyes trailed to the huge digital clock by the door, rapidly moving across the crowd still no mohawk in sight. This actually made you sad, he wasn't the kind of guy who dissappoints, you always saw him as a man of his word. You did confirm that he already paid for his tab about an hour and a half ago, just after your short break.

Guess you're going home alone. So much for ' I'll be here till then' you mentally argued, frowning as you wiped off the last glass in the tray.

10:00 pm. You sighed and lazily grabbed your time card and let the huge metal clock record your departure. You felt your energy quickly deplete due to the dissappointment that is John MacTavish.

"See you on Monday!" you waved goodbye to your coworkers who seemed to notice your sudden loss of energy. You push the back door slowly and stepped outside. It was getting cold and you weren't prepared for it.

"Hey." A low scottish accent muttered just beside you, making you yelp in surprise.

"Holy crap, you scared the shit out of me!" you angrily punched his strong arm, hurting yourself in the process.

"I'm sorry." he spoke lazily, almost tired or drunk. You couldn't exactly tell, but it was far from his tone earlier. 

"Pretty chilly, eh?" you asked him, imitating his accent. Something that you always considered a major turn on when it comes to him.

"A little bit. And your impression is way off, I don't say it like that." he retorted nonchalantly making you worry if something happened while he was waiting.

"You seem a little off, what's the problem?" you asked, playfully bumping him while you walked the empty streets on your way home.

"It's just... uh.. Nevermind." he trailed off, his secrecy was making you impatient and you stopped on your tracks. He continued walking, looking down at the ground until he noticed you're no longer beside him.

He turned back. "You forgot something?" 

"I don't get you." you raised your voice. He slowly walked back to you until he's just inches away from your face.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I should've just asked..."

"Asked what? You told me you'd stay here till my shift is over and then you're gone like that?" you complained, the tone of your voice was demanding and you could see him flinch when words hurt.

"I didn't want to raise suspicion." 

"Who would be suspicious of you?!"

"Shortly after you left, I took a smoke. But I didn't do it by the smoking area. I was way up here, enjoying the breeze." he said, turning to the smoking area which was very visible from up here. Was he sad because he saw you and your manager by the smoking area? What kind of eyes did he have? You didn't want to assume things so you started to supply him with questions to fill in the blanks.

"And? Was the area too sad for you to be all emo like that all of a sudden?" you complained, soing your best impression of an angry person, but you know deep inside that you couldn't get angry at this man.

"Yeah. You could say that." he chuckled. He couldn't even look at you anymore.

"Bullshit." you retorted. He slowly tilted his head and smiled as soon as your eyes met. The view was so gorgeous you almost felt like the world was in slow motion.

"You don't have to believe me if you want. Why are you walking with me home anyway. You could've said no. I bet he has some nice fancy car to drive you home." he blurted, fog started to huff out of his mouth as the snow started to fall from the sky.

"Where are you going with this, John?" you spat, letting the emotions get the best of you. If only he was clear enough then this wouldn't have happened.

"I saw the two of you smiling while talking, I thought to myself. Yeah, she's happy with that bloke huh, I wish I knew that before I invited her earlier." he breathed out. You almost felt guilty, but it wasn't your fault. He easily assumed things that weren't even true.

"What made you think we're together? Just because we're smoking together doesn't mean we're in a relationship. Is that what you thought?" you replied, fighting back helping him on his way to the truth.

He paused, it's as if his whole thought process was shattered when your words stung him. 

"I got jealous. To be fair, I was gone for 4 years... I always thought you already found someone else within that time." he frowned. It was not usual of him to feel this vulnerable.

"Look-" you tried to explain but you suddenly felt his warm embrace wrapped around you.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered. The same words he said before leaving 4 years ago. The same words that hurt you back then and the same words that's going to hurt you at this moment. He was the one that got away, he was the one whom you shared your most magical moments with, but not the one who's going to be there until the end. He'll have to leave anytime soon, as his job requires him to save the world. You told him he could settle for less risky world saving endeavors but he insisted that this was his purpose. And you were not willing to let him choose again.

"You know... you're not supposed to feel jealousy." you consoled, rubbing his well sculpted back. 

"I know... I couldn't help it." he whispered. 

"Let's get you home, John." you whisper to him as he pulls away from you, his face pouted like a baby whose candy got stolen.

"Why are you here anyway?" you added.

"I'm getting reassigned to a new task force. I figured I could say goodbye to someone I hold dear." he smirked, he felt normal, but then again you couldn't help but feel that this would be the last time you'll be seeing him. You we're thinking he won't be able to travel freely back here anymore or worse, he'll be the hero the world wanted him to be.

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 9)

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, (here) Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE, 

WARNING: Character injury as a major plot point. Lots of mentions of blood.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roach’s hooves hit the dirt like hammers, scooping up great clods of earth with each beat. Her gait barely registered to Geralt as blood welled up underneath his hand. There was so much, too much. His lap was soaked, it ran over the saddle and down his trousers, staining his boots and roach’s sides. It mixed with the dust on the sides of the road to form horrible rust-colored clots barely visible in the dark.

And Jaskier.

Jaskier was dying, his face white, his eyes rolled back, almost closed. Geralt pressed his hand tighter to the wound on his husband’s thigh and pressed Jaskier to his chest with his other hand. He wasn’t riding with reins, he didn’t need them. Roach sensed his desperation, likely smelling his anguish and fear. He had to trust his horse and Jaskier...Jaskier would have to trust in him. In the distance, the lights of Oxenfurt glittered in the darkness.

------

They had been traveling back to Oxenfurt anyway. The summer was still feverishly hot and travel had been rough. Even with his newfound resolve to do right by his husband, Geralt’s temper had been fraying. He knew he’d been talking less, marinating in the heat and his own sweat. He knew it was annoying Jaskier, who kept trying to make conversation, but Geralt wasn’t well built for heat, and his black armor and clothing cooked him. 

Jaskier had been complaining for days, too. There weren’t many settlements around for him to play in and the fields were too hot, the waterways too muggy, and the forests too oppressive. They slept in the open without a tent to avoid simply cooking in their sleep. 

There had been a moment, though, not so bad as the others. A clearing in a forest, lush, but with plenty of shade, and Jaskier had looked so beautiful. 

Geralt had been remaking some potions, teaching Jaskier the names of some of his less monstrous ingredients, pointing out what was good for salves, what was safe for humans, and so on. 

Jaskier had held up a buttercup, root and all smiling at the little petals. “I knew they were poisonous, of course,” he said, stroking the root with his thumb. “But I never thought they could be useful.”

“Only this,” Geralt said, taking it from him and cutting the roof. “Sagebrush buttercup, the root is still poison, but combined with Moonmoss it’s okay enough for a witcher.”

“Not for humans, though.”

“No, still poison.”

Jaskier had toed off his boots and leaned against Geralt’s shoulder, picking the flower up again, rootless now, and twiddling it in his fingers. “Seems fitting,” he said at last, and put it behind his ear.

Geralt wasn’t great with words and those had been cryptic, but he felt like he was missing something important.

“Hmmm?” he asked. Jaskier was getting really good at understanding him anyway.

“A Jaskier, only okay enough for a witcher,” Jaskier said, smiling a little sadly at Geralt.

There was such an odd tone there, something more there. Like Jaskier truly thought he was only suited to...but down that road madness lay. It also lay in the way sweat made Jaskier’s cheeks shimmer in the dappled sunlight. 

“Why are you Jaskier?” Geralt asked, going back to grinding the roots with the flat of his blade. It could have been phrased better, but Jaskier understood.

“It seems a little silly now, but when I was about ten or so I was rather melodramatic,” Jaskier said, ducking his head. 

“Hmm,” Geralt said. 

“I felt...so alone. There was just no one who seemed like me. Father thought music and poetry and anything except hunting, fistfights, money and war were silly. I annoy people,” he tilted his head back onto Geralt’s shoulder. “I annoyed you at first. Still do sometimes. --It’s okay,” he said, cutting off Geralt before he could hum his dissent. “I seemed to be a burden and a pain to everyone, something fleeting in their lives. I felt like a buttercup, fine to see in passing on the side of a road, but bad in a pasture, poisonous to eat, of no use to anyone and likely to get crushed by a boot.”

“The boot in question being your father?” Geralt said, setting aside his crushed roots and beginning to shred the Moonmoss, horrible, slimy pale stuff, between his fingers.

Jaskier knocked their heads together gently. “Congratulations, Geralt. You navigated an extended metaphor. Anyway, it was a little melodramatic, but so am I, so it stuck, at least in my mind.”

“I think it’s better than Julian,” Geralt said, scooping his moss and root mixture into the boiling pot.

“Me too,” Jaskier said, quietly.

Around them, a light summer rain had started, sprinkles and mist, mostly, but in the deep shade it was almost chilly, even to Geralt. Jaskier picked up his lute and played a pleasant tune for a while, fingers light on the strings. Geralt let his concoction bubble before pouring it into one of his Brimstone Glass vials. He examined the way the light hit the bottle, making slightly more of a show of it so that Jaskier might notice.

Dinner was cold rations, a hot meal being too hot, even in this pleasant respite. They’d picked up dark rye bread in the last town and were eating it with a paste of late-season wild garlic. Jaskier began eating but he shivered and said “Geralt, could you be my hero and pass me the doublet.”

Geralt pretended his whole body didn’t tingle whenever Jaskier called him a hero. He didn’t need to ask which doublet. Jaskier had plenty, but the doublet, that was the basilisk leather. Geralt held it out and took Jaskier’s bread as he slid the doublet on. Passing the bread back to Jaskier when both sleeves were fully on his arms. 

The rain picked up, still pleasant compared to the heat, but Jaskier and Geralt stood, Jaskier holding his bread in his mouth, and packed up those parts of their camp that would suffer from the rain.

“Do you see--” Jaskier asked, just as Geralt handed him his lute oil.

“Is the--” Geralt said, interupted by Jaskier handing him the hoof knife he’d been searching for.

“Do you think--” Jaskier began.

“The horses will be fine, should we--”

“Yeah, keep the tent packed away, the bedrolls--”

“Will be fine if we lay them on grass instead of mud,” Geralt finished. Then he realized how close he was standing to Jaskier.

“Jaskier,” he said, reaching out for the raindrop quivering on his husbands cheek. “I--”

Jaskier fell to the ground with a cry.

There was a crossbow bolt in his leg and already blood was wetting the forest floor. 

The bandits were dead in seconds. They’d likely only seen a well-dressed noble, all alone. They’d never expected something like Geralt. 

Anger and panic and dreadful fear all fought for dominance as Geralt dispatched the luckless thugs. The fear was icy cold in his veins. Whatever evil, dark coldness had first driven humans to create fire filled his blood. 

There was fire as well. Fury and anguish rose in him like great tides of flame. It was like the Trials all over again, he was being burned from the inside out, being remade until something new lived in him.

He stepped over bodies without a second glance, boots leaving bloody prints on the ground, soon to be washed away.

Jaskier was curled by Roach, hands clutching at the wound in his thigh and surrounded by scarlet. 

Geralt left Thunderbolt, Jaskier’s horse, tied in the clearing, Roach never needed tethering and sprang to his command. In his arms, Jaskier bled. They were so close to Oxenfurt.

They had to make it.

------

That had been then. Now, the lights of the city blazed in Geralt’s sight and he cursed himself and everything else. 

Jaskier was cold in his arms.

Before he had twitched or grunted, sometimes, horribly, he’d cried out at being jostled. He was still now, and too cold. His human heart was beating slowly, slower now than Geralt’s. But he had to live. He just had to. Jaskier had to live because...

Because Geralt loved him. Wholeheartedly and without reservation Geralt loved Jaskier, was so in love with him that it had clouded his judgement.

He’d been about to say as much, about to tell Jaskier the truth, when his husband had been struck down.

Geralt loathed Destiny, but he knew too much to deny her existence. This had been a judgement.

Geralt knew what life he led, he knew his Path, had known that humans couldn’t walk it. And he’d brought Jaskier anyway. This was punishment for falling in love and not leaving Jaskier safely in Oxenfurt like he’d planned from the start. 

The basilisk doublet flapped around Jaskier like a shroud. Had Geralt really thought it was enough? A single, simple doublet? Had he intended to fight cold and hunger and sickness with the swords he strapped to his back? Had he planned on fighting Destiny herself to keep Jaskier safe?

If Geralt could have struck Destiny down he would have.

The doublet hadn’t even kept Jaskier safe from the crossbow bolt. It was still embedded in his thigh, a terrible reminded as Geralt staunched the bloodflow. It hadn’t been enough. Geralt might as well have killed Jaskier himself. 

Jaskier’s father would certainly say that he had. Witchers would be hunted. There’d be a war and people would die all because Geralt had fallen in love. He’d been selfish and kept Jaskier at his side, luxuriating in praise and a pair of beautiful eyes. Dreaming that he could have love instead of leaving Jaskier in Oxenfurt where he was safe.

Geralt was taking Jaskier to Oxenfurt now, he only hoped his husband would still be alive when they got there.

Roach’s hooves rang on cobblestone as the first vestiges of the city flew past. Geralt flew into the city, louder than a rumor and faster than a plague. His eyes sought the telltale signs of magic, glowing gold and fighting to see in the darkness and the rain.

His love was going to die. He was so still against Geralt’s chest he was never still. 

Geralt prayed. He hadn’t prayed since the Trials. Even then, that hadn’t really been a prayer, that had just been a scared little boy screaming for somebody, anybody, to make it stop. 

Geralt prayed to every god he could think of. He wracked his brains as Roach ran through the city, trying to remember who was the god of poetry. Jaskier had been magic, a poet who could talk to the dead, such a person couldn’t just die this way. Geralt made an appeal to Justice, who he didn’t believe in.

Jaskier is good. He begged. He deserves to live. 

Take me instead.

Geralt’s eyes, moving in a far different plane than his mind, saw what he’d been looking for. 

Smoke. There. Green smoke, nearly invisible against the darkness and the rain. It curled up from the chimney of a building, poorly built and leaning out into the street but Geralt knew there was magic inside. 

He jumped from Roach, not taking the time to slow her down. His boots skidded on the cobblestones but he ran to the door, shifting Jaskier to one arm and knocking to wake the gods.

“Healer!” he screamed. “We need a healer!” His hand slammed the rusted knocker down like thunder.

“Please!” he was crying without tears, his voice taking a desperate and thin edge. “Please, we need a healer!”

The door was swung open without ceremony and Geralt barged inside. There was a workbench with scrolls across it but Geralt swept them off, laying Jaskier onto the wood like an offering at an altar.

The mage, placed a delicate hand on his chest and pushed him back.

He followed, feeling numb. The addrenaline was fighting his system, the fear of the ride stopped dead because there was nothing more he could do. 

That was the worst part. There was nothing more he could do. Geralt sank against the wall in the corner of the room, his heart racing and his mind achingly blank.

Some small part of him realized that Jaskier’s feet were bare. He’d left his boots back at camp. 

The mage was flowing magic over Jaskier in waves. It gathered in a purple mist over his wound, mixing unpleasantly with the blood.

“Pick up those scrolls,” snapped the mage, who didn’t look at him.

Geralt did, his body moving without input from his battered soul. His fingers smoothed yellowed parchment and curled it back up into neat tubes. 

“He’ll need paying for,” said the mage, hands poised over Jaskier as her magic slithered.

“Name your price.”

“I don’t want coin.”

Geralt gritted his teeth, watching the magic pull the bolt from Jaskier’s thigh. “Name. Your. Price.”

“What if I ask for your name as payment?” the mage said, not looking at him.

“I’ll give it to you.”

“And if I ask for your life?”

“You can have it.”

She hummed. Geralt knew it was a habit of his own but it set his teeth on edge.

“What if I ask for that?” she said.

She was pointing to Jaskier’s mother’s ring, the opal glittering on his finger.

“It’s not mine to barter, but for his life, I’m sure he’d understand,” Geralt said. 

“Luckily for you I’m not interested in trinkets.”

“What do you ask?” Geralt said, fed up with the games. Whatever perfume the mage was wearing was making his head spin too, it was nice, fruity and clean, but too heady for his heightened senses. 

“I want a baby,” the mage said, levelling stunning purple eyes on him.

Geralt’s mind reeled. “I can’t give you one.”

The mage sighed. “I know,” she growled, yanking her magic as it swirled. She snatched up a jar of something dreadful and began to smear it.

“Even if I promise you my first born,” Geralt said. “It’ll never happen.”

“I know that, witcher.” She spat it like a curse, but Geralt got the feeling that her issue was not with his profession. 

“Witchers come by children by the law of surprise,” he said, watching the salve sizzle on Jaskier’s skin and wincing.

“I want my own.”

Geralt scoffed, eyes fixed on Jaskier’s leg as it started to ooze.

The mage whirled to face him, her hand coming up and slapping him before even his witcher reflexes could stop it. 

“Go,” the mage snapped, eyes flashing. “I don’t want your derision.”

“But Jaskier--”

“Won’t be helped by you,” the mage snarled. “Go do something useful and come back when you’re ready to pay up.”

“With a baby?”

“I’ll think on payment,” she said, magic turning Geralt’s feet for him. “Leave.” 

The door slammed behind him. 

Geralt stood on the cobblestones, water soaking through his boots, meeting Roach’s gentle gaze. He stroked her muzzle, feeling the velvet against his palm. 

Jaskier’s feet were still bare, he thought. Mind too tired and broken to even bother with baby-wanting mages. Jaskier’s boots were at camp. 

