#like yes he is setting himself up to be a new revered figure and it’s very likely that edward will fall into that and displace all of that

[moonstruckme]

if it’d be ok to ask, would you ever want to write some sweet fluff of remus & a chubby/plus-sized reader?? i’ve been kind of struggling lately, the holidays are a difficult time for me & my body and i just personally love to think about how he’d love a soft figure 🩷

Of course it's okay to ask sweetheart! I'm not sure how this ended up going in a pre-relationship direction but it did, so the adulation isn't quite as overt but I hope it comes across anyway? Hope you're having an easier time my love <33

Remus Lupin x plus size!reader ♡ 872 words

Remus stubs his cigarette out before he reaches the front door, tossing the butt into the grass and telling himself he’ll come back to throw it out later. You don’t like when he brings the smell inside, and he’s not keen on another lecture from James on how he’s shoddily built enough without sabotaging his lungs too. When he opens the door, the apartment smells of cinnamon and sweetness. 

“Fuck, he’s home. We’re doomed now.” Sirius tilts his head back, dark hair streaming over the back of the couch, to send Remus a droll look. 

“No, no, he’ll be a sport.” James turns around beside him. “Rem, we’re trying to decide between playing blackjack”—he infuses the words with a good amount of enthusiasm, eyebrows raising meaningfully—”or doing a puzzle.” His face falls. “Which would you prefer?” 

“I’m sick of blackjack,” you say, coming into the room carrying a plate of cookies. And you’re…wow. You’re wearing a dress Remus hasn’t seen before. It hugs and flutters about your curves prettily, swishing around your hips as you breeze into the living room to set the plate in front of James like a bribe. “And I made snacks, so you’d think I get a bigger say.” 

“Doll, we appreciate you, but you’re just bitter because you lost everything last night,” Sirius says while James munches happily on a cookie. “You don’t want a chance to win some back?” 

You shoot him the sort of deadpan look you’ve only recently worked up the courage to start using on them. “We were playing with gummy bears, Sirius. I’m not too torn up about it.” 

“I’d be alright with a puzzle,” Remus says, settling into his favored armchair.

Sirius sends him a look like Of course you would, you lovesick traitor, but it’s easy to ignore when you’re smiling at him so beautifully. 

“Yes! Knew I could count on you.” The easy words warm his chest more than they have any right to, helped along by your hand on his knee for balance as you lower yourself to the ground by his feet. 

“Fine,” Sirius grouses, standing, “but I’m picking the puzzle.” 

“More than a hundred pieces,” you say as he goes to the shelf. “If we’re done in a half hour, I’m going to petition for starting another.” 

“Wretch.”

You tilt your head back to see Remus, lowering your voice. “You’ve been smoking,” you whisper. 

He grins, caught. “Don’t tell.” 

“I won’t,” you roll your eyes, patting his calf reassuringly, “but don’t get near James, he’ll sniff you out too.” 

“Thanks, love. Is that dress new?” 

You dip your head, one of your shy smiles gracing your lips. “Yeah, I got it a few days ago.” 

“It looks really nice,” he tells you, struggling to keep the reverence from his tone. “You look really nice.” 

“You think so?” You make no effort to hide how pleased you are at the compliment, your eyes wide and sweet as they look up at him. It’s one of the things he really likes about you. “Thanks, Rem. Did you get a cookie?” 

“Not sure there are going to be any left,” he notes, eyes going to where James is wharfing down another, watching the two of you sneakily out of the corner of his eye. 

You laugh, reaching forward to steal a few from the plate. Remus tries not to let his eyes catch too obviously on the backs of your plush thighs as you sit up on your knees to lean over the coffee table. It’s a substantial effort.

He thanks you when you pass him a couple, inspecting the beige and brown swirls on the treat. “What are they?”

“Cinnamon roll cookies,” you say through a bite. “Figured I’d try something new.” 

Remus takes a bite, letting the warm softness meld to the roof of his mouth. “It’s really good.” 

One of your shoulders comes up, a bashful half-shrug. (Remus wants to put his hand over it. Wrap the strap of your pretty dress around his pinkie.) “Thanks,” you breathe, like the word is starting to feel awkward and too-familiar in your mouth. 

James shoots Remus a look. He ignores it pointedly. 