Geralt rode there and back, before dawn. He’d been able to pack everything up and find stables and lodgings without ever actually thinking of anything except Jaskier.

Jaskier’s cold, bare feet. Jaskier’s closed eyes. Jaskier’s blood all over their campsite and Geralts clothes. Jaskier’s lute, tucked away safely in it’s case an unfamiliar weight on Geralt’s shoulder. 

Jaskier’s eyes as Geralt had almost said I love you.

That thought, as Geralt stood outside the mage’s door again, still bloody and clutching Jaskier’s boots in one hand, finally broke through the haze.

Geral was in love with Jaskier. 

The mage had asked for his life, his name, and he’d agreed without even having to think. 

Geralt didn’t just love that Jaskier was beautiful, or that he adored Geralt. Geralt loved Jaskier, whole and simple. He loved that he slept like an octopus, he loved that he hated mint. He loved that Jaskier loved poetry. He loved him.

It seemed to be carrying over into everything else, and had been for some time without Geralt even realizing it. Geralt loved music now. He loved poetry. He loved sleeping curled besided someone else. He loved buttercups. 

His buttercup was lying somewhere inside the mage’s house, maybe dying. Maybe dead. Because of Geralt. It was Geralt’s fault.

He knocked on the door. 

It opened at the first tap. 

The mage was there, but Jaskier was nowhere to be found. Geralt’s head whipped around, panic rising in his throat.

“Stop,” the mage said calmly. “He’s in bed upstairs.”

“Is he--”

“He may live. He may not. Anything now is up to him.”

“I want to see him.”

“I want payment.”

Geralt growled. “I didn’t bring a baby with me.”

The mage pouted at him infuriatingly, violet eyes laughing. “Obviously not. I considered what you said.”

“What?”

“About the Law of Surprise.”

“You said you wanted a baby of your own.”

The mage sighed. “I want the choice.”

“You don’t get that choice.”

Her gaze narrowed dangerously. “Do you think I don’t know that? I want to be whole.”

“A womb won’t make you whole. It doesn’t make someone a mother either.”

The mage’s eyes flashed and she stepped forward dangerously but Geralt was simply out of emotion.

“My mother gave me up to be made a mutant. She had a womb but what kind of mother does that. His father,” Geralt gestured upstairs to where he assumed Jaskier was. “Gave him up in the hopes he’d be slaughtered. He may be the reason Jaskier was born, but he’s not a father.”

“I want the choice,” the mage said stubbornly.

“You still have the choice to be a mother,” Geralt said. “Some mothers end up with children and don’t get a say in that so go...adopt some kid.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

Geralt scrubbed his hand over his, frankly, filthy face. “I don’t have the energy for that. Look...what’s your name?”

“Yennefer.”

“Yennefer, decide on payment - not a baby- so I can give it to you and see my, my bard.”

“I’m claiming the law of surprise.”

Geralt blinked at her blearily. She was exceptionally beautiful, but she was also in the way of seeing Jaskier. “That’s only if you save my life.”

“Then I’m claiming it from him.” 

Geralt didn’t have it in him to argue. Destiny had heard the claim. Whatever good luck Jaskier saw next was hers. 

Geralt walked slowly up the rickety stairs, heart sitting low and heavy in his stomach. He paused at a door, hearing a heartbeat beyond. It was Jaskiers. It came as a surprise to Geralt that he could recognize it so readily, but he knew it as well as his own.

It was thready and thin right now, though, and Geralt hesitated. Moments of their time flashed before his eyes, meeting Jaskier, how beautiful he’d looked in his wedding attire, him threatening thugs with a fish knife, him talking to the dead. And he lay on the brink of death in the next room. Could Geralt actually bear to see him like that?

Geralt would probably never forgive himself for a lot of things, including bringing Jaskier with him in the first place, but if he left him now...no.

Geralt walked into the room and knelt beside the bed. Watery dawn light filtered through the window, across Jaskier’s pale face. It was much too pale. The past weeks of sunlight and freckles seemed to have been erased from him, making him much more the man Geralt had met at Chateau Lettenhove, and less the man he’d come to love. 

Geralt washed his hands and face in the washbasin in the room. He still felt grimy, even with his hands scrubed raw, but he knelt at the side of the bed and took one lute-calloused hand in both of his. 

Whatever happened next, whichever way Jaskier was tipped on the scales of life and death, Geralt would be with Jaskier when it happened. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[cinnamontoasttaes]

Till Death Do Us Part - myg

pairing: Yoongi x reader

genre: Assassin Au, eventual smut.

word count: 5.972k

warnings: blood, gore, lots of cursing, action, violence, sexual content.

summary: Assassins are not supposed to fall in love.

author’s note: I don’t know what the fuck I just wrote but I hope you enjoy this. Let me know if it’s good enough for a second part. Have a lovely day my beautiful peeps.

                                                  ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Making a run for it, you jump off of the edge of the high-rise building. The chilly wind slapping you harshly in the face as you brace yourself for landing. Knees tucked in, arms spread out as the balls of your feet come in contact with the flat surface. 

It has been a week since you last saw him, a whole fucking week. Yet, you keep coming back here, but not intending to do what you should have done a long time ago. Instead, you were here searching for a Yoongi that didn't exist, one that would comfort you and tell you he didn’t mean what he said. 

                                   ——Flashback to that night——

“I Love you--”

Your eyes widen and a gasp escapes your lips, afraid of the words that had just come out of them. Searching his eyes, you pray he didn’t hear it. But eyes that were once clouded with euphoria were now overtaken with shock and disgust. 

You panic and push him off of your sweaty and naked body. Wincing at the sudden loss of his cock as cum oozes out of your pussy and trickles down your thighs. Not wanting to believe you just said that, you look up at the seahorse fairy lights on the ceiling wishing that they would come alive and carry you out to a galaxy far away.  

“What did you just say?” he asks, his voice raspy and low. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, so loud that you could hear the thumping rhythm in your ears going...LUB... DUB... LUB... DUB... LUB... DUB. 

“What did you just say?” he repeats, and your blood drains from your face as you stare at nothing but the dim light coming through the sheets. Biting onto your bottom lip, you realize that there was no escaping this, that you would eventually have to tell him. And just as you say the words in your head, he pulls the covers off of your face in one quick motion. Your eyes widen, quickly locking onto the seahorses again, not daring to look at him.

“W-what,” you stutter as tight knots take over your stomach.

“Look at me y/n,” he growls...but you didn’t want to... you didn’t want to face him just yet, afraid of being rejected by the one guy you said those words to.

“It just slipped out, I didn't mean it...just forget I ever said that,” you say, trying your best to keep your cool but hearing as your voice cracks at the end.   

                                            ---------------------------

But if only you knew what was going through his head at that moment, that he didn't just want to forget about it. That all he wanted was to hear you say those words over and over again. Just like that, with you underneath him, your beautiful brown eyes glazed over and your soft lips curled up into a smile, pulling him closer as he filled you up with his cum. 

Wanting to use this as an opportunity to tell you that you were everything he had ever wanted, to tell you he felt the same way. That all he desired was to hold your hand, to wake you up with kisses every morning, to hold you when your nightmares struck, and dry your tears when you cried. That he wanted to do all those things and more because ever since you stepped foot inside the agency. Your small body soaked with blood from head to toe, a big smile on your face as if you hadn't just finished killing someone with those small bare hands of yours. Since that day he hasn't been the same and he hated you for it. Hated you for making him feel such strange feelings he thought he would never feel. 

It was frustrating to think that you could be the one to warm up his icy heart. How? When not even his mother or his brothers, the people who cared for him the most made him feel the way you did. He wanted to tell you the truth, to tell you that all his life he has tried his best to ignore his feelings for you, convincing himself that he could never like an annoying girl like you. 

To apologize for always breaking your toys and making you cry as if it was his full-time job. To tell you he didn't hate you, but the boys who played with you, held your hand and made you things during art class. To tell you he never understood why your face lit up every time they gave you something, that even if it was ugly or falling apart, you cherished it deeply. 

You seemed so strange to him, like an alien from a different world, that knew something he didn’t. How could a person be so kind yet so evil at the same time? He would ask himself, always trying to figure you out. While secretly wanting to see your face light up like that for him. To tell you that that was the reason he stayed up all night the day before your 12th birthday, making you a clay ring that looked like a frog because you were always jumping around. And just as he pushed the ring into your hands the next day... it happened. Your big brown eyes widened like a beaming sun on a summer day. Burning through his corneas, but he couldn’t look away as it was the prettiest sight he has ever seen. Then you smiled at him, a smile that made him feel things he couldn’t quite explain. 

That what he meant to tell you when he threatened to kill you if you told anyone about the ring was that he hoped you liked it. To tell you how he almost struck a bow into Jackson's head that same day when he caught him kissing you under the same place where he had given you the ring. Upset that you didn't even push him away, upset that he wasn't old Yoongi who would have felt indifferent and done nothing just because he didn’t have feelings. But he wasn't that Yoongi anymore, but one who suddenly felt hurt and betrayed just at the thought of you being someone else’s. 

He wanted to be your first kiss... just like you were his first everything. 

But even though he felt this way for you and wanted to tell you all these things. The walls he has built from years of conditioning, brainwashing, toxic relationships, near-death experiences, depression, and other issues he swears his brain blocks out to protect him. Keep pushing you away, not allowing you to get too close. 

Even though he’s always his best when he’s with you. He hopes you can find a better man one day, one who knows how to love you and treat you the right way.

 Now there was only one way of ending this and that was to hurt you, like always.

                                -------------------------------------

“We both agreed that this was just a sex thing, nothing more. We are assassins for god's sake, we know nothing about love,”

A chill runs down your spine and you knew you should have stayed quiet, but your traitor of a heart betrays you once again, “You're wrong...because if that was true I wouldn’t be feeling this way for you….tell me you feel nothing for me!” you cry out, your face turning hot. 

“Y/N what the fuck are you talking about, you were just a way for me to pass time. Shit of all the women I’ve fucked I would have never thought that... you, someone who is as lifeless and cold-hearted as I would be the one to say those words to me-” He pauses but continues, “I hope you're not getting confused with the other stuff we have been doing in here because if you are I should’ve just stayed with Juna or-” 

Before he could even finish his sentence, you strike him on the side of the face, so hard his head turns. Your hand tingles as it falls back onto your lap. You don’t realize, but you’re sitting up now, the sheets that were once hiding your upper body now pooled around your thighs. Your chest heaving up and down as you feel your eyes water. Angry at yourself for catching feelings for him, angry that you allowed yourself to be blinded by the moments you’ve both shared, mistaking it for fucking love. 

“You're a real piece of shit you know that right, how dare you bring her up right after I-... after I-...you know what Yoongi just leave, go fuck her for all I care,” You shout, biting onto your quivering bottom lip as you look at him. 

His hand is covering his right cheek where you had slapped him, but you could see the red hand mark from the gaps between his fingers. His furrowed brows accentuate the pale ridged scar that runs down from the top of his left brow and stops right in the middle of his cheek. His cold eyes glaring at you intently as the corners of his mouth turn into a smirk.

“Don’t worry, that’s where I’ll be tonight because you can’t honestly think, that you have been the only one I’ve been fucking all this time,” he says, venom dripping from his voice and you feel like throwing up. 

Putting your trembling hands into fists, ready to lunge at him, you stop yourself, a low chuckle escaping your shaky lips. He wasn’t fucking worth it, you should have known better, you should have stopped yourself before it got this far. “I'll burn this place down tomorrow,” You push the words out, trying to ignore the tightness in your throat.

You remove the frog-inspired clay ring from your ring finger, the one he had made for you when you had just turned 12. And place it on the bed beside him, your finger suddenly feeling naked without it. Not giving him a second glance you get off the bed, the cold air hitting your naked body traitorously. You pick up your clothes that were scattered around the floor, get dressed, and before you know it you are out the door. The cold air greeting you like a fake friend as you push your way through the thick fog. 

You make your way down the building and once in the comfort of your car;  you rest your head against the steering wheel and let your tears fall.

  -—-Flashback Ends----

                                                                                                                                       With a sigh, you pull out the lighter from your pocket, twirling it around your fingers as you stare up at the house. 

Remembering when you both found it, on top of an abandoned skyscraper in Busan. The day you were both forced by the chairwomen of the academy to go on a mission together, as a punishment for almost killing each other again in Poison lab 101. Threatening us that if the mission wasn’t a success that she would send us both to the basement and no matter how cold of a killer you were, no one wanted to go down there. It surprised you that locking the both of you in the basement wasn’t their first option. 

In all honesty, they should just lock Yoongi in the basement because he’s always the one to start fucking problems with you. Ever since you came to the agency at 7 years old, he’s always been such a dick to you, for no fucking reason. But as the years went by and you guess that as the dick grew bigger, he turned into an even bigger dick than before. There isn’t a day that goes by when we are not trying to kill each other. 

Like how last week Namjoon, the boss in charge of the baddies (aka the 3rd years) made the both of you clean the first year's locker room…. was that a good idea? No. Because we came out of there drenched from head to toe after fucking Yoongi tried to drown you in the hot tub, so you tried to drown him first, and of course, we got punished. You fucking hated everything about him, hated how he always got first in exams/training and you always made second. Hated how he always ruined your uniform, hated that smug fucking look on his face. And fuck, you hated how his exes or little crushes were always on your ass, telling you to stay away from their man and shit. Like bitch, you can fucking have him.

The mission was fairly quick and easy, and you knew Namjoon had to have chosen it. Knowing us that if we had to work together for more than an hour, we would kill each other for sure. To stop that from happening, we separated our mission into separate tasks, Yoongi was to take out the bodyguards who were on the lookout for anything suspicious, surrounding the abandoned book shop like statues. Not knowing that there was a shadow creeping up behind them like a thief in the night. Your job was to kill their boss called Mo, a big old wrinkly guy who ran an illegal organ trafficking business, and who was processing a transaction from two corrupted cops, on top of the shop's semi-slanted rooftop. The shop was just a few buildings down and the abandoned house you were in aided as the perfect hideout. In less than two minutes you had sniped them one by one with your pink bedazzled sniper, watching them fall to the ground like flies with blown-up heads. 

Then the unexpected happened. Before you could set your gun down, you sensed a presence behind you, and just as you turned around you were pushed against the wall by no other than Yoongi. He had splotches of blood on his face, almost making him look like the wings of a ladybug. His eyes clouded with lust and something else you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. You froze, your heart beating fast, as you stared at him confused. And before you could push him away, he kisses you, and you could have sworn you heard fireworks going off behind you. Your eyes close at the softness of his lips, which pull you deeper than any tidal wave. The stench of blood tickling your nose as he wrapped his arms around you. Holding you tight as if you’ll suddenly vanish. You couldn’t explain what you were feeling, but it almost felt as if you were soaring through a sky full of stars. Just as you breathe him in, he pulls away, his face flushed as he touches his lips in shock. Taken aback by his actions, you hear him mutter an apology. But before he could walk away, you pull him back into you. That same afternoon he took your virginity away on that dusty floor, in that abandoned house on top of a skyscraper.

And now you wish you hadn't let him take that one thing away from you----

Cocking your head to the side, you stare at the house, suddenly in awe at its unique beauty. It was a small house, the kind of house you would see in the countryside or by the beach. With vibrant wisteria that cascaded over the flat rooftop and arched window. A few green vines growing out of the bricks here and there. The house we had turned into our escape house, the place where we would go that wasn't our own homes or the agency. The place where all we did was take our pain and anger out on each other by fucking. 

Until it got rather strange and we sort of started to do things as if we were friends. It wasn't the same friendship/relationship like the one you had with Haemi and Mina, but it was okay. We did things, like read together, argue about why blank manga was better than the anime, indulge in ramen, chips, and candy at 3 am without having anyone tell us not to, play Overwatch, shit our pants while playing Amnesia, and binge-watch anime and Disney movies whenever we had the time. 

All our years of hatred for nothing.

With a sigh, you walk to the wooden door and push it open just to take one last look inside before it all turns to dust. The horrible paintings you both had painted still hanging on the wall above the bed. The makeshift bookshelf in the corner of the room was now empty after you came and rescued all the graphic novels and books, not having the heart to burn them. You glance at the two broken bean bag chairs by the window, the ones he had refused to throw away after we popped them during drunk sex. Pushing those memories to the far back of your mind, your eyes land on the black iron bed we got from IKEA, which had to be the best thing in there. It was the place where you always found him sprawled out, snoring with spit and all as he waited for you to get back from your mission. And of course, the bed where you had mind-blowing orgasms. 

Your thumb rolls against the spark wheel of the lighter in one swift motion, pushing down onto the ignition button until a vibrant flame appears. You rest your thumb firmly on the button to keep the flame alive as you rummage through your coat pocket and pull out a white piece of paper. Still not daring to step foot inside, you lean against the door frame and light up a corner of the crumbled paper. Watching as the flames race toward one another, hurrying to consume every inch of the paper. But before that could happen, you fling both the lighter and the paper somewhere inside the room and close the door. 

Moving a few feet back, you grab onto the fire extinguisher you had stolen from the agency last night and wait. A few minutes pass and still nothing...no smoke, no house engulfed in flames. But when you close your eyes you see it, the fiery inferno. The beautiful petals of the wisteria falling to the ground and turning into nothing. You could hear things falling, shattering, and popping from inside, the fire becoming bigger. Dark gray smoke escapes through the crumbling door and shattered window. Embracing you in a death grip, poisoning you slowly until all you see is black. 

“No,” you scream and open your eyes to see the house was still intact, no fire ablaze. Positioning the fire extinguisher on your arm, your feet moving on their own as you push open the door. Your eyes widening when you see that one bean bag was on fire and traveling up the side of the arched window, smoke slowly filling the room. Pulling out the safety pin, you take a hold of the black hose and squeeze down on the lever, aiming at both the bean bag and window. Watching the angry flames die down until there's nothing left, but a disfigured piece of burnt-up nylon and a half black window frame. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and set the fire extinguisher down.

You just couldn’t do it.

Your phone vibrates in your back pocket, and you pull it out, almost dropping it when you see the time--- 8:43 AM. Along with 10 unread messages from both Mina and Haemi, 3 missed calls from your brother, and a notification from Uber Eats saying you had 8 dollars off your next order. 

“Ooh nice I can get a pizza or some---fuck this is not the time for that.. I’m late,” You freak out already seeing Namjoon, Kai, Sora, and Haemi’s dark ominous faces as they cut your eyeball into 8 equal pieces and eat it with some dipping sauce. Fuck, the more you think about it, the more you realize that that is something they would do. You grimace at the taught, wondering why you choose to traumatize yourself like that.

“You're not normal,” the little voice in your head finally shows up to clarify that you're indeed not sane.

 Closing the door behind you, your combat boots are heavy on your feet as you run across the rooftop. Making it to the edge, you look up at the sky seeing that it has now cleared up and turned into a soft blue. A bright yellow sun peeking out from behind a sea of fluffy white clouds. 

Swinging your right leg off the roof, you jump. Watching a distorted image of yourself in the dusty windows of the skyscraper as you free fall. Your hair is flying all over the place, slapping you in the face and getting into your mouth. Until it stays put in a Goku-like hairstyle when he turns into a Super Saiyan. A chuckle escapes your lips at that and you close your eyes, enjoying how the cool breeze feels like gentle kisses against your skin. And just as if it was a natural-born instinct, you swipe your finger against the rim of your heart-shaped Daith, activating your magnetic levitation shoes. Opening your eyes, you grin when you see you were just a few millimeters from the concrete ground. Silently thanking Haemi for being such a genius and making you these for your Bday. Landing successfully, you tap your finger against the rim of your Daith two times to turn it off. 

Wasting no time, you run across the desolate street to where you had parked Kai’s black motorcycle, putting on your helmet you hover over it, zooming out of this ghost town and into emerging traffic hoping to make it to the agency before 9:00 AM.

——

 9:05 AM

You slip through the doors of the main conference room that was always empty except for important days like this one. The room crowded to the point you couldn’t even see the long oval mahogany table in the middle. Chiming your way through you try your best not to bump into your colleagues, knowing how grumpy they usually were in the morning. Your eyes frantically searching for Haemi and Mina, but everyone was wearing the same fucking thing: a black hoodie and black jeans. As if we all had agreed to wear the same outfit today, the night before. A smile creeps onto your lips right as you catch sight of them standing near the front next to Boss. But before you could go any further, a hand grabs your arm and pulls you away.

“Why are you late? The meeting ends in like 5 minutes?... Didn’t I wake you up this morning and tell you to get here before me, Mina even told me she saw you leave around 6... what the fuck took you so long!” Kai scolded you quietly as he bombarded you with questions.

Damn, you spent 4 hours contemplating on burning that fucking house and in the end did nothing.

Kai pulled you to the far back of the room, stopping next to a small table filled with sweet pastries and four boxes of hot coffee. Made of course by the sweetest/deadliest grandmas in the world, aside from the chairwomen. They shouldn't even be in charge of the academy's bakery due to their obsession with poisoning people. 

But no one has died yet...so people like you who enjoy balancing their lives on a thin line instead of making their own coffee and sweets or going into the city to a normal bakery with normal owners who aren't psychopaths. Like some of your semi-sane classmates would do...still nothing could ever beat their rice pancakes topped with edible flowers and honey. In all seriousness, you would die for those. Your mouth waters just at the thought, your stomach begging you to give it something to eat. Reaching over the table, you grab a foam cup just for it to be slapped out of your hands within seconds.

You gasp and turn to your brother ready to kill him watching as he picks up the cup from the ground. Crushing it in his hands as quietly as he could, the squeaky sound making your eye twitch. He signals for you to stand by him and you roll your eyes as you walk two steps and lean on the wall beside him. 

“You know you can’t drink fucking coffee on the days we have missions...especially not today, do you want to be shitting yourself all day?” He questions, his bushy brows furrowed as he crosses his arms across his chest. You stay quiet, not knowing what to say. Of course, you didn't want to shit your pants, but why did he have to do your cup like that, you weren't even going to use it for coffee. You were just going to fill it up with rice pancakes because there weren't any plates or napkins.

  Kai suddenly sniffs your hoodie and you raise an eyebrow, looking at him weirdly. “Why do you smell like smoke?” 

You were about to fidget with your ring but then you realize it wasn't there, “I almost burned a house down,” you tell him blankly. 

He does a double-take, making sure he heard right, “Wait what...you did what, why?”

You shrug him off and before he could keep nagging you; he gets interrupted by Namjoon’s booming voice. Kai looks at you with the look of we’re going to finish this conversation at a later time.

“Ok, I'll see you all at the venue, be on time!” Namjoon shouts and everyone disperses, some leaving while the risk-takers stop by the table to grab a cup of coffee and sweets. 

Some of your friends came up to you and congratulated you and before you could ask them for what they would just leave. And then there was the fucking Juna’s of the class who stared at you with utter hatred, something that wasn’t new to you. But you flipped them off anyway, not understanding the fucking memo. 

“Kai, what are people congratulating me for, what did I do?” You ask as you turn to him, he shrugs and stays quiet, ignoring you. 

You catch sight of Haemi running towards you at full speed and you spread your arms apart, hitting Kai in the face as you do so. You hear him groan as Haemi melts into them. She wraps her arms around your waist and squeezes you tightly. Satisfied at the sound of your bones crushing, she loosens her grip. Her arms now on your shoulder blades as she looks at you quizzically, a frown making its way onto her lips.   

“Why were you late and why didn't you answer our messages... NamNam is fucking angry at you,” She says through clenched teeth as she turns to look at something in the distance, biting onto her lips her face flushes into a bright pink color. You didn't even have to follow her gaze to know that she was staring at Namjoon and fantasizing about her fake dirty relationship with him. You nudge at her arm and she turns to you, now with a mischievous grin.

“y/n my panties are all soaked because of him... oh did I tell you my dildo came in this morning and I named it after him...dude, I fucking squirted all over--” Kai clears his throat making it known that he was right next to us.

“Ay! go away if you don't want to listen, this is some very important info I’m catching y/n on,” Haemi says as she shoos him away with her hand, but he stays put against the wall.

You raise a brow at her, certainly not wanting to hear about how she squirted on her Namjoon dildo. All you wanted to know was why Namjoon was angry at you---

Ah shit, and then it dawns on you... that you missed the 6 am meeting.

“Omg y/n I’m going to kill you for not answering, oh and congrats--” Mina appears with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. Kai puts his arm over her shoulders and whispers something in her ear. She looks at you for a split second and then nods. 

Before you could ask her why she was congratulating you, Namjoon’s voice rips through the air again. “Y/n and Yoongi, can you both come here now,” 

Your breath hitched in your throat as this could only mean one of two things. We were in trouble—which couldn't be right because we haven't seen or talked to each other for 4 weeks. Then it could only mean—- that he was going to assign us to work together in today’s mission.

“Well, I guess we'll see you at the venue,” Kai says. Haemi squeezes your shoulder and with a wink she lets you go. You watch them walk away, wanting to tell them not to leave you. 

With a sigh, you turn on your heel and walk towards Namjoon who is now sitting at the end of the oval table. His head is down, his fingers drumming loudly on top of his black manila folder. The room was empty now, as the voices from outside became less and less. 

Your eyes search the dim-lit room for Yoongi, but you don't see him and you feel a little better. Namjoon clears his throat and your eyes land back on him. Without looking at you, he signals you to stand by him. You do as he says, seeing a hooded Yoongi appear from the shadows and stand next to you. 

“Awe fuck,” you groan in your head.

“Why were the both of you late today when I clearly said to be here at 6 am before the meeting started,” He says, his voice strict and eerily low. 

You say nothing and neither does Yoongi. Namjoon stops drumming his fingers and leans back against the chair, resting his arm on either side. He moves robotically in slow technical movements until his face is facing forward, his eyes locking onto yours. With a gaze of a snake, waiting for you to say the wrong thing to snap. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out, unsure of what to say when it was your fault for forgetting about the meeting. 

“I was busy,” Yoongi announces in a rather bored tone.

Namjoon taps his finger again, now against the armchair, the taps sounding softer than the rigid ones on the table. 

“Hmm, what were you busy with… little brother? was it with the girl Jimin told me you had over...Keep messing around and I’ll tell father to teach you a lesson.” Namjoon snapped.

You feel a stinging pain in your heart, but you try your best to ignore it. Yoongi says nothing but shrugs.

“What’s your excuse,” He asks you now.

“I burned a house down,” You lied wanting to get a reaction out of him but got nothing. He just stood there, his face hidden by his black hoodie, unbothered. 

“Why?... instead of getting your ass here on time, you decide to do that. You know what if the both of you pull this shit again, to the basement it is,” 

A chill runs down your spine and you focus on the piece of paper that was stuck under the wheels of his chair.

“You both are getting married...with each other,” he exclaims. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards, almost as if he was about to smile, but he doesn't.

You choke on your spit and cough loudly, staring at Namjoon as if he has lost his mind. Ah, this was what they were congratulating you for, for this shit.

“You have to be fucking kidding,” Yoongi shouts, and you could hear the anger in his voice. 

“What? This is perfect... I've seen that you guys have stopped fighting for a while now, so this will be easy peasy,” 

You shake your head no, that he's got it all wrong.

“Anyway, remember the bride and the groom I made each of you study for these past few weeks...You guys are going to be them.”

“What! but isn't there already a groom and a bride?” you ask, thinking back to your notes, pretty sure that there was a bride and a groom already.

“Ah, about that… If you both would have come on time, we would have more time to discuss...But long story short, we killed them off because it was just going to complicate stuff. Plus, you both kinda look like them and with the power of makeup those old fucks won’t even know the difference,” 

Your mouth drops, taken back by the subtlety in his voice. Why the fuck would they kill them when the plan was to kill them at the wedding. The sound of a clap brings you out of your thoughts.

 Namjoon is now standing, Manila folder in hand as he looks inside it, humming an upbeat tune.

“I don’t want to fucking marry this asshole!” 

“I don’t want to fucking marry you either!” he fires back.

“Silence, it’s fucking fake you both are acting as if this was real... it’s not. By afternoon tomorrow, everything will be back to normal.” 

You look at the sparkly marble floor, pressing your lips into a tight line.

“Before you both leave to get dressed, I want to say a few things… you both know how each of them acted towards each other, I even made you both a list of the things I need to see happen at the wedding which will be in your rooms. You both can study your vows while they do your makeup or in the car… Yoongi as the boy you studied remember that he is possessive, he is crazy about his woman and all that toxic bullshit which I’m sure you’re good at….Oh and one last thing, the bride’s father is a creep and is going to come and check the morning of after you guys fake sex or you can-“

“No,” you both shout in unison, and Namjoon looks at you guys weirdly. 

“Chill I was just going to say to drip a bit of fake blood on the bed that will be in the room already. So that when he comes in with his wife to see you know what to do… well, take care of the rest,”

“Don’t disappoint...have fun, enjoy the 1-day honeymoon, and sorry I didn’t tell you both sooner.  I just didn’t want the both of you to kill each other before the wedding...now get the fuck out,” he said with a crooked smile, falling back onto the chair as he pointed at the door.

[chunhua-s]

WE FOUND EACH OTHER  ➽ ASAHI AZUMANE X READER

PART OF THE HAIKYUU SOULMATES! ONESHOT SERIES

genre: fluff

soulmate au: the person can only see black and white until they meet their soulmate, then they’ll be able to see colour

warnings: none

if there’s one thing asahi hates hearing, it would be that he was lucky to have a soulmate.

he understands the idea. many people are envious or amazed at the idea that there are others who have their destined someone, the man or woman who would instantly fit into his life like the missing piece of a puzzle. it’s an awfully romantic idea, and honestly, asahi can get the appeal of having that special someone for yourself and eventually finding them.

what people often forget, or rather are blissfully ignorant of, is that people with soulmates are unable to perceive colours until they meet their counterparts. until they find that missing piece of their puzzle, they’d be bound to see the world in a dull monochrome, where the grey of the sea blend in with the horizon and the stars in the sky are nothing but small dots on a black canvas.

it’s within moments like this, when he takes a break from all his homework and assignments for his design class, where he wishes that he could appreciate the same world of vibrancy and brilliance that his friends are able to see. when koushi tells him that the blue sweater they saw together at the shopping center would suit him well; when his professors, ever mindful that he’s one of the few people in the world fated to for someone else, gently assist him in making choices for his designs; when the old store clerk innocently compliments him on his brown eyes, he always lets his mind wonder to far places, creating fantasies where the black and white would transform into the same, vibrant palette that his friends could see. would the baby blue that koushi told him about brush against his bare feet like the gentle brush of the waves on the beach? and that bright red that his teacher advised him to add to his design, is it like the scorching heat of summer or the chill of a cold winter day? is the brown of his eyes like the sweet caramel treats he enjoys? does it melt his heart the way they melt on his tongue?

his pen hangs languidly between idle fingers, the silence of the design studio filling up with the ambience of kitchen movement that comes from the video he watches on his phone. with his cheek pressed into his open palm, asahi sighs to himself as he watches the person on screen spread layers of icing over the cake they made. he’d come across this particular baking channel on wetube a little over a year ago, when one of their videos popped into his recommendations and he kept watching them make all sorts of different cakes and sweet treats.

<ah, i don’t even know what colour this is! hey, if the cake comes out looking silly for those of you who are able to see colour, i sincerely apologize in advance. . .>

a chuckle falls from his lips as he reads the captions in their video, feeling an instant sense of empathy as he also couldn’t tell what colour icing they were adding to the cake. earlier in their video while they were mixing the ingredients together, they’d confessed in their captions that they were unable to see colour, just like he was. and similarly, it was because they had yet to find their soulmate.

<is that weird? i always post videos about baking where you all can see the different colours i use but i myself have no idea how everything looks beyond monochrome!>

he watches their hand reach outside the frame to replace one icing pouch for another — this one being a darker shade of grey than the one before it. asahi tries to guess what colour it would be as they begin to make small patterns around the edges. is it koushi’s shade of baby blue? or is it the orange of hinata’s hair?

<anyways, this is the first time i’m making something so ambitious! normally i stick to plain cakes that don’t require so much decoration because I always worry i’ll mess up the colours :( but today i wanted to try something different!>

ha, asahi could understand that sentiment. it’s the same with the clothes he designs, never certain whether or not brown and purple would mix together well, or how light or dark he should go with different hues. he always ends up asking for help from sugawara or daichi for their opinion, even reaching out to noya whenever he could. and yet, even as they give him their feedback and tips, he would always wish that he didn’t have to; that he would be able to make those choices for himself rather than depending on the eyes and perception of another. his heart twists a bit inside his chest with the weight of those thoughts, forcing him to take a deep breath in an effort to reel himself in before his thoughts run any farther. instead, he focuses his attention on watching the careful actions of the hands on screen.

<i’m sure you guys can tell that i’m still a little uncertain since i used white icing to surround the entire cake — how can i tell that it’s white, you ask? well, because it’s white! of course i can see at least that clearly haha! (unless this isn’t actually white and instead a really really light shade of some other colour :v that would be so embarassing!>

he couldn’t fight the smile that touches his lips as he reads the words on screen. they always enjoy making small jokes with their viewers in the caption, never failing to draw small chuckles from him whenever he paused his work to watch them. countless times has he read about how difficult it is to whisk so many ingredients together, the imitations of sighing faces and emojis with their little fists pumping into the air causing an odd sense of endearment to grow in his heart. and yet, even as they complain, they always make sure to do their absolute best in making their cakes and sweet treats, all of which asahi is certain taste as good as they appear to be.

<i’m sure you all will let me know in the comments if the colours i chose are okay, right? please look after your clumsy baker, she’s trying her best for you all!>

asahi feels one eyebrow lift at that: this is the first time they — she — ever announced her gender since he started watching her channel. he’d once speculated when he saw the delicate appearance of her small hands, though he quickly dismissed that assumption as he recalled the way suga’s own hands could be considered feminine. though the detail itself isn’t very important, asahi tucks it away in a small compartment of his brain, stashing it along with all the other miscellaneous information he’s built up since watching her channel (like the fact that she seems to favour cute, anime and animal-themed appliances, and that she owns a small figurine of totoro that always appears in her videos, or that sometimes she likes to play wii music over clips of failed attempts and bloopers, etc etc....).

<tadaa! the lemon cake is finally finished!>

the familiarity of the soft piano music that begins to play fills him up with an odd sense of comfort, one that never evades him when she places the final display of her cake in the video. all across the surface are littered tiny mounds of icing, appearing like drops of candy with smaller, darker pieces scattered between and around them. asahi can’t help the thought that floods his brain of how good the cake must taste, and he feels himself crave the taste of it even more as she cuts herself a slice. using a fork, she breaks off a small piece of it, the sound of the metal hitting glass reaching in its own kind of ambience before it disappears outside of the frame. one, two, three seconds pass before she gives a thumbs up to the camera.