“We have too many difficult ones,” Sirius announces as he flops back onto the couch, unceremoniously depositing a puzzle box on the table. “I found the simplest option I could.” 

You roll your eyes at Sirius’ bellyaching, sliding the plate of cookies closer to him and giving his hand a conciliatory pat. 

The look he fixes on you in return is disgruntlement entirely for show. (He loves you, truly.) “Can we at least have some wine while we work?” 

“I have no intention of ruining your night, Sirius,” you say diplomatically. “Bring it on out.” 

He hops back up, eager to avoid the tiresome work of building the puzzle’s foundation, and aims for the kitchen. 

“Alright, losers,” James says, dumping the pieces on the table, “get us started.” 

You tug on Remus’ wrist, pulling him down from his chair so he’s sitting beside you. One of his knees presses into your thigh. You bump his bony shoulder lightly with your soft one. 

“Help me with the border?” 

He’ll do anything you ask him to.

[inviouswriting]

Perfume

Was rewatching some cutscenes for Zhongli about the perfumes that were made for Guizhong.

This is a smut story loves.

I meant it to be soft and sweet... turned into spicy.

Warnings below.

Zhongli x fem!reader

Contents - afab!reader x Zhongli, cunningulus, blow job, sex, multiple orgasms, female squirting, doggy style, established relationship, married couple being happy and horny.

“What about this one?” You hold up a bottle of oil to Zhongli. He looks at it, the scent of gardenias.  

“Too floral. If you like the scent, we can include it.” Ningguang gave you an idea to try with Zhongli in creating a perfume and cologne set with him. So, you both spent the morning and into the day with him matching scents between you two.  

“Floral might be too much.” You make a face, then pick a bottle that has glaze lily to it. Sweet and delicate in the scent. Before you can uncork the bottle, Zhongli plucks it from your hands, a half pained look in his eyes regarding the fragrance. He leaves it corked not even taking a second to smell the fragrance within.

“Not this one. I want to separate you from the memories of Guizhong as much as possible.” He explains in a gentle manner, and you nod, understanding what he means. Glaze lilies were a special memory for him, and he did not want to cross his past with his future. You have noted the times he will present you with a flower always looking at you instead of the flower. As if to associate you with the new memory he makes instead of making it about her.

You see him look at the bottle with fondness, then set it down gently with reverence into its spot. He hovers his hand over another bottle next to it. A bottle of vanilla, then tugs along with it a bit of sandalwood.

“I think this will be better. I’ll also use sandalwood as a base. What do you think to go with it?” You look at the bottles again, sitting alot closer to Zhongli when he tugs you in under his arm. He brings a dish of coffee beans for you to cleanse your sense of smell.

You look at the bottles in front of you, trying to find one that feels like Zhongli. You even feel his eyes on you, taking a glance up to his amber eyes, you feel them warm and comforting. Like fire, but that gentle heat that can warm you, but also burn if you stoke the wrong way.

You move your hand over a bottle and lift one that is of orange blossom for you and tea tree for him. It melds with the sandalwood nicely, and you present it to him.

“Fitting. You find ways to surprise me even now.” He likes the scents, and he adds another small scent to yours in a sweet mint.

You both present the perfume oils to the maker, letting them do their own magic.

“It will be about... four days to cure. Will that be okay with you?” You’re asked and nod a yes.

“That will be fine, we’ll return then.” When you both leave together the scent of fresh air hits you both having spent the last while smelling everything to create something for you and him. Zhongli tugs you under his arm having a moment to himself with a gentle press of his nose to the top of your head to take in the natural scent of you with whatever soap you had used.  

“Li, people are staring.” You remind him you’re in public, this doesn’t make him move to straighten himself or make it look like you’re less in love than you are together.

“Let them. I’m not doing anything foreign, am I? Just give me these few minutes.” He lowers his head to your neck, and you feel your face red as another small intake of breath from his tells you what he’s trying to do.  

“I’ll be a second my dear.” He slips back into the perfume shop and you stand bewildered at his behavior of smelling you that way then leaving you with a few straggling shoppers giggling at the unique display of affection, to anyone else it looked like he was kissing your head or neck, when you know he was scenting to figure out another smell to go along with your perfume and cologne.

When he rejoins you, he takes your hands to bring both to his face to kiss your fingers in apology for the display he did. You regard him warmly with your eyes, seeing how much love he has for you in those vibrant gold eyes.