<i can’t speak for appearance but the taste turned out well!>

asahi doesn’t doubt the validity of that statement as he watches the fork return for another piece, feeling his own cravings spike. it’s truly masochistic that he chooses to watch videos like this that always make him hungry, he considers belatedly. even if he eats before watching her videos, he finds himself wishing for a slice of whatever sweet food she creates. “maybe i should try baking something myself...” he mutters out loud, glancing at the clock on the far wall.

6:43 pm.

he barely spares time to think on his decision before he’s pushing himself out of his chair, reaching for his backpack and wallet and making his way out the door of the studio. the convenience store nearby should have something he could use to bake, shouldn’t it? or at the very least, something sweet that he can buy until he has enough money to go to a supermarket (he’s certain his college student pocket won’t be able to sustain any heavy shopping right now).

the autumn night’s cold air brushes against his skin and he tucks his hands into his hoodie, shivering into himself as the breath falls from his lips like a cloud. all around him, the world dims into a monochromatic serenity, the kind that appeared to him with an amazing kind of beauty where the streetlights shone brightly against the dark sky. he can’t begin to explain what changed for him that night; maybe it’s the thought of getting himself a slice of chocolate cake and a chilly drink, or perhaps the cool temperatures that causes the blood to rush to his face, but asahi thinks that the night is oddly enchanting. the sigh that leaves his lips is a bit wistful as he looks skyward. would it be even more beautiful if he’d been able to see colour?

the sound of the store clerk greeting him as he enters the convenience store is a familiar thing to him by now as he politely nods his head to him, turning to make his way to the refrigerators that kept singular slices of cake. pursing his lips, he skims his eyes across the labels in search for a specific kind, and he smiles in satisfaction when he sees a package of lemon cake. “this will have to do until i can buy the ingredients,” he sighs to himself and looks over to where the drinks are.

when he sees her there, he freezes. or rather, it’s as if time itself stops moving around him.

the large sweater she wears is a light grey colour, and her sweatpants are just a tad darker. monochromatic, nothing that asahi isn’t used to seeing. what startles him, taking the breath out of his lungs, is the brown colour that he sees on her. it’s deep in her skin, so rich and enticing and so absolutely mesmerizing. she’s mesmerizing, like the picture of a goddess come to stand before him when the black of her hair runs so much deeper than he’s ever seen, slicked back so that it puffs atop her head. the earrings that she wears, small things that fit snugly into her piercings shine brighter than white, they glitter with a luster that asahi has always imagined belonged to silver. as she stands before the closed refrigerator door, a hand brought beneath her chin and her lips pushing out into a contemplative pout, the scenery around her starts to transform and bleed. the monochrome world that asahi’s always known since his birth blends out and morphs with a brilliance that he’s only ever heard his friends talk to him about. he feels his heart hurt with an indescribable kind of joy and wonder, love and fascinating wonder and a sense of yearning as he watches the colours from her figure like the birth of a star.

and yet, even as everything before and around him is changing, she remains the most beautiful thing to him — the blues and yellows, pastels and oranges all dull in comparison to her.

he doesn’t know what moves him forward. something inside him causes his feet to take him towards her without his knowing wish and as he gets closer to her, he’s absolutely terrified. is this real? is he really going to meet his soulmate? what if this is only happening to him and she’ll think he’s weird? the fear that eats away at his heart causes him to stop, and he’s so close to turning away when, by a strange twist of fate, she turns her head just barely to the side where he stands, and her eyes find his.

he can see the very moment when she experiences the same thing that he’d felt only moments before; his heart swells up at the way her brown eyes line with tears and glisten like jewels under the white light of the convenience store. heavens above, she’s so breathtaking, it’s the only thing asahi can think as his fists curl out at his sides, nearly hesitant to touch her for fear that he would ruin the moment between them. his voice loses itself in his throat and gone are all the words he used to think about for when this moment would finally happen. every “it’s nice to meet you,” and “wow, you’re beautiful,” evades him and flee from his mind, leaving him choked up before her until she breaks their silence first.

“it’s the same for you, right?”

her voice sounds to him like a beautiful melody.

frantically, he nods, fearful that if he waits to long that the moment would vanish into thin air around him and disappear. “i’m—“ breathe, he reminds himself, breathe. take a deep breath. “i’m asahi.”

she smiles up at him, appearing radiant and ethereal, and asahi finds himself marveling once again. “i’m (y/n),” there’s joyous laughter and mirth in her voice. “wow, i didn’t think i’d meet my soulmate in the convenience store of all places.”

the man chuckles along with her, and just like that, all his fears and worries melt away, falling from his mind until it becomes a distant memory and all that he’s left with is this moment, being with her and letting his heart run wild on the wings of fluttering crows. “are you busy right now?” he offers her, lifting one hand to show her the lemon cake he picked up before (he notices belatedly that the colour of it is yellow, a deep and vibrant yellow that makes his eyes hurt if he looks too long). when she glances down at his treat and noticed the label, her smile widens and lights up the room.

“no, not at all!” she answers cheerfully before her expression turns nervous, brows furrowing as she searched his expression. “would you... like to talk for a little? i’m not too certain how to do this whole soulmate thing and i won’t lie to you,” a sheepish chuckle falls from her lips as she rubs the back of her neck. “i’m not entirely sure what we’re supposed to do now.”

asahi understands exactly how she feels, and won’t deny the small bit of nervousness that lingers at the bottom of his heart, but for him the excitement and intense longing for the woman before him is nearly enough to push that feeling aside. it’s like the rush he used to feel before his matches in high school, like the feeling of needing to shout out in triumph when there’s a victory waiting for him on the other side of the net. and at the same time, it all feels like he’s come to the end of a long journey, where he finally reaches the oasis and can have his first sip of life-giving water. and so, he smiles down at her, showing to her his heart and everything he felt in that moment; it all climbs and soars into a crescendo as he sees everything he gives to her reflecting right back at him in deep and beautiful brown eyes.

“i don’t have a clue what we’re meant to do either,” he confesses breathlessly. it falls from his lips and slots into place like the missing piece of a puzzle. “but how about we take it slow? after all,”

the world around him shines brightly and sings with all sorts of colours. but his eyes can’t look away from hers.

“we’ve finally found each other.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

this is part of a series, so please send me an ask or dm if you’d like to be apart of a taglist! i’m currently taking request for haikyuu characters and soulmate au’s, so please come and leave your requests for those as well! so far i already have one planned for ushijima, but if you guys want to ask for anyone else please leave me requests in my ask box! thank you for reading!  ♡

next stop: wakatoshi ushijima!

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

The 4 Times Luke Got Sick + The 1 Time He Got Julie Sick

Pairing: Julie x Alive!Luke (college AU)

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: light swearing, non-fatal illness

Summary: Luke was always getting sick. It was probably the worst things about being roommates with him, Julie decided. That, and when they’d first moved into their dorm Freshman year of college he’d tried to hit on all her friends. It seemed like every year the poor guy went through at least one serious bout of illness that Julie would have to practically nurse him back to health from.

A/N: I got 2 anon requests for sick!Juke this week, one for a College Roommates AU where Luke constantly gets sick and Julie takes care of him and another where they’re friends and neighbors but have crushes on each other that don’t come to light until they both get sick together feat. Mothering Rose. I decided to combine them since they had a similar theme, I hope that’s alright! As per usual, let me know what you think and send me a message if you’d like to be added to my taglist! Also, I am taking requests right now so feel free to send those in!

Masterlist

___

1 - Freshman Year

“Juuuulie,” Luke called from his bedroom.

“Whaaaat?” Julie called back from her own room, making no attempt to get up from her bed.

“Can you come here so we can stop yelling?” He whined and she rolled her eyes but rolled out of her bed unceremoniously.

Given the coed nature of the dorms, they were each provided a small separate bedroom connected with a combined living room space that currently could use a good vacuuming, she noted as she walked through it before pausing at Luke’s door. It was only about three months into the semester and while Luke and Julie had become fast friends through their love of music, she hadn’t really been in his room before.

She raised her fist to give a hesitant knock, not really sure what the protocol was.

“You can come in,” he laughed but for the first time in their conversation, Julie noticed that his voice seemed a little off.

When she stepped into the room she immediately knew why. Luke lay in bed, slightly propped up by his pillow. She immediately noticed how red his face and nose, in particular, looked and the pile of used tissues next to the bed.

“Woah, dude, are you sick?” Julie exclaimed, immediately taking a step back in an attempted to put as much distance between herself and the sick boy as possible.

“Yeah,” he croaked sheepishly, “Sorry, I guess I should’ve warned you.”

“Ya think?” She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest but smirking to let him know she wasn’t that mad about it. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Um, yeah, actually. I was gonna ask if you could run down to the market and get me some chicken noodle soup?”

Julie nodded, happy to be able to help her sick friend.

“Sure! Is there any medication I can pick up from the pharmacy for you or anything?” She offered but he shook his head, pulling open the top drawer of his bedside table revealing that it was full of various medicines.

“I, uh, came prepared,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle. “My immune system is pretty shit.”

Julie nodded.

“I better get you that soup then, huh?” She said kindly, starting to feel awkward lingering in the doorway.

“My wallet is in my jacket pocket,” Luke offered, pointing to the coat hanging in his closet.

Julie nodded in silent thanks as she pocketed the piece of leather, closing the door on her way out. Despite the sunshine, it was a short but chilly walk to the campus market, which was fortunately only a couple of blocks away from their residence hall. She located the soup fairly quickly but stopped to look through the tea options, grabbing a box of peppermint and chamomile tea bags. The check-out process was fast and she was back in her dorm only a few minutes later.

Before even taking off her coat or slipping off her shoes, she put the soup in the microwave and started up her electric kettle. While she was waiting she then busied herself with hanging up her coat in her own closet and leaving her shoes in their designated spot by the door.

“What are you doing out there, Molina?” Luke groaned from his room when the kettle started whistling.

She quickly switched it off, bustling around the designated “kitchen” area of their dorm for a mug to start steeping the peppermint tea. No sooner than she placed the teabag into the mug had the microwaved beeped, signaling that the soup was ready. Bowl in one hand and mug in the other, Julie pushed the door open with her shoulder, slowly stepping into the room in an attempt not to spill either of the hot liquids in her hands.

She gingerly set the mug on a cleared space on Luke’s desk before handing him the chicken noodle soup.

“What’s that?” He asked, gesturing to the mug with his spoon before eating some of the soup.

“It’s peppermint tea,” she answered factually. “My mom always makes it for me when I’m sick, it supposed to help with congestion and should soothe your throat.”

“You’re the best, Molina,” Luke said graciously, slurping another mouthful of soup.

“Damn right I am!” Julie laughed, “Let me know if you need anything else, I’ll be in my room.”

___

2 - Sophomore Year

Julie wasn’t entirely sure why she hadn’t anticipated this. Maybe she’d hoped that all the elderberry and echinacea tea she’d made him drink last year had actually helped his immune system, but nope. November had rolled around and with it, cold season and cold season meant that Luke would undoubtedly get sick. He wasn’t lying, his immune system really was shit. This year was worse though. While last year it had been a series of bad colds, this year it was the flu.

She’d found out when he’d vomited in the middle of a rehearsal with the band they’d formed at the end of the previous year with two other guys they’d met in one of their music classes.

She’d been keeping an eye on him all day as he’d been shivering a lot and seemed especially pale but she had figured the boy knew his immune system better than anyone else and would say something if he was feeling sick. Obviously not.

“Oh my gosh, Luke! Are you okay?” She gasped, rushing over to rub his back soothingly as he bent over the trash can in the spare music room they’d occupied for rehearsal.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he said, waving her off as he stood back up with the intention of picking his guitar back up.

However, Julie stopped him, placing her hand against his forehead with a frown.

“You have a fever.” She said disapprovingly and he sighed.

“It’s fine Molina, we gotta practice.”

“Nuh-uh.” She insisted sternly, sticking out an arm to hold him in place. “You are not gonna get the rest of us sick. I’m driving you to the campus health center and then we’re going home.”

Luke huffed and rolled his eyes but relented, moving to slide his electric into its case and grab his jacket.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

“We’ll see you guys later,” Julie sent Alex and Reggie an exasperated smile before following the boy out.  

The campus health center confirmed Julie’s suspicions, it was the flu. They picked up his prescription medicine at the campus pharmacy next door before heading back to their shared dorm.

“Will you make me soup?” Luke pleaded as Julie made sure he was settled comfortably in his bed, his lip stuck out in an irrefutable pout. “And Mama Molina’s special tea?”

Julie smiled at the nickname which Luke had coined last year as Julie often referenced her mother when taking care of the seemingly constantly sick boy. The name had stuck and then been made official when the guys had visited her over the summer break and Luke had accidentally called her mother it. Rose Molina fell in love with it instantly and now Luke, Alex, and Reggie all exclusively referred to her as such.

“Of course,” she said, rolling her eyes lightly. There was nothing special about Mama Molina’s tea, it was just a cup of peppermint tea with a little bit of honey but it had seemed to work wonders for Luke last year and he much preferred it to the cocktail of cough syrup and sinus pills he’d normally take.

As she delivered the steaming soup and tea, Julie prayed that her superior immune system and flu shot would keep her safe from contracting her roommate’s illness while she took care of him. Still, she tried her best to keep her distance while keeping an eye on him.

She started him on a new Netflix series in an attempt to keep him from going stir crazy in the dorm while she was in class. She picked up all his missing work and made sure he had plenty of soup and tea (peppermint in the daytime to clear up congestion and soothe his cough, and chamomile in the evening to help him sleep).

“You’re too good for me, Molina.” He said sleepily as she tucked him into bed one night.

“I know,” she responded with a smirk, patting his cheek lightly before leaving, turning off the light as she went.

___

3 - Junior Year

Luke’s annual illness came later the next year. All November and December Julie was on high alert, ready at a moment’s notice to grab a can of chicken noodle soup from their cupboards and start up the kettle, but the moment never came. They’d finally moved out of the dorms this year, now living in an off-campus apartment with Alex and Reggie, which meant they had more room for Julie to store her supply of soup and tea and she had two backup caregivers.

When the new year rolled around and Luke still hadn’t shown any signs of getting sick, Julie had remarked,

“Maybe you’ve finally built up your immune system enough.”

The next week Luke was calling for her from his room across the hall.

It was the flu again but this time it was easier.

Julie, Alex, and Reggie took turns taking care of their sick roommate while the others were in classes, though everyone agreed that Julie had to be in charge of the tea. Despite Julie’s insistence that it was easy to make, Alex and Reggie refused after their first attempts had been scorned by Luke who insisted they did it wrong.

“You are such a drama queen,” she’d said, rolling her eyes at the boy as she delivered the tea.

“You’re the best, Molina.” He’d said as he took a sip, ignoring her comment on his dramatics.

“Shut up and drink your tea.” Julie laughed, brushing off the compliment as she turned on Netflix, taking a seat on the other side of the living room.

___

4 - Senior Year

After what all their friends had insisted was years of tension and pining, Luke and Julie got together just in time for Luke to catch pneumonia. It was the worst virus Luke had caught yet and Julie was silently glad that their relationship was new enough that they hadn’t kissed yet. Judging by Luke’s state, she hoped she never got pneumonia.

He had a fever for the first few days and Julie, Alex, and Reggie did their best to keep their distance, only coming into his room to deliver soup, tea, water, and medicine. Once the fever had disappeared, Luke was allowed to rejoin the rest, though only from a distance. The four roommates spending the afternoons in the living room together to keep the boy company as he laid on the couch. Still, even with the fever gone Luke spent the next week and a half nearly hacking up his lungs every time he coughed and with stabbing chest pains.

“You’re not eating your soup,” Julie noticed one afternoon as she did her homework on the opposite side of the living room, Alex and Reggie both in class.

“I’m not hungry,” Luke whined, pushing the bowl farther away on the coffee table.

Julie frowned, getting up from her armchair to perch across from him on the coffee table, picking up the bowl.

“Babe, you’ve gotta eat,” Julie said pointedly and Luke frowned at the term of endearment, knowing she was using it to convince him to do what she said. “The doctor said you’d have a loss of appetite, but you need to eat.”

“C’mon, open up,” she instructed, holding out a spoonful of soup.

Luke huffed, glaring at his girlfriend but opening his mouth anyway, allowing her to spoon-feed him.

“Wow, I did not think Luke could get any needier,” Reggie remarked as he stepped into the apartment, Alex coming in behind him.

“Don’t get used to that,” he added, “Cause I will not feed you while Julie’s in class.”

Julie laughed, ruffling her boyfriend’s hair affectionately before feeding him another spoonful.

“I don’t deserve you, Molina,” he said affectionately between bites.

“Don’t you forget it, Patterson,” she smiled.

___

+ 1 Year Later

After graduation in May, Julie and the Phantoms released their first full album and began their first tour in the fall thanks to the large following they’d accrued through their posts on YouTube since sophomore year and the success of their album. They’d had been touring for a couple of months before they finally took a break, just in time for Christmas.

Alex, Reggie, and Julie had all made plans to spend the break with their families, Reggie staying with his older sister and their family and Alex and Julie with their respective parents. However, Luke’s parents had found themselves on a business trip out of the country which is how the boy ended up spending his first Christmas at the Molina’s. Ray and Rose had been more than happy to have the boy stay with them when Julie explained the situation, though Ray had insisted on a strict policy of the two never being alone in the same room before Rose reminded him that Julie and Luke had been living together for five years and were grown adults.

The Molinas and Luke had a lovely Christmas together but when Julie woke up two days later she wished they had instituted her dad’s No Alone Time policy. She groggily made her way to the kitchen, rifling through the pantry for the peppermint tea to soothe her sore throat and hopefully clear up her sinuses. Before she could get very far though, her mom walked into the kitchen, immediately catching on to what she was doing. Julie rarely reached for tea on her own, hot chocolate being her hot beverage of preference, so Rose knew something must be up when she found her daughter rifling through the tea shelf.

“Go lay on the couch, Niña,” she insisted, ushering her daughter out of the kitchen, “I’ll take care of this.”

Julie did as she said, finding her favorite blanket from the basket in the corner and cuddling up on the couch. Her mom came in a few minutes later with her favorite mug in hand, setting it down on the coffee table in front of Julie.

“Don’t burn yourself, it’s hot,” Rose warned, placing a soft kiss on the top of her daughter’s head and patting her shoulder gently before returning to the kitchen to start on breakfast for the family.

It was only a couple of minutes later that Luke stumbled down the stairs calling her name.

“Juuuulie?” he pouted as he made his way into the living room. “Will you make me some tea?”

Her eyes went wide with the realization of how she’d gotten sick as she clutched her own mug of tea in her hands.

“So this is your fault,” she gasped, voice thick due to the congestion.

“What?” Luke asked, tilting his head in confusion, the fogginess in his brain from having just woken up and being sick preventing him from connecting the dots quickly.

“You got me sick.” She accused, narrowing her eyes at her boyfriend who’s eyes widened in response.

“Oh my gosh, seriously?” He asked, concern immediately filling his voice. “I’m sorry Jules.”

“I haven’t gotten sick in over four years and all it takes is one germy kiss from you,” she whined and Luke barked out a laugh before wincing at the pain it caused his throat.

“Well, the good news is we can recover together,” he said, plopping down on the couch and snuggling into her side.

“Luke, honey, do you need a blanket?” Rose asked as she returned to the living room, another cup of tea in hand, the woman obviously having overheard them from the kitchen. Luke nodded sheepishly and Rose smiled, setting the tea down in front of him and crossing the room to grab a blanket.

“Thank you, Mama Molina,” he said graciously, wrapping himself in the fleece material and picking up his tea.

“Anything to get the two of you better before you have to go back on tour,” she said, patting both their shoulders lovingly before going back to her cooking.

Julie groaned at the reminder. They were supposed to start back on the road in a week, but with Luke’s track record of illnesses, there was no knowing how long either of them would be sick this time.

Fortunately, thanks to a diet of Rose’s homemade chicken noodle soup and tea remedy as well as medication, Julie and Luke were feeling better in a couple of days.

“I’d always known, but now I really see where you got your nursing skills from,” Luke remarked on the first morning he’d woken up able to breathe through his nose.

Julie grinned.

“You sure are lucky to have the Molina women in your life,” she teased.

“Damn right.” He nodded sincerely.

___

JATP Taglist: @meangirlsx @morganayennefertyrell

[firaknight]

idk if ur still doing the writing requests but uhh maybe a kirfluff love confession?

I absolutely am!!!!!!! Here you go anon!!