You spend the rest of the day with him from eating at Wanmin to finding a spot on one of the cliffsides to watch the harbor and sunset. You are seated in front of the former archon, and he’s almost wrapped around you with his arms crossing in front of your chest, and you settled between his legs facing away from him. His head rests on top of yours, you don’t see the way he smiles content with where he is in this life.

The next few days were a blur filled with anticipation for the perfume and cologne that was made. Zhongli had picked the fragrances up and you were waiting for him at home when he arrived with the bottles. You could tell he is happy with the bottles looking like geo symbols, yours on top of his as a way to symbolize how much he supports you and if the bottles were turned the reverse. You nudge his side as you pick up your end.

“Still the geo archon.” You see the way his eyes light up at the comment, a laugh from him.

“Some habits don’t die.” He takes the bottle from you and takes your wrist to dab some of it on then at your neck. The scent fits you, refreshing from the mint and calming with the sandalwood. The other note that you catch is cloves with the orange blossom. Sweet yet fiery has a delicate way of being intoxicating. You had closed your eyes missing the way his eyes fixate on you.

Zhongli’s scent mirrors yours with the gentleness of the sandalwood, his having more of a lavender bergamot, and to contrast your clove scent was cinnamon. Also, spicy but fitting as a fiery man he is, the hidden dragon underneath it all. There was something underlying and you couldn’t put your finger on it when you smelled the scent once it was on him.

It was like a flipped switch, even your husband noted it; a smile on his lips when you feel your face warm and your legs warmer.

“Seems like it is working. The reason this perfumer is sought after is their work with pheromones.” He had begun to undo his clothing, and before you knew it you were engaged with him in an intense kiss. Zhongli had safely set the perfume bottles somewhere safe before he pinned you to the table, proceeding to climb on top of you as he kisses you into it. You writhe underneath when he nibbles on your neck, his hands slipping underneath your dress tugging at your clothes to undo them swift to be further entangled with you.

You let him undress you, taking layers of silk and lace from you, while you tug off him his suit, tugging him by his tie with a grin. Zhongli cups your face when he kisses you, returning his hands to your body once he has it bare.

Zhongli sheds his clothes when he raises up and tugs you by your waist to him. You let him love you right there. You sigh underneath him when he presses into you, he is too impatient to properly tease you after the scents drive him insane that he has to have you now.

Your scream resonates in the quiet air, and you reach a hand up to him to touch his face as he rests inside of you. You tug him for a kiss, and he meets you for it. You both are soon lost when he begins to thrust, each movement leaves you wanting more from him, the mild sting ebbing off into pure pleasure.

Zhongli lifts your waist into his thrusts, and you see stars behind your eyes when he does. The former archon keeps watch of your face, when your expression twists to pure pleasure he hits that spot again till your legs wrap at his waist to pull him in deeper. Your hands go to his shoulders to scratch at his skin while he holds you to him.

You feel the first orgasm rush through your body and coat his cock in juices with a breathed sigh. Zhongli follows afterwards with filling you, watching how you search his eyes when he’s relaxed. He isn’t done with you, far from it. He soon tugs you with him to the floor where he has better leverage to love you, his lips catch an ear as he arranges you on your hands and knees. Zhongli gets you into the position he wants you in and without waiting much longer sinks himself back into you with a loud groan from the former archon at feeling you tighten around him.

All you can think of is how good he feels inside, you even rise up so you can brace yourself for the thrusts he was about to do. Slow draw backs then strong thrusts in that make you yelp when the head of his cock is so much deeper than earlier. Zhongli reaches a hand into your hair to begin tugging it so your neck is exposed to him. He presses a kiss to it as he intakes the gentle scent of the perfume mixed with the pheromone, he could detect making him twitch inside when it works to relight his drive to have you over and over.

You feel nothing but pleasure, fingers reaching under to play with your clit till your legs tremble and you let an orgasm rush through you and drip onto the floor after cumming on his hand. Zhongli feels this and buries himself deeper to feel you clenching on him, he grins seeing the way your face is pressed to your arms as you lay your head on the floor to catch your breath.

Zhongli takes a good look at you blissed out, panting for breath and moaning out from your last orgasm. He sees your limbs trembling, and he casts his eyes up only to catch sight of himself in a reflection from a glass door. He looks less of the gentleman that others are accustomed to and more like his former self in his archon days. He regards how you look with glossy eyes staring at nothing.  