Alternative title: These puffs gay and one of them has no idea what gay means while the other gets gay panic.

~~~{+}~~~

It was a noticeably chilly night in Dreamland. Despite it being the middle of summer, the chill of the night was stronger than ever. The sky was clear and empty, stars painted across the darkness. Soaring under the sky was the Warpstar, leaving sparkling trails of stardust in its wake. The Warpstar itself had taken on a slightly different form, resembling a large pillow rather than a star built for transportation.

Sitting atop the Warpstar were Kirby and Prince Fluff, nestled together beneath a thick blanket. Their bodies sunk into the center of the Warpstar, like sitting on a particularly squishy pillow. It was warm, the kind of warmth that was just comfortable enough—not too hot, not too cold, just perfect.

The night air was crisp, the sweet summer breeze gently blowing. Fluff noticeably shuddered at the breeze, colder than usual. Kirby huddled a bit closer, oblivious to the blush that slowly grew on Fluffs cheeks. The prince stared into the starry night sky, his mind wandering, his expression twisted in deep thought. Kirby noticed the sudden shift and turned, gently nudging him, and in a quiet voice asked...

“Whats wrong, poyo?”

“Hm? Ah, it’s nothing! Just... lost in thought.” Fluff hoped that simple answer would deter the pink puff. To his dismay, it only seemed to make Kirby more intrigued.

“It’s not nothing! You look upset.” Kirby scooted a little closer. He took note of how warm Fluffs cheeks were. Maybe he was sick? Maybe that’s why he wasn’t feeling good.

“Really, Kirby, I’m fine. I’m just thinking.” Kirby gently placed a paw on Fluffs cheek, feeling said cheek grow progressively warmer and turn a brighter shade of red.

“Thinking about what?” Fluff bit the inside of his cheek. He knew this conversation wouldn’t end well...

“Love.”

“Love? What kind of love, poyo?” That question caught him off guard.

“What do you mean “what kind of love?” Isn’t there only one?” Kirby shook his head, smiling.

“There’s lots of kinds, poyo! There’s platonic love, one-sided love, puppy dog love which I don’t really understand, romantic love, really really romantic love—Meta Knight and Dedede don’t like talking to me about that one for some reason—poyo, and familial love! I’m probably forgetting a bunch, but there’s a lot, poyo!!” Fluff thought over the responses, staring down at the Warpstar.

“Wait, hold on— really really romantic love? What’s that and why won’t your dads explain it to you?” Kirby stared blankly. Even he was a little confused on that one.

“Uh, I don’t really know, poyo! Dedede changes the subject before I can ask and Meta Knight tells me I’m not old enough yet. He says that in a couple years or so I’ll be old enough to understand what he’ll tell me, poyo.”

“Guess it’s really personal, huh?” Fluff mentally patted himself on the back for changing the subject. Maybe this time Kirby wouldn’t pry for more information.

“No, I don’t think it is. He says it’s got something to do with puffball puberty, which I haven’t hit, poyo.”

“Oh, ok.” The two sat in silence after that, but it wasn’t a pleasant silence. It was the kind of silence that made you want to talk, even if there was nothing to be said.

Maybe he’s done-

“Back to the original subject; what kind of love are you thinking about, poyo?”

Yod yammit.

“Romantic love. There, happy?” Fluff tried to stop himself from sounding too blunt. He didn’t want to talk about this, but Kirby wouldn’t let up, even if he said he wanted to change the subject.

“Romantic love for who? I promise I won’t tell anyone, poyo!” Fluff furrowed his brows. He was going to dodge these questions for as long as he could.

“A friend.”

“Oooo!!!! Which friend, poyo!! There’s so many!!” Fluff was mentally cornered. He couldn’t say “a close friend” because that would narrow it down to maybe 3 people, of which Kirby could easily deduce who he had feelings for. He also couldn’t just repeat “a friend” because Kirby, while naive, isn’t stupid, and would narrow it down to those few close friends almost immediately. He couldn’t stay silent, because Kirby would think he struck a nerve or something and would most likely never bring up the topic ever again, which, while helpful in this situation, wouldn’t be in the future. He bit the inside of his cheek again and decided to take a risk. A calculated risk in the form of a puzzle, but a risk nonetheless.

“A pink friend.” Kirby tilted his head in confusion.

“Pink? That’s weirdly specific, poyo.”

“Mhmm.”

“Pink, huh... hmmm...” There was an unbearably long amount of silence between the two. Fluff couldn’t tell if Kirby was lost in thought or spaced out, and he really didn’t want to ask. He decided to throw in the towel, realizing this was getting nowhere.

“Y’know what, nevermind. Forget I-“

“It’s me, isn’t it.” Fluff felt his cheeks get hot.

“H-how did you-“

“Well, it’s not like you were super vague about that hint!” Fluff mentally hit himself for that one.

“...”

“Well, I’ve got a confession for you, poyo.” Fluff ran over the options in his head, all of which were bad. Kirby was probably going to say he didn’t love him back like that, and would prefer to stay friends.

Just get over the fact that he doesn’t like you back. He’s Kirby, he probably hasn’t had a romantic thought in his-

“I love you back. In a romantic way.”

Fluff was speechless. Completely taken off guard and a little shaken by the response.

“Y-you’re joking, right?”

“No? Why would I be, poyo?”

“I...”

“To tell the truth, I’ve been too cowardly to mention it. I-I mean, you’re a prince, poyo! I’m just a kid with superpowers, I guess. I always felt like I was waaaaaayyy out of your league and that, if I mentioned that I liked you, you’d shrug it off like it was nothing, poyo.” He paused for a moment, thinking.

“You were always so friendly with me, even when I was just some random stranger who got thrown into your world by accident. I-if I’m being super honest, I’ve had a crush on you since we made it to Treat Land all the way back when we first met, poyo.” The realization that, maybe, just maybe, Kirby was trying to flirt with him all those years ago made Fluff put his face in his paws.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner...”

“It’s not your fault! I’m not super great at showing romantic love, poyo. I’ve only ever felt that kind of love once or twice before I met you, and I had no idea how to respond to it other than my usual acts of love!” Kirby gave him a smile, that adorable smile he gave everyone.

“S-so... uh... d-does that make us... b-boyfriends?” Fluff couldn’t figure out why saying those words made him unbelievably nervous.

“I think so!”

“W-what do b-boyfriends do...?” Kirby went silent, thinking on it.

“Well, Meta Knight and Dedede are gay, and they kiss each other on the lips a bunch.” Kirby could see Fluffs face go from blue to almost entirely red.

“U-u-uh... I-I don’t think I’m ready for that...” Kirby gave Fluff a small pat, smiling.

“We don’t have to then! What about an alternative?”

“L-like what...?”

“Nuzzling! I do it a lot with friends and it’s my way of saying “hello” and “I love you” in a platonic way, but we can make it romantic!” Fluff thought about it and decided that nuzzling was probably a good start.

“S-sure! B-but you’re going to have to demonstrate that. W-we don’t do that back in Patchland, I think.”

“Fine by me! Now sit still!” Kirby peppily scooted closer, pressed one of his cheeks to Fluff and nuzzled him. Fluff swore he could cook something on his face with how hot it’d gotten, yet at the same time, he loved this. Every second of it, while it made him more and more of a blushing mess, was wonderful to him. He decided to return the gesture, squishing his cheek against Kirbys and nuzzling back. Almost immediately he heard the low rumble of a purr. His face turned maxim tomato red upon hearing it. He’s never heard Kirby purr before, and good lord was it adorable.

“Y-you can purr???”

“Mhmm! All puffballs can, I think!”

“...I think it’s adorable...”

“Awww, Fluff!!!” Kirby nuzzled him a little harder, giggling.

“Well, my dear boyfriend, would you like to watch the stars with me?” Kirby giggled at Fluffs sudden flirtatious tone.

“I’d be happy to.” The two smiled, resting against each other, staring up at the night sky. Maybe it was just Fluff, but with Kirby around, the sky looked more beautiful that night than ever.

[orphic-osamu]

Moon [01]; Dazai Osamu

wc: 1.6K

warnings: angst

synopsis: Dazai saw you as the moon.

prologue

lmk if i should do a part two 😗✌️

The summer night had a breeze that brushed against Dazai’s neck, cooling his wounded skin, and causing the pinpricks of goosebumps to trail up his skin. His head was craned upwards as his chocolate orbs studied the specks of stars against the black of the sky.

His heart grasped the last glimpses of the setting moon eagerly, in search for reassurance and space to fill the empty void in his heart. His eyes looked over the dips and darks of the moon, a habit of his when his brain worked for solutions.

Unfortunately, it only brought more questions to the distressed executive.

The moon was his only companion. Something he could spill the bottle of his thoughts to, without having to mutter a word. The white light washed over his heart, a sense of cold comfort filling him to the brim. However, his mind worked differently now.

The moon was quick to provide anyone with security, no exceptions. But who was there to listen to the moon’s troubles? Dazai imagined the celestial body to be the loneliest in the universe, unable to speak and open the valve to the endless stream of words it had.

It has only been an hour after Dazai received your confession, and remorse wrapped itself around his throat, leaving him gasping for freedom from the constricting feeling.

And yet he couldn’t help his heart drumming against his chest excitedly, crooning at the idea of a date with you.

I wonder how long she’s thought of this.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right for Dazai to feel this way. There wasn’t going to be a happy ending for the both of you, and the faster he understood that, the better.

But he couldn’t help dreaming of a future with you. Going on little dates, celebrating anniversaries and escaping the screaming world together for a while. He couldn’t help his mind wandering to the moments he shared with you, the loud ones when you felt silly, and the quiet ones where he could sit and tell you about his troubles, wordlessly.

Just like how he could with the moon.

Soon, day turned to night and he found himself with his vision spotted a reddish orange from the tiny lanterns hanging in each stall. How you both ended up there was a mystery to him. Your hand, smaller than his, clasped around to pull him along the booths containing food, games and trinkets.

He wondered if it was happiness, or the moonlight that made your eyes twinkle when you looked at him. Despite the sky not having a single star, your orbs were littered in them, irises as the moon in the galaxy of your eyes. With each smile you showed, the hole of despair in his heart only hurt more and more.

He was going to lose you. He could tell from his body being buzzed with joy. Nothing was ever this happy without a price.

But Dazai was selfish, he wanted to savor every last second with you before you slipped from his grasp, even if it meant ugly tears and numb hearts.

He was fixated on every little move you made, immediately noticing when you took interest in a stall nearby. The said stall had a table littered in jewelry. You were magnetized as you tugged him towards the stall. Your hand let go of his, aiming to pick up some of the gems, carefully selecting some that suited your taste.

After a kind smile and a teasing remark from the man working, he handed over the items to you, throwing a sneaky wink at Dazai when you weren’t looking. Your hand reached for his again, but not to intertwine it with yours. Instead, you pushed his hands open and dropped a turquoise pendant in his hands, beaming in excitement.

“For you!”

Innocence surrounded your figure, proving your intentions to be good. Dazai returned the smile and kept the gift in his pocket, deciding to admire it later on.

A dull ache settled in the bones of his legs, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for a break. You were shining as bright as the moon was, he knew you put your entire heart into planning the night, in hopes of changing his mind.

A pang of guilt nipped at his heart. You were hopeful, however his heart was already set on his answer. He wasn’t going to change that, for his sake.

And for yours.

This was the last night he could ever spend with you. The last night before you’d have to stop and force yourself to stop loving him.

Dazai told himself he was going to try.

If he wasn’t going to experience this again with you, he was going to at least show you he loved you too.

Too absorbed in his thoughts, he failed to notice drops of water falling on head.

You pinched the edge of his sleeve, “It’s raining, Dazai.”

He hummed and pulled you under a tree, a small smile creeping on his face, at the sight of the pout on your face.

“My plans are ruined.”

His hand inched towards yours, enough to brush your knuckles against his. You tensed up as you pretended to not be affected by the gesture. He found it amusing, you’ve been grasping his hand the entire night, but when he’s initiating it, you become increasingly flustered. Nonetheless, he intertwined his pinky with yours before giving a squeeze.

“Mm, how ‘bout I take you somewhere?” Your face lit up in excitement, evoking a smitten chuckle from Dazai.

The place he spoke about was foreign to you, tucked behind a small alley and a rustic feeling radiating as you read the words on the blazing sign.

“Lupin, huh?”

The clouded eyes and nostalgic smile was enough to tell you that this place meant a lot to Dazai.

No words are exchanged, comfortable silence hugging your shoulders as he pulled you to a bar stool, sitting right next to you. The bartender showed a polite smile, with hints of surprise, seeing Dazai with someone who wasn’t Odasaku or Ango.

Dazai ordered a drink for you, completely unaware that once you started, it was hard to stop.

He learned that you were quite the lightweight. Your lips were pursed in effort to stay sober, but alas you were far too deep. An adoring look on his face was fixed for the rest of the night as your drunk habits surfaced. And every single word, every single breath was imprinted in his mind.

And with another glass downed, your hands came up to cup his cheeks. You looked dazed and in love.

“Zaizai.” You mumbled, caressing thumbs feeling like hot fire pressing against his skin.

He tilted his head to the side as his eyes met yours. His lips puckered in a soft kiss to your palm, smiling gently.

It was all he could have, memories of your hopeful eyes and dazzling grin. The way you held his hand, and the little gift you had bought for him.

Soon, the clock hit 11, and while it was considered early for the both of you, Dazai did not want you to wake up with a strong hangover the next day. His arm wrapped around your waist in a firm hold, waving the bartender goodbye.

Going to your place was quite the challenge. It was farther than his, and exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders. However your well being was all that mattered to him at that moment.

“Did you enjoy our date?”

Your words weren’t slurred, and for a moment Dazai had to check if you really were drunk. The red cheeks and hazy eyes confirmed that you were still intoxicated.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do everything I planned.” You mumbled, kicking a pebble on the sidewalk.

‘It was perfect.’ He wanted to say.

Looking at you with soft eyes, he wished you’d hear the words that were lodged in his throat. How he had fun today, and adored all your drunk habits. Everything that made you the imperfect human being.

He wished you’d see how much he loved you.

Before he knew it, he was dropping you off and putting you to bed. You didn’t allow him to leave, clutching his clothes in a silent plea.

“Stay for the night, please.”

Who was he to resist?

He slid under the covers with you and held you close, pressing you against his chest. His heart soared wildly, he could’ve sworn you could hear it.

His hand rested on your hip, drawing hearts and tracing words over and over again, almost as if he wanted to burn them into your skin.

I love you.

Sleep lured you in, your breathing slowed at your embrace around him softened. You were ethereal in his eyes. Eyelashes caressing your cheeks, lips slightly parted to release quiet huffs of air.

His fingers absentmindedly traced over your flaws, love flowing from the tips. He wished for you to never change any part of you, even the ones you thought were ugly.

Because Dazai Osamu fell in love with all of you.

And yet, as the light painted your angel like body, his heart twisted in guilt. He drank in the sight of your figure desperately, while pain built up in his chocolate orbs.

Dazai thought you were like the moon. Warm but chilly at the same time, for your eyes lit up his world, and your love leaving an impending sense of doom inside of him.

Dazai saw you as the moon, caring and aware of what he needed to say, yet no one bothered to listen to you.

And Dazai knew he left you like how the moon was that night, alone and cold with no one by your side.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

December Contest Submission #11: Cinnamon

words: ca. 4500 setting: mAU lemon: no cw: angst, anxiety, panic attacks, pajama cuddles (not for faint of heart), feet touch (in a gay manner)

A shiver ran down Anna’s spine as she quickly skipped across the hallway, her fuzzy socks slipping on the polished wood like skates on ice. Her head had two close encounters with the wall by the time she reached the destination–Elsa’s bedroom.

It was dark as hell in the hallway, so she could easily see the light seeping out from under the door. With no time to waste for knocking and waiting for an answer–and silently hoping Elsa was just reading or playing with her phone, and not doing something private that she should not see–she turned the doorknob and almost fell into the room.

“Anna?”

She shut the door behind herself and turned around to look at Elsa, who was, indeed, sitting on the bed with an open book in her lap, her brows furrowed in a mix of confusion and worry as she stared back at Anna over her reading glasses.

Without saying anything, she trotted over the floor, slowing down a little only once she reached Elsa’s fluffy rug until she almost flinged herself on her sister’s bed.

“Are you cold?”

Anna huffed irritatedly. “How’d you tell?”

Elsa reached to take off her glasses. “For one, you’re shivering and you have goosebumps on your arms,” she said, touching the tip of her–cold! Anna almost jumped–finger to Anna’s exposed elbow while she put her glasses away on the nightstand. “Two, you came in running here like a startled horse, and you had that little grumpy little baby expression.”

Anna pouted.

“Exactly this one.”

“Stooop,” she whined. Then she quickly swatted at Elsa’s hand as it was making its way to tickle her side. “Elsa! It’s not funny!”

Elsa giggled. “I’m sorry.” There was no hint of remorse in her voice. “I just thought that maybe a bit of physical activity could help warm you up.”

“More like physical torture,” Anna muttered, pulling her feet up to fold her legs on the bed. “Anyway, yes. I’m cold. I’m freezing, honestly.” She sighed. “It feels like maybe fifty degrees in my room, and the rest of the house is barely any better.”

It’s been a few months since they moved in together (after years of living apart, the pandemic of 2020 forced them to re-think the whole ‘independent living alone’ situation) to this lovely apartment in an old building, allegedly built in the early 1800s, a parting gift to them both from their late grandmother. The entire move took place at the beginning of August, when the Summer was still happily around, but not as hot as to make enough of an impact for either Elsa or Anna to notice anything odd–and with the following Autumn being very mild, it still never hit them something was very wrong until after the middle point of November.

Anna had been the first to notice. She’d been sitting in the kitchen pretty late at night, working on a very overwhelming project that made her completely lose track of time and space for a good few hours. Had it not been for the little burst of chilly wind on her neck, she’d probably have spent the entire night up.

Yes. Wind. Cold, frigid gust of wind through the soft hairs at the nape of her neck while she was sitting inside. At first, she’d thought it was a ghost–which she now could admit was maybe not the best assumption, but to her defense she and Elsa did spend the previous two weeks or so watching horror movies every evening.

So, naturally, she’d screamed in horror and ran out of the kitchen, zooming across the hallway to her room, where she’d hid under her covers for about two minutes before a very sleepy and confused Elsa appeared in her doorway.

They’d established it could not be a ghost–it took some time to convince Anna, though–and instead probably just a random little crack in some window frame that let in the cold air from the outside.

The random little crack seemed to be untraceable, though, and soon it had become very painfully clear they were instead dealing with isolation issues all over the place.

“Did you get an extra blanket?” Elsa asked, looking at her with that worry back in her eyes.

“I got three.”

“And you’re still cold?”

“Elsa,” she said–softly, lovingly, but with all the desperation of her aching bones, while she looked her sister deep in the eyes. “I’m not joking. It’s literally freezing in my room, and it’s only marginally better here and I have no freaking idea how you’re just sitting there like this.”

In an attempt to keep warm, Anna took to sleeping in a pair of those long, warm sweatpants and a hoodie, even though she hated the way they kept tangling in her three blankets to the point of her always ending up sleeping in some weird position for the entire night.

Meanwhile, Elsa was reclining against her pillows in nothing but a spaghetti strap silk nightgown.

“It doesn’t really bother me that much,” Elsa answered simply, shrugging with those bare, exposed shoulders. “I actually think the cold helps me sleep better.”

It took every ounce of willpower still left in her for Anna not to burst out laughing/crying at the same time.

Instead, she donned her best kicked puppy expression.

Elsa’s soft, vaguely worried expression turned to outright concern. “Is something wrong?”

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Wha– yes?” It sounded less like Elsa agreeing, and more like her just wondering if that was even an option. “I mean– Yeah, you can. Will that help?”

Anna shrugged. “I felt a chilly breeze right on my head when I laid down in my bed tonight so I’m literally fresh out of other options. And it is a little warmer in your bedroom.”

Elsa nodded, then closed her book and put it next to her glasses, before patting the unoccupied side of her giant bed. “There’s plenty of room, so you can hop– actually, you probably want to grab some of your blankets. I only have this one.”

She held up her not exactly thick cover, as if to prove that it was of no use. With a deep, world-weary sigh Anna stood up and went straight for the door.

~*~*~

Less than two minutes passed before she barged back in with all of her necessities bundled up in her arms, then promptly went around Elsa’s bed to drop the heap on ‘her’ side.

“Really?” Elsa asked in an incredulous voice while Anna watched her pick up a plush seal from the pile. “You’re twenty-six.”

“And you’re judgmental,” Anna hissed back at her, snatching the toy away to put it next to her pillow. “It’s an anxiety thing.”

“It’s alright, Anna.” Elsa smiled. “I didn’t want to offend you. I’m sorry.”

Anna just huffed–too cold and tired to even think of a response–and laid out her blankets, then promptly jumped in the bed and burrowed. She let out a low, content grumble and heard Elsa laugh softly in response.

A faint scent of cinnamon tickled her nose.

It was… surprising how open Elsa could be, sometimes. She thought back to the tickle attempt earlier–which she was too grumpy to appreciate at the moment, but could now think over with a clearer (warmer) head.

When she’d first come to the conclusion that she’d have to move in with Elsa, mostly due to financial problems tied to the world pandemic, she was mortified. The last time she’d lived with her was when they were both still in high school, and after Elsa’s graduation they didn’t exactly keep in touch all that often during college or afterwards. Honestly, moving in with her sister was almost like a random lottery roommate–completely unpredictable and potentially devastating.

But Elsa was a blessing. Even though they were forced to spend almost all their time together, it almost never felt like they were in each other’s way–and when it did, it was usually Anna’s own fault. Elsa worked quietly, cleaned up after herself, took care of bills and utilities and even cooked for both of them, none of which Anna herself was exactly known for. Perfect roommate, and it turned out it was Anna who had something to live up to.

And of course now she had to breach another layer of intimacy because of the damned cold house.

“Here, you forgot about this guy,” she heard a soft whisper right after Elsa turned off her light, and peaked out from under her cover to see Elsa holding her seal out to her. She took it slowly, and briefly wondered if Elsa thought she was a nuisance and was just very good at not showing it. “Are you a little warmer now?”

She spoke to her like to a small child, and that pretty much answered Anna’s self-conscious question.

~*~*~

The next night, she tried sleeping in her own room, too ashamed to bother Elsa again. She woke up with a dull ache in her joints and blocked sinuses, courtesy of the damn little constant breeze blowing onto her head and shoulders.

Elsa would send her worried looks the entire day, sometimes asking her if there was anything she could do for her, offering tea, painkillers and even drawing her a hot bath to ease the pain. Really, she was too good to be true sometimes, definitely not the girl who left her at their parents’ place all those years ago without much of an explanation.

She’d refuse everything–aside from the bath–of course, at times resorting to say she’s ‘an adult’ and ‘can take care of herself.’

~*~*~

She lasted a week before she just couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Ah, I was thinking about you.”

Elsa was sitting in her bed reading a book, again, but this time she seemed to be prepared for Anna–the other side of her bed was left empty, clearly meant for her to put all her stuff in.

All the better, since Anna literally came with her entire sleeping equipment in her arms.

“How’d you know?”

Elsa smiled. “The forecast said it was going to be three degrees out tonight. I figured you won’t be able to just stubborn your way through that.”

Anna gasped in mock–okay, not exactly fully mock–offence. She walked over to the empty side of the bed and dropped everything to start crafting her nest.

Elsa watched her carefully, almost to the point of discomfort on Anna’s side, but she didn’t comment anything. Again, she picked up her seal and held it while Anna tried her damnedest to straighten out her pile of blankets.

As soon as she managed that, she jumped in the bed so hard she almost knocked the book out of Elsa’s lap.

“Here.” Elsa placed the seal–Anna really should give it some name–in her arms and went back to her book.

For a moment they were silent, Elsa reading and Anna just lying there, enjoying the warmth and cursing under her breath. Somehow, one of her legs was already tangled in the sheets. Her favorite t-shirt and shorts combo wasn’t exactly the best for this kind of weather, but sleeping in sweatpants and a hoodie was a logistical nightmare to someone who moved around as much as she did.

“It’s going to be about three degrees for a few days now, and then it’s only dipping lower,” Elsa said suddenly just when Anna’s eyelids started to drop and she was slowly lulling herself to sleep. “We really need to fix the windows in your room, you can’t just walk around the entire day like a zombie,” she continued with a sigh, and Anna felt a wave of fresh embarrassment wash over her. “Say, why don’t you just keep sleeping in my room until we can get it done?”

The wave turned into a tsunami as she nodded.

~*~*~

They managed to get a hold of a repairman that had some free slots for the next month. Their neighborhood was full of very old buildings, and it really was showing by how sought out good repairmen were.

So, the next few days were a torture. Her room was sealed shut, but the entire apartment got so cold over time that even Elsa would sometimes shiver hard in the night, something that would wake Anna up with a start. Half-asleep but concerned, she’d pull the covers up to Elsa’s shoulders, only to have to wake up and repeat it after a few hours.

She was lying now next to Elsa in the dark, trying not to make too much ruckus as she tried to rub her feet together without waking her sister up.

“Anna,” her voice was muffled by her covers, but Anna could clearly hear the annoyance. Normally, Elsa would try to keep most negative emotions out of her voice when she talked to her–something she noticed she very much did not do when talking with people in her Zoom meetings–but at about 2 a.m. she apparently couldn’t fight it anymore. “What are you doing?”

She asked the question in a softer voice, but there was still no mistaking how miffed she was at being woken up.

“I’m just…” she trailed off, not even sure if Elsa actually wanted to hear an explanation or just wanted her to stop, but after just a few seconds of her hesitation Elsa hummed expectantly for her to keep going. “My feet are super cold…”

Oh, that came out as a very pathetic whine. Not part of the plan.

Elsa sighed, then shuffled–she’d been facing the door with her back towards Anna, but now she turned to lie on her back, her bare shoulder almost brushing against Anna’s nose. She smelled really nice, a very festive mixture of cinnamon–her usual shower gel–and apple–her new shampoo–that somehow already made Anna feel warmer. She kept shuffling under the covers until suddenly Anna almost jumped when she felt Elsa’s fingertips on her hand.

“Come here,” Elsa whispered, retreating her arm and patting the bed somewhere next to her. “Under my cover. I’ll keep you warm.”

In the cold night air Anna’s face felt steaming.

“A-are you sure?”

Elsa nodded and turned back around, leaving the passage for Anna to slip her legs in until her feet touched Elsa’s calves. She heard a surprised inhale, and against reason Elsa shifted closer to her.

“Why did you take off your socks?” She said it over a yawn, and Anna felt really bad for keeping her up again. “Your feet are freezing.”

“I can’t sleep in socks.”

It was enough to try and sleep in pants. With socks, she only felt like she was capturing the cold next to her feet.

Elsa chuckled, and rubbed one of her own bare feet on Anna’s.

~*~*~

“What’s this?”

Anna looked curiously at the giant box in the hall. It was delivered while Elsa was taking a shower, and Anna’s been waiting for her to finish almost buzzing in her seat with the need to know.

“Oh, I didn’t think they’d deliver it so fast.” Elsa was still drying her hair with a towel, dressed only in a thin tank top and sweats while Anna sat there in a giant plush robe wondering how in hell was her sister not just a giant cinnamon-scented icicle. “It’s a space heater.”

Anna’s eyes lit up.

“I figured you might use one in your room.”

“Oh.” That instantly dampened her enthusiasm, though. Over the past days she’d really grown accustomed to sleeping with Elsa–she was surprisingly warm once she started dozing off, and with every night Anna would snake her way a little closer. First it was just her feet leeching Elsa’s heat, then her legs, and when Elsa didn’t seem to mind she actually migrated almost entirely under her cover. Last night she was even able to finally sleep in a t-shirt and underwear, as god intended. “You want me to sleep in my room tonight?”

She didn’t actually mean to say that, especially not in this broken of a voice, but it was out before she could bite her tongue. Elsa’s eyes grew wider and Anna prepared for impact.

“Jesus, no!” Elsa looked like she’d just said the stupidest possible thing. “I meant that for sometime in the future when we fix your window. It’s minus four tonight, we might actually need to use this thing in my room first.”

Anna could only hope her face didn’t show how elated she was.

~*~*~

She came to Elsa’s room that night to find the bed set neatly–Elsa could really be a little of a pedantic freak sometimes, who the hell sets their bed every night–and Elsa standing in front of her TV, shuffling through videos on YouTube.

“Hey,” Anna said quietly, sitting down on Elsa’s side of bed with folded legs. Elsa murmured a greeting back. “What are you doing?”

The frustrated shuffling stopped for a moment. “I’m trying to find a– oh, this one looks nice! Turn off the light, please.”

Anna looked at her in confusion, but she reached over to the bedside lamp and tapped it gently. For a moment they sat in the dark as the video Elsa chose buffered, but then a warm, orange glow filled the room.

“A fireplace?”

The fire crackled happily on the screen. “Yeah, I thought it might be a nice ambience for sleeping,” Elsa chirped, which was very unlike her, while she bent down and– Anna had to turn her gaze away. Looking at her sister’s lace underwear was probably more than she could handle at the moment. “Especially combined with this.”

A soft hum followed right after and the ever-present, soft scent of cinnamon intensified–then Elsa moved out of the way and a wave of warm air hit Anna straight in the face. Elsa had to literally haul the heater into the room on her own while Anna was bathing.

“It does fit nice,” she admitted, looking into the flames and enjoying the warmth. “Almost like a real fireplace.”

Elsa climbed on the foot of the bed and crawled over to her on all fours, and suddenly there was more heat on Anna’s face and her mouth was dry. “You used to say you wanted a fireplace when we were kids,” Elsa said, shimmying on the bed until she was sitting next to her. “You had to be…five or six, and you’d keep saying you wanted to live in a cottage so that you could have a nice fire going every night and sit there with a cat in your lap, quote unquote like a witch.”

Anna laughed nervously and moved out of the way to let Elsa under her cover.

“And this is obviously nowhere near a real fireplace, but…”

She locked eyes with Elsa, and the orange glow of the TV made her irises look a fiery, sparkling purple. They were only a few inches apart, so close she could actually feel Elsa’s soft exhale blow over her own nose. Anna’s heart beat fast in her chest, fueled by some very odd and unwelcome emotions. “T-thank you,” she managed out through a clenched throat. Elsa really tried. She really, really tried, not only tonight but all the days before, pushing her own boundaries to accommodate Anna in her bed and it finally hit Anna just how much she had to love her.

And in this same, orange-glow filled, cinnamon-scented moment it also hit her how much she loved Elsa.

“Are you alright?”

Elsa’s face was concerned. Worried. Let down? Shit, she thought Anna didn’t like it.

“Y-yeah, I’m just– I’m super tired. I love this all, Elsa, thank you,” she repeated again just to make sure there was no mistaking how grateful she was for Elsa’s thoughtfulness, and something sank in her stomach at the sight of Elsa’s absolutely delighted smile. “Can we sleep?”

Elsa nodded and moved the covers away.

If not for the orange light, she would probably get worried again at Anna going absolutely white at the sight of her blankets spread nicely under Elsa’s cover.

“I figured this would be easier,” she said as she slid under and patted the space next to her. “You roll up into this tight ball every night before you fall asleep and then crawl under my cover anyway, so I figured this way you’ll be warmer.”

Anna gulped down the stone in her throat. “Y-yeah, sure.”

“We can even cuddle if you get cold. There’s supposed to be a blizzard tonight, so lots of wind.”

As if on cue a strong gust of wind rattled Elsa’s window and managed to get partially through, right onto Anna’s back. The surprised yelp and violent shiver at least let her hide how absolutely mortified she was with the idea of soft cuddles under the blankets with the fireplace glow.

Elsa pretty much pulled her under the blankets after that, and even tucked her in lovingly before lying down next to her–facing her, lord have mercy–and letting out a tired sigh.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, reaching out blindly to touch Anna’s cheek.

That one soft gesture sent a jolt down Anna’s spine. “Goodnight,” she answered, and she hoped that Elsa would pin the shaking in her voice on the cold gust of wind. Had she always felt like this? There had been a time in her life that Elsa was everything to her, but it was more like…younger sibling idolizing the older. Elsa had been her role model and her best friend, but after her high school graduation she just– Stopped. She wasn’t there anymore, busy with college, then busy with post-grad, then busy with work with no time to ever even visit. It seemed the only Anna ever heard from her was postcards and short birthday phone calls.

In that time she made herself at least pretend to resent Elsa for leaving her behind. She could never actually hate her, but the anger she felt was raw and it was at least better than grief.

But this Elsa– the Elsa that moved in with her, she was the same but she was different. The last time she actually saw her, she was a shy teenager with huge glasses and nerdy sweatshirts, always in a messy braid. When she saw the absolute glow-up Elsa went through, how beautifuller with emphasis on fuller she was, she did have to take a moment to collect herself.

Did she feel like– like this then, though? She was shocked, yes, but was she–

She looked up at Elsa’s calm, gorgeous face.

Was she–

This absolutely wonderful, sweet woman who literally had to take care of her because she was a fucking child that couldn’t even make sure to eat properly. The woman who would wake up half an hour early just to make her some chocolate chip or blueberry–or both because Anna was a mess–pancakes just because she knew it would make her happy. Who would randomly come up behind her and stroke her hair when she saw something was making her stressed, and it was the best way to calm her down.

Was she– Could she–

All of these little acts of affection that Elsa thought were innocent– that were innocent on her side and Anna has apparently been corrupting them in her depraved mind this entire time.

Was she in lo–

“Anna, what’s wrong?”

She opened her eyes to see Elsa look down at her with actual fear in her eyes and she realized she was shaking violently in her spot with no idea how much time had passed while she was spiraling. Her muscles were flexed and aching, jaw clenched so hard there was ringing in her ears. She was coiled in on herself like a tight spring.

“O–” she started, but her tongue felt like lead. “O-Olaf?”

Fear mixed with confusion. Then, suddenly, it changed to understanding. “Your seal?” Anna nodded. “It’s right here.”

She reached above Anna’s pillow and pulled Olaf out from where he was wedged, then softly placed him in Anna’s waiting hands. She immediately gripped him hard and curled up on her side, eyes tightly shut for fear of seeing her sister’s face.

“It’s okay,” Elsa’s whisper was breezing through her hair. “It’s fine, babygirl, I got you– d-do you want me to hug you?”

No, please, don’t. She nodded. I’m disgusting. Elsa enveloped her immediately, surprisingly strong as she pulled her closer to her chest. I don’t deserve to touch you. She burrowed her nose between Elsa’s breasts and inhaled.

Cinnamon.

She had no idea how long Elsa held her like this, her hand gently caressing up and down Anna’s bare arm, legs intertwined with Anna’s. She was planting soft kisses to the crown of Anna’s head. “It’s okay, baby, it’s alright,” she kept murmuring in between the kisses like a mantra, and with time it wasn’t even the words Anna was listening but just her voice, her breathing, the rhythm of her heart.

Her own was still racing when she spoke. “I’m s-s-sorry.” The words, already stuttered and slurred, came muffled out against the bare skin of Elsa’s chest.

“No, don’t be,” Elsa whispered hurriedly, not making a single move to pry her away. Even though she should. Anna should not be allowed to be anywhere near– there. “It’s my fault, sweetheart.”

What?

“I– I got overexcited and did things too fast,” she continued and if it wasn’t so hard for her to speak now, Anna would have shouted in disagreement. “I wanted to make things nice for you. I thought it would be– and then I saw how overwhelmed you were and I knew I messed up, and I– shit, I should have thought to give you Olaf earlier.”

Elsa remembered her plushie’s name.

“Do you want a tissue?” At first she didn’t understand the question, but then she realized she was crying. Heavily. Elsa’s chest was soaked.

She pulled away to try to answer–

Fuck, Elsa was gorgeous.

The glow dimmed considerably by now, but she could still make every detail of her face. Her big, round eyes. Her parted lips. The way she was looking at her with worry, but also pure adoration.

Anna wasn’t exactly thinking straight. She was very far from any remotely intelligent thought, her senses overwhelmed by cinammon. At a complete loss of the ability to speak with so many things to say.

What she couldn’t say in words in her state, she instead said with her lips on Elsa’s.

In the next second it dawned on her, and she immediately wanted to pull away and apologize, but Elsa held her in place with her hand on Anna’s stupid head.

They didn’t make out wildly like they do in the movies. It was a soft, tender and slow kiss. “It’s okay,” Elsa whispered against her lips in a few minutes. “It’s okay, baby.” She locked their lips again, a little firmer. “I understand.”

Four and a half thousand words all died on Anna’s lips, brushed off with Elsa’s tongue.

It was the explanation. It worked, for now at least, as she lay cradled in her sister’s arms, trading feathery kisses in the orange glow of their fake fireplace. In time, Elsa’s hand moved from her head to rest around her waist, keeping her warm and secure in place as she promised her we’ll talk tomorrow and it’s alright now, love.

And a tiny voice in her head, so small she could barely hear it through the shouts of self-hate, said that maybe.

That maybe it was going to be alright.

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 15

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 15 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 14 / Part 16

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: swearing, drinking

Historical Inaccuracies:

Mary didn’t go on tour with Queen in 1975

On the 14th of November, 1975, Queen did not leave early for the start of the ANATO tour. Indeed, they “had to rush from London to Liverpool” (x) because they had been shooting the music video for ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ in the very same afternoon as the day of their first gig on tour!

Word Count: 3.8k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

August, September, and October disappeared in such a whirlwind rush that you hardly noticed them. You didn’t have time to notice much these days.

Queen were running thirty-eight-hour sessions at multiple recording studios throughout London, working day and night to record and refine the material for their still unnamed fourth album.

Preparations for a release in late November were in full swing, and Queen’s manager Reid was neglecting meetings with Elton John— Elton bloody John, it would never cease to amaze you— to dedicate his time to organising the legs of Queen’s next world tour. Locations, bookings, the transport of instruments and equipment and people, lodging, catering, insurance; the list of things to arrange was endless.

Which was why you often played assistant to Reid, in the absence of Reid’s actual assistant— some clonker named Paul Prenter who turned up late to meetings and had far too much to say for how few hours he put into going to work. You couldn’t be Reid’s full-time assistant, however, because you also tagged along with Roy Thomas Baker, Queen’s producer, since Freddie had more or less insisted that you do so.

You spent a lot of time with Queen, both in the studio and out of it.

In the studio, Freddie consulted you on album concept, Deacy relied on you for input on the song he was writing about Veronica, and Brian taught you to play ‘‘39’. Hearing you sing along with Brian, Roger decided that you should help with backing vocals on one of Freddie’s tracks, and much to everyone’s delight, he coaxed you into agreement. You weren’t delighted with this arrangement, though; you were far too nervous that you’d ruin the vocals of the others.

Outside of the studio, Freddie continued to harp on about your musical education, as he called it, lending you records until you were listening to his music almost constantly.

“I want you to have memorised my collection, darling,” he said one night, swirling his wine, “by the time we set off on tour.”

“Um, okay… That’s a lot of music, Freddie,” you’d swallowed, eyeing the quite frankly enormous record collection that Freddie’s living room housed.

“Psh, all in a day’s work.”

You saw Roger the least out of the four, because when not at Queen’s various recording locations, he was… well, he was bedding Heather, to put it politely. He did take you for the occasional drink and a banter, though. You found that you and he shared a lot of similarities in terms of childhood and upbringing, and this made Roger more brotherly to you than ever.

When he had the time, John would join Roger and you for drinks at the local pub, and the three of you would spend far too long chatting away into the evening. But mostly, Deacy and Ronnie were knackered from their parenting of Robert, and when you could see it all beginning to take a toll on John— he went from the studio to caring for his son and did not sleep in between— you offered yourself as a babysitting service. Deacy and Veronica were immensely grateful for this, because Robert seemed to like you, Auntie Y/N, and though the child could scream bloody murder if he so wished, he was generally a good kid. It was enjoyable to see him learning the ways of the world around him, from lights and colours, to the sounds of his parents’ voices.

Sometimes, when you babysat Robert, Brian came along.

Robert may have liked you, but he loved Brian.

Brian had helped John and Veronica to hang glow-in-the dark stars and planet-mobiles from the ceiling of what was to be Robert’s room when he moved out of his parents’ bedroom, and Brian had been as animated by the activity as though he had been decorating a room for himself.

When Brian visited Robert, he sang to him and rocked the child in his arms and danced about the room, quite forgetting that there was anybody else there. Robert would giggle and occasionally attempt to poke Brian’s nose, which brought Brian no end of wonder, and once again affirmed for you that Brian’s aspirations of one day becoming a father were well-suited to him.

Unfailingly, on the nights when Deacy and Veronica were away, once Robert fell asleep, Brian would suggest that the two of you take to the rooftop to see the stars— of course bringing with you a baby monitor. Thus, you spent many an evening wrapped in a blanket atop the roof of your friend’s house while your best friend sat beside you, cheeks flushed with the cold but unwilling to return inside, even though his teeth chattered and his hair blew about his face in the chilly wind. You began to bring hot chocolate to the roof, though what you really wanted to do to warm Brian was to curl into his side and snuggle close to him.

You didn’t, though. You reserved your pining for him in the form of long, lingering looks.

He’d called you his best friend, and best friends, you told yourself, were built upon platonic principles. If he’d wanted romantic involvement with you, he would have made that clear, and he hadn’t, so you resigned yourself to pushing your feelings down in the pit of your stomach and pretending that his smiles didn’t melt you as easily as chocolate on a summer’s day. Naturally, however, pushing feelings down doesn’t make them go away, but rather concentrates them more, so that every brief glance and accidental touch makes one feel that everything is just that much closer to bubbling over entirely.

But Brian was everywhere you looked, inescapable, inevitable, smiling and just being generally goofy, spouting the most fascinating facts about the cosmos at odd intervals, urging you to sing with him when he sang, nodding at you approvingly over his guitar when you matched his vibrato almost perfectly one Thursday night. Because despite everything, despite Queen’s dawn-to-dusk-to-dawn schedule, Brian still made time for teaching you guitar on Thursday nights.

If it wasn’t for the nights, you might have thought that you could take it.

Take him winking at you and calling you ‘love’ at irregular moments so that your heart stuttered and your thoughts grew sluggishly slow. Take him being near you at almost every hour of every day, and long into the nights as well. Take him existing in his willowy gorgeousness, sunshine-warmed skin and sunlit eyes, soft curls, wide-eyes, angular frame.

But the nights were long, because Brian had confessed that he had begun to sleep better as of late, and this rendered his beauty healthier, more stark, in light of his getting enough rest.

Yes, the nights were long, not for him but for you, because you couldn’t close your eyes without seeing his gentle smile and his hazel eyes.

It was as though he had traded you a milder case of his insomnia, and it frustrated you perpetually, because when you weren’t working or lounging about with Queen, you were studying intensely so as to take your final exams early.

Indeed, you’d committed to not only Queen, but to astrophysics as well.

You were working overtime to finish this year’s coursework early— very early— in fact, by the middle of this month.

You’d been surprised that Dr. Carmichael had even agreed to help you in the first place, but you suspected that something about your situation had reminded him of himself. In the very least, when you’d boldly asked him why he was willing to help you with extra lecture hours and study sessions, he’d said something cryptic about once having missed an opportunity himself, and that he regretted nothing more in his life. You’d been floored that he would openly admit something so personal, being that Carmichael wasn’t the open-book type, but he’d only smiled sadly and told you to have your next paper on his desk by Monday.

It was all very stressful, going from the studio to studying and back to the studio. Your days dissolved into exam preparations and recording sessions, with only guitar lessons in between.

The most difficult part of it all was the guitar lessons.