With ease Zhongli flips you onto your back and guides your legs back to loop over his shoulders. His gold gaze drifts down as he guides himself back into you, proving just how much stamina the man has. You barely hold onto the last of yours.

“We will work on your endurance so you can go all day and night with me even after we’re use to the perfumes a bit more. I know it is a little intense for your first time using a pheromone based one. You my dear are absolutely.... intoxicating and I can’t get enough of how you feel, sound, and all of your darling expressions. My love, one more for me.” You see his eyes light up and knew what he meant, you reach your hands out to grasp anything and find your hands on the legs of the table as Zhongli starts to thrust again a lot harder and more precise as if ensuring he is pressed as deep as he goes till the tip bumps against the spongy spot of your g-spot.

You can’t help the moans that fall from your lips as he makes you see stars behind your eyes. Each cry you make is punctuated by one of Zhongli’s groans at how good you feel, he tugs you underneath him better till you both are lost to pleasure, and you reach a hand towards your husband, he catches it to lace his fingers with yours. His other hand catches your left foot to where he can kiss an ankle while staring down at your pleading face. He smooths his hand along your leg down, letting it rest on his shoulder while he rubs your clit again in circles till you are trambling again from pleasure.

The constant thrusts against your g-spot left pressure buidling in your belly and white flashes behind your eyes as you arch up in a series of cries as you have such a powerful orgasm that you squirt on his abdomen and almost force him out of your pussy.

Zhongli is watching your face twist in pleasure till you are so lost in what you feel, he sees how you release this gush of fluid like earlier, even a part of perversion in him as he spreads your folds so he can see how it sprays out. He keeps his fingers rubbing your clit to encourage another squirt, till he is sure the floor is drenched just from your unique cum you produce.  

“Keep going my love, you can give me another. Yes... like this... keep going.” You barely hear Zhongli through your own moans as he draws orgasm after the next till, he’s tugging gently on your sensitive nub.

“Li! I’ve had enough please!” Five more orgasms after the last one and he’s came four within you working on the last one. He relents on you and knows you’re getting tired. After your last one, he pulls from inside you and you know that look in his eyes as he kneels over you, and you immediately start sucking on his cock.  

The moans he makes from deep in his throat as you take him deep into your mouth, not minding your own taste as you swirl your tongue around the tip. The hand on the back of your head guides you in going down till your lips brush the base. Your fingers touch the sac to roll his balls as he thrusts into your mouth.  

“Good girl... good girl! Swallow!” You taste him as he cums the salty sweetness of his seed. If you weren’t so sensitive from earlier you would have been touching your pussy for more, but when you glide your fingers over the slit you feel a slight sting from being overworked. You pull off of his cock and swallow what is in your mouth a few stray streams of his cum on your lips as you meet his eyes taking you in being covered in it.

“My dear... I’ll draw a bath for us, long enough for you to rest. We’re far from done... the water will help keep you from getting sore...” You look up at him pleading to have mercy, and you understand that he’s holding back everything to keep going.

“At least let me eat something?” He smiles at your request.

“Of course, you’ll need the energy. I’ll prepare for you, don’t keep me waiting too long?” You bite your lip to see how he is hard again just after that. You lay on the floor to regain your strength as you pant and slightly giggle to yourself.

“I’ll have to wear that perfume on special occasions.” You gather yourself on shaking legs and grab something to nibble on to give yourself a lot more energy for your husband. Former archon, but also loving husband and insatiable lover once you stoked his fire.

“Morax, I’ll be a little longer to clean the mess we made in here.” You blush seeing a mix of your fluids and his.

“My love, I’ll take care of it and clean it properly. Please come here. I need you.” You can hear the strain in his voice, and knew if you didn’t get to him in a timely manner, he will either come out to you and add to the mess, or drag you in. To spare the floor further mess, you mop up what you could with a towel then proceed to join your husband after dabbing a bit more of the perfume on.

You see his eyes the moment he smells you, and know you aren’t leaving that room for a while.

“My dear... you have no idea what you’re doing to me.” Zhongli sighs at seeing your mischievous gleam in your eyes.