Brian right across from you, biting his lip, bending strings up the fretboard with long fingers and a concentrated gaze. He’d glance up and nod to you, upon which you’d copy the movement he’d just done, and he would either nod again and continue in whatever song he was playing, or offer you critique. He was articulate in his teaching, and his manner utterly enamoured you, because he moved as though he were made of light.

God, you wanted to kiss him. Just the thought of him being so close to you, touching you, made you shiver. He was so delicate in everything that he did, and you wanted his delicate hands against your skin, his mouth on your mouth, breathing the same air, and you wanted him to want you.

Perhaps that was why you’d begun flirting with him, against your every notion of common sense.

It was just an innuendo here, a touch there, winking at him over your guitar. You didn’t even know where any of it was coming from, because you’d never once in your life had the confidence to flirt. Maybe you drew confidence from Brian’s reaction each time you said or did something suggestive; he blushed, looked down, smiled boyishly. Fucking hell, he was cute. And you felt an inexplicable rush of adrenaline every time you got away with pushing boundaries.

It had been Friday afternoon when Freddie opened a bottle of Moët et Chandon in the kitchen of his flat, and you were with him and Roger and John and Brian to cry woah! when the bubbly liquid shot out of the bottle and onto the floor.

“Freddie,” Brian tutted, shaking his head, and you tried not to laugh.

Roger tossed Brian a tea towel and Brian mopped up the spilled champagne.

“Well, darlings, that’s it,” said Freddie a few minutes later as the five of you gripped filled glasses, “that’s the next album!”

There was a cheer.

Roger raised his glass. “To…” He frowned. “To what? We haven’t exactly named the album.”

You all frowned. Then Deacy shook his head. “To the album!” he said.

“To the album!” you all chorused, laughter abundant in the moments before everyone drank their champagne.

This afternoon, it had been just you and the band, because Freddie had wanted an in-celebration before he threw the actual party for the album on the first night of the tour. But this afternoon gathering also had other significance: today was Reid’s deadline for when the name of the album had to be decided.

And by the time you left Freddie’s place at five that evening, a film had been watched, and a decision had been made.

The name of the album was to be as rivetingly dramatic and as magnificently opulent as the name of Queen.

The album was to be called A Night At The Opera.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The wind was a character in itself, and the sky was weary with the plethora of grey clouds it carried, but it was not raining.

You noticed, because you wanted to remember. You wanted to remember everything about today, the day you set off for Liverpool. With Queen.

You were going on tour.

With Queen.

It hadn’t really sunk in yet. Still, it was happening, because you were walking from the Underground to the tour bus pickup point, which was by one of the studios Queen had been using to record the album.

You had packed light— a minimal array of clothes that would last you a while, being mixed and matched and reused until a washing machine could be located; some essential toiletries; a few well-loved books; your messenger bag; your guitar.

You’d dressed in your warmest, heaviest clothes from the beginning, layering as your mum had always taught you to do.

Your mum. She’d rung you last night.

“And you promise me you’ll call?” she’d said, as though she were in some dramatic film about her daughter leaving on some risky adventure, during which all the characters in the movie learn emotional maturity through a montage of artistically-shot scenes.

You’d sighed, every bit the exasperated daughter. “I’ve promised you before, mum. You know I always keep my word.”

But the dramatic film analogy had indeed borne a grain of truth. This was an adventure, and it was risky.

Money wasn’t something you’d brought much of, because it wasn’t something you had much of. Queen were already covering your expenses as far as food and lodging, and you hadn’t wanted to bother your parents for any money, given how you were already letting them down a little in postponing the completion of your astrophysics degree.

But, as ineloquent as the phrase was, this tour was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

How many people would be able to look back on their life and say, ‘yes, I went on a world tour with a rock ‘n’ roll band’? So few. So few that it was almost saddening that you were getting the chance to do something like this, while so many others would never.

And to think that you’d almost not come along.

Brian was leaning against the tour bus, a book held elegantly before his face as he rested his elbow on his other arm, which was wrapped around his upper body. He looked cold, with windburn colouring his cheeks, his lower lip tucked between his teeth, and his arm was likely wrapped around him more for warmth than in support of the book.

He lowered the novel as you approached, a lovely smile already on his face.

“Morning!” he said brightly.

“Shh,” you chided. “It’s three AM, Brian.”

“Ah, yes,” Brian nodded, his face serious. “No decent people have got up yet.”

“What does that make us?” you laughed.

He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Indecent,” he winked.

You’d thought there was only so many times that Brian May could make you blush, but here you were again, blushing like you were five years old, instead of twenty-five.

“Not on my bus, you’re not,” said Freddie to Brian, hopping down off of the tour bus.

Brian rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a hypocrite, Fred.”

“I think you should be directing your chastity comments toward Roger and Heather, Freddie,” you said, nodding in the direction of the two shadowy figures that had been approaching, only to stop in the middle of the empty road to have a snog.

Freddie wrinkled his nose. “Yes indeed. We may need some ground rules.”

Deacy stuck his head out of the bus. “ROGER! No shagging on the bus!”

“Shhh!” you and Brian and Freddie cried all at once.

“Three o’clock in the morning, everyone,” you said. “Three o’clock.”

“Now that, dearie,” Freddie raised a finger, “reminds me. I’m going back to sleep.”

He mounted the steps to the bus once more, and disappeared inside.

“Me too, I think,” said John, blinking tired eyes before following Freddie back onto the bus.

Tucking his book into the folds of his coat, Brian turned to you. “Can I give you a hand with that?” he nodded to your suitcase.

“Yeah, thanks.”

He took your suitcase and loaded it onto the bus, and offered to take your guitar as well, until Roadie-John turned up and muttered something about being put out of a job, confiscating your guitar from Brian.

Brian widened his eyes at you, and the two of you boarded the bus before you could offend any more roadies at far too early of an hour.

“By the way,” Brian said as he held the door open for you, “I like your scarf.”

You tugged on the end of the rainbow garment. “I wonder why.”

Inside, Roger and Heather had arrived and were sitting in a booth by the window, flicking through polaroids. Mary was there too, and she smiled sleepily at you and Brian as you entered, her eyes only half-focussed on the magazine in her lap.

Freddie and Deacy had each drawn the curtains of their bunks. From the sounds of snoring that drifted from their direction, it was obvious that they’d both already fallen asleep again. You envied their ability to slip into unconsciousness so quickly; sleep did not come easily to you, these days.

Brian seemed to think the same thing. “Lucky bastards,” he muttered, “falling asleep like that.”

“Treacherous,” you agreed, and Brian smiled at you. But then you yawned, and he raised his eyebrows.

“Am I to expect your betrayal as well?” he said.

You shook your head. “No, just my annoyingness as a travel partner. Chances are I’ll just yawn for hours and never have anything come of it.”

But Brian frowned thoughtfully. “Exactly what time did you go to bed last night?”

You winced, remembering the late hour. In fact, it wasn’t many hours ago at all. “Midnight,” you responded sheepishly.

“Midnight?” said Brian. “You’re worse than me! Go on,” he ushered you toward a pair of seats, “sit down, have a rest. Even if you can’t sleep, it’s good to close your eyes for a bit.”

“Says the insomniac,” you retorted, albeit half-heartedly. You really were rather tired. You slid into the narrow gap, taking the window seat, and Brian sat down beside you. “You know how hard it is to keep your eyes shut when they don’t want to be.”

Brian smiled, and you knew he empathised. “All the same. Less than three hours of sleep, Y/N. That’s quite bad.”

You sighed. “I know, I know.”

Soon, Roadie-John, Crystal, and Ian Brown, who was to be managing the UK leg of the tour, boarded, and with the driver in his seat, the bus rolled out of Osborn Street and onto the main road.

“Think I’ll try reading,” you said, pulling out the book at the top of the pile in your bag. Brian shrugged off his coat, folding it in his lap and retrieving his paperback from one of the inner pockets.

He looked at his book, and then at yours, and then back at his again.

“What is it?”

“We could just have brought the one copy and shared it,” he said, “saved that packing space.” A goofy grin was on his face as he waved his copy of Steppenwolf, the very same book you held in your hands.

“Oh! You like Hermann Hesse?”

“He’s my favourite author,” said Brian, and the same stupid grin he’d worn before appeared on your own face.

“Good taste,” you told him, covering a yawn.

Crystal dimmed the overhead lights. “I’m going to sleep,” he announced to no one in particular, and as you looked around, you found that, with the exception of the driver, you and Brian were the only ones left awake.

“Well then,” Brian said in the darkness, “there’s not really any good light to read by.”

You snorted. “If you’re trying to convince me to go to sleep, you’re failing miserably.”

Wordlessly, Brian slid his book into the seat pocket in front of him, then eased your bag from your lap and the book from your hands, setting your bag on the floor and the book into its own seat pocket. He lifted his coat from his own lap and draped it over you, tucking it in around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry I’ve nothing more to offer you,” he said softly, as the lights of the city swept over his face through the uncovered window.

And yet he’d given you everything he had. Selflessly, without a thought, though the morning was cold and he still had not warmed from standing outdoors in the wake of the wind.

The simple gesture filled you with such an adoration that you had no way to express it.

You shuffled closer to him and laid his coat across you both, then settled your head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Brian.”

He leaned his head against yours, and you were reminded of the night at Ridge Farm.

You sighed quietly, cuddling into his side. You fought to keep your eyes open, but you were so tired, and Brian was so warm.

“Go to sleep and dream again,” he murmured sweetly, and your eyelids felt a thousand times heavier than before.

“What if I miss something?” you whispered, because the fear of the world passing you by was suddenly overwhelming.

Brian’s voice hummed in harmony with the peaceful silence around him. “I’ll be right here to tell you about everything when you wake up again.”

“Everything?”

“Every butterfly and every tree,” he promised. “Every hole in the road and every star in the sky.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Y/N,” Brian was shaking your shoulder gently. “Love, we’re here.”

You groaned. “M’was fimally ‘sleep,” you said.

“I know. I’ve already postponed waking you for this long, though,” he said. “The others have left. They’ve unloaded the bus.”

You sat up blearily. “Well, I should get on with it, then.”

Brian smiled. “You can sleep when you get to your hotel room. It’s not like we’ve got anything to do today, anyway, until soundcheck.”

“Well, you’ve got to tell me about everything you saw while I was asleep.”

He laughed. “Shouldn’t take too long. It was London to Liverpool, there’s not much to report.”

You passed him his coat, which had somehow migrated entirely over to you, and he passed you your bag, slipping your book back into one of the pockets.

Brian looked at you a moment, and you stared back up at him, wondering what he saw in your half-open eyes and messy hair while you were met with the sight of pretty hazel irises and immaculate curls.

He reached for the rainbow scarf and wound it around you more tightly, adjusting your jumper so that it wasn’t in the way. His touch lingered on the nape of your neck, his eyes roamed yours. His lips were rendered a dusky pink in the pale morning light.

“It’s cold in Liverpool,” he said, and slid from his seat.

Your eyes followed him as he disembarked the bus, his curls bobbing as he bent a little to avoid hitting his head on a beam.

Anyone could have seen the longingness in your stare, how you yearned to call him back, pull him to you, kiss him until he was lost for both breath and words, watch him blush the way he made you blush.

There was really nothing stopping you.

You’re my best friend.

So perhaps there was one thing stopping you.

Brian poked his head back through the door. Affection bloomed in your chest at the mere sight of him. It was sickening.

“Coming?” he asked, far too awake for seven o’clock in the morning.

“Yeah,” you said. “Coming.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: filler? call me out. it’s okay, because next week is chapter 16 :’)

taglist: @melting-obelisks @sgt-stardustkillerqueen @hgmercury39​ @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz​ @perriwiinkle​ @brianmays-hair​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @ilikebigstucks​ @doing-albri​ @killer-queen-87​ @n0-self-c0ntro1​ @archaicmusings​ @cloudyyspace​ @annina-96​ @themarchoftherainbowqueen​ @annajolras��� 

Masterpost / Part 14 / Part 16

[sedge-and-sanctuary]

Sanctuary Pack Stories: The Loner

A story from year seven. After being scattered in the escape from human hunters, the pack is finally ready to go back home. Chicory is reunited with a figure from her past.

"And she still had the gun- I guess I was pretty worried about that- but Uno had the idea to--"

Chicory raises her muzzle, cutting Verand short. "You're limping again."

And Verand's head hunches into an expression so obviously and immediately guilty that Chicory has to bite back a laugh, fighting to keep her face stern. "I've been doing the stretches you told me, you can ask Kit--"

"Like he'd tell me the truth." Chicory snorts. "Slow down-- you don't need to go leaping ten strides ahead. The pack'll hardly leave without us."

"But--" Verand blows out a sigh. "They're just ahead, Chicory. And I swear it isn't sore at all!" She lifts the bad leg to demonstrate, stretching it out ahead in an exaggerated step.

"Hm," Chicory says.

This time, she has to hide a frown.

Verand's range of motion is pretty bad; no sign of stiffness or pain in her body language, but she can't get the leg very high off the ground. Probably she'll be limping on it the rest of her life.

"Fine. Go on then."

And Verand straightens at once, surprise and delight all over her face her face, open and obvious as tansy in bloom.

"It's this way!" She calls, already disappearing through the trees. Her tail wags behind her like a flag, waving them on.

She's a good kid. And she'll be struggling with that leg the rest of her life. Because Chicory hadn't kept her back when she should have. Because she hadn’t been nearly the doctor she should have been.

Probably get worse when she's older, too, she thinks, bitter, and pads on after Verand.

The Sanctuary Pack has been almost a year without a home, scattered wide across unfamiliar territory, fleeing for their lives through baking summer, muddy fall, bitter winter.

And now the spring unfurls before them, thin and cold, with snow still clinging stubborn in the shade.

So their territory is safe again. So they'll all be reunited. So she'll see Radun, again.

Chicory snorts. Looks up. The sky, a chilly dove's-wing gray, is threatening rain.

And wouldn't that be just her luck.

"Verand!"

A voice through the trees- high and clear, Chicory can't quite place it- and Verand, ahead of her, gives a joyful bark and bounds forward, oblivious to Chicory's censure.

She hurtles into a dark, slim wolf- Uno, it must be- and the two go rolling head-over-hocks through the muddy undergrowth, tails wagging fit to stir up a storm.

The wind, shifting, carries the mingled scents of many wolves towards them; the pack, at last.

Chicory lifts her nose, testing the air; no hint of sickness she can detect. No stink of infection, no rotting sweetness.

"Chicory." A low voice-- she turns, and Kit- a big, square young wolf- pads up to stand beside her.

"Yes?"

"Is everyone... alright? In your group?" Something hangs a little sad and serious hanging around his eyes, the way mist will cling to water.

"They'll take some feeding up." Chicory shrugs. "But well enough, I guess. Considering."

"That's good." His eyes keep sliding away from Chicory's, watching his friends play sidelong, so obviously hangdog it's nearly literal, his head drooping low.

Chicory softens- just a little, mind you- and gestures towards Verand and Uno. "Pull those two wolverines apart, would you? I'm sure I can find my own way."

He doesn't need much more convincing. As Chicory walks on, his voice joins theirs; a low and rumbling counterpoint, and warm as the thaw.

Chicory fluffs her fur against the wind, scowling. If the thaw ever comes.

She picks her way onwards, cold mud squelching unpleasantly between her toes.

Is thinking, they better have picked a drier spot to camp, when she comes through a break in the trees, and there is all of Sanctuary, gathered up and waiting.

Finch is fussing over the pups, Maize laid out in a sunbeam watching him, panting a little in that wheezy, painful way- can't Eight look after her patients when Chicory isn't around?- and a couple of scouts are straggling in: Dace and Rover, muddy but apparently satisfied.

Rover splits off immediately, to look for Seven, the two old wolves gray around their muzzles, speaking too low for Chicory to hear above the general babble of voices, and Chicory watches them-- watches all of them-- and feels some foolish, unwanted warmth bubbling up like water in a hot spring, something nearly scalding, too strong, too hot to hold in her, too much--

And there is Radun, too, looking up, the first wolf out of all of them to notice Chicory standing there.

And she is just-- standing there. Rooted to the spot by that wave of feeling, blindsided, just by seeing all of them, together and safe again. She’s going soft, probably. Can’t bring herself to care too much.

So she only stands and watches as Radun gets up, and walks across the clearing to greet her.

"Chicory. You look very well." Her voice musical and strangely deep, that odd formality. When she dips her head, low, in greeting, even their poor thin sun cannot help but catch the highlights of her rich, golden fur.

Chicory clears her throat, and clears it again. "You too," she says, stiff. "It's-- good to see you again. Been a while."

Radun straightens. "It has." A pause. "Is Verand--"

Of course-- that's why she'd come up to say hello. Chicory shakes herself, feeling foolish.

"Right behind me. Got caught up with Kit and Uno."

"I see." A pause. Radun shifts from paw to paw, evidently restless. "And is she--"

"She's alright. Favouring the leg a little, is all." I wish I had better news to give you.

"Good. That's good to hear." She clears her throat. Looks over Chicory's shoulder, something stiff in her face, her posture. "I-- thank you very much for indulging my worry. It means a great deal."

"Not a problem." Chicory fights back the horrible honeycomb-feeling bubbling up in her chest, airy and stinging and sweet at her words.

She's only being polite, she's always polite.

They hesitate for another moment, Radun still not quite meeting Chicory's eyes. Watching for her sister, probably, but too polite to go.

"I should go check in with Dace," Chicory should say. Give her an excuse.

Says, instead, "how've you been keeping, then?"

And Radun looks up, almost startled, right at Chicory, at last, something deep and warm in her tawny eyes, something almost…

"I've been well," she says, "very well, under the circumstances. Thank you. I--"

And Chicory looks away, unable to bear it, looks past Radun's shoulder just to-- settle her nerves, her damn idiot nerves, getting excited over nothing--

And all the heat goes out of the world, just like that. Like the sun's been swallowed up, like the seasons are turning backwards.

Eight is chatting with a patient, in the shadow of an oak; she hadn't seen them, when she'd first arrived, tucked away in the shade. And her patient-- a newcomer. Not of The Pack-- a gray wolf, huge out of all proportion, built broad and strong, and his eyes glitter with a sort of watchful, foxlike intelligence.

Chicory knows him, immediately.

Something must show on her face-- Radun ducks her head again. "My apologies. I've taken up too much of your time."

"No," Chicory starts to say, don't worry about it, no, you haven't, but she's turning already, and leaving Chicory with--

With him.

Jumps For Clouds watches Radun as she passes. Looks back along her path to spot Chicory, and the thoughts flicker, visibly, across his narrow face; surprise, at first, with understanding coming snapping at its heels.

He turns, and says something in Eight's ear. She looks up, surprised.

Together, they get up, and start towards her.

Chicory skirts the edge of the camp to meet them. Wants this conversation happening as far from the rest of the pack as possible. If her secrets must come out-- well. She supposes they'll all learn of it, eventually. Probably foolish, trying to draw it out.

She ducks her head away, as Eight and Jumper get near, some great weight pulling her down towards the earth.

"Chicory!" Eight says, "I'm glad to see you back. This is--"

"Jumps For Clouds," Jumper says, smoothly. "But you can call me Jumper. A pleasure."

Chicory looks up, slowly. "--Chicory," she says. "It's-- nice to meet you."

He nods, amiably, face open and friendly. "Now-- I understand you're this pack's other healer?"

"I am." No sense denying it. But telling him anything makes Chicory's fur itch. He remembers her-- he must remember her. He's just got some... angle, is what it is.

He'd always had some sort of angle.

"I thought so. You know, you just seem like a healer to me. Even kinda look like one I used to know."

"I guess there's sort of a-- common look," Eight offers, a note of uncertainty creeping into her voice.

"Sure," Chicory says, stiff. "It's the hunchback."

Jumper laughs, over-loud. "Well, see, I knew someone in this pack had to have a sense of humour! Listen--" he turns to Eight, apologetic. "Listen, do you mind if I have her take a look? I really do feel--"

Eight stiffens, a little, but nods. "It can never hurt to get a second opinion."

"I thank you." Jumper dips his head. "Listen- Chicory, was it? Chicory, I swear I'm feeling under the weather, but the lovely miss Eight here says she can't find anything wrong. Would you mind..."

"Of course not." The words are stiff in her mouth, bitter. "Eight, I can take it from here."

Eight hesitates, frowning. "Are you sure? I have his history, I can--"

"I can ask him." Chicory looks over her shoulder-- back towards Dace, settling down to a meal. "I'm sure you've got other things to do."

Eight follows her eyes, visibly brightens. "Well," she says, with badly-feigned reluctance."If you're really sure--"

And at Chicory's nod, she sets off towards Dace at a barely-restrained trot, affection coming off her so palpable you could nearly see it.

Chicory watches her go, a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Well, who'd've thought you'd learn to manage people," Jumper says, voice light. "Wasn't the most subtle job I've ever seen, but--"

Chicory looks at him. "Jumper."

He tips his head in greeting. "Chews on Chicory," he says. "Fancy finding you here." Something thoughtful in his tone.

"What do you want?"

"Want?" He looks hurt. "Shelter, Chicory, a little help! You know, my own pack's fallen to war. Horrible tragedy."

"It has?" Chicory blinks. So the Pack At High Mountain was gone. "I had no idea--"

"Oh,” Jumper says, smooth as ice. “ I think you had some.”

Chicory looks at him. Feels a sort of frost creeping over her, inexorable, cold vertebrae-by-vertebrae along her spine.

"Of course," he goes on, "I might be mistaken. A common look, right? I might never have met you at all, before today."

Chicory doesn't respond. Doesn't know how to.

The pack had fallen-- how many wolves lost to the fighting, then? How many that she might have saved, if she were there?

"Listen, all I'm asking is a little-- a little healing. Your hunter, Rime, she wants me out with her team, but I'm sure I'm feeling under the weather. I should be getting my beauty rest, not getting myself all-- worn out and cut up hunting. Wouldn't you agree?"

Chicory meets his eyes, for a long moment. A more evidently strong, healthy young wolf she's never seen.

As if from an enormous distance, the warm, familiar sounds of the pack filter towards them-- the excited chatter of the puppies, the easy ribbing of a group of hunters setting out. How long has she been with this pack-- two years, three?

Good years-- good wolves.

"I just need the good opinion of a healer," Jumper says. "That's all."

Chicory ducks her head, guilt in her heavy as a stone.

"Of course," she says, at last. "Come with me."