“I think I do know what I am doing. Satisfying a dragon in heat.” You join him in the bath and immediately are pulled to straddle his waist.

“You’re in for a long session this time. I hope the water is to your liking. Now please... I need my mate.” You sigh and humor him. You laugh as you begin to ride him and nuzzle his face to kiss him. He returns these subtle gestures and you are kissed in every way even as he breathes into your skin to inhale the perfume and etch every expression into his memory.

“Long night indeed.”  

[miguelswifey04]

as a request, imagine wearing a lingerie for Noir🤤

yes he’d prob be so whipped sooo here it is 💆🏽‍♀️

one night before peter came from doing his rounds as spider-man in the cold starry night of NYC, you decided to surprise peter with a cute black lingerie set. ‘i hope he likes this,’ you murmur to yourself as you stand in front of the mirror checking yourself out, making sure you look decent for him. you were always confident in yourself but for some reason this was a little out of your comfort zone yet you wanted to try something new—to spice things up. you know peter is such a hardworking man so you wanted to give him a treat.

a surge of nervousness yet excitement reeled in your body as you counted down the time he’d usually come home around 12am. the anticipation was killing you but at the same time you were excited to see his reaction. this was your first time doing something like this for spider-noir, your partner. you suddenly hear the door crack open—it was him. he was home, and it was your time to make your move that’ve you anticipated the whole night.

spider-noir slowly entered the apartment, his muscles glistening with a sheen of sweat. his brows furrowed in exhaustion as he took off his fedora hat and his long black trench coat hanging it on the coat hanger by the door. he slowly took off his mask as he inhaled the cool sweet air of the apartment and dropped his shoulders as he felt himself relax in the comfort of his home. he rolled up his sleeved that exposed his veins and his toned forearms as he headed to the bedroom where you were at, but you met him halfway in the hallway. the moment his eyes landed on your figure adorned in that sexy black lacy lingerie you wore for him a rush of desire and adoration flowed within him. he felt himself smirking at you as he pulled you in by the waist, “wow, is this for me? you look sexy my darling.”

“mhmm, just for you peter.” you winked as you rubbed your hands over his broad chest. a hunger ignited within him, erasing any residual weariness. His eyes widened in surprise, desire pooling within their depths. the sight of you, a stunning vision of seduction, sparked a fire within him that could not be quenched. a gust of air escaped his lips as his gaze hungrily traced every curve of your body, his own yearning palpable. “god, i can never get enough of you…”

without a word, spider-noir dropped to his knees before you, his hands reverently caressing the smooth skin of your legs. his lips trailed along your thigh, leaving a scorching trail of kisses in their wake.

“oh my darling," he murmured, his voice thick with a mixture of desire and awe, "you are a vision. a goddess in the night, embodying every fantasy and desire that stirs within me."

his touch, both gentle and possessive, traced the contours of your body, worshipping you with every stroke. his lips found their way to your inner thighs, his warm breath sending shivers of anticipation coursing through your body.

his tongue teased and pleasured, as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, lost in the intoxicating dance of desire. there, on his knees, he worshipped you with an intensity that left you trembling with need. he ate you out right there and there while he hooked your leg over his shoulder for support. you didn’t have to worry about your knees buckling or anything of that sort because peter had a strong hold on.

with each passionate caress, spider-noir brought you to the edge, his touch guiding you to the precipice of ecstasy. the room seemed to pulsate with the weight of your mutual desire, every touch and stroke igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment.

as the climax reached over you, your juices gushed all over his face and he relished in the feeling of your warm essence splattered on his face. he licked his lips cleaned then proceed to lick his fingers right in front of you, making your breath hitch. spider-noir rose to his feet, his gaze filled with raw desire. without hesitation, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his arms enveloping you in a possessive embrace. “come, let’s go to the bedroom. i’m not done with you yet love.”

———

a/n: sorry i edged y’all this 🙊

[rjalker]

"in the book A Square's grandson is a little law-abiding snitch"

oh my gods please do not slander that poor child like this, that is completely and absolutely untrue. He is not a snitch. He's not the reason the narrator eventually got caught.

This poor little kid literally thought his grandfather was trying to set *him* up to get arrested. He's a poor little kid who thought his grandfather was going to send him to jail for talking back to him the night before.

extra line breaks added by me for readability

When my Grandson entered the room I carefully secured the door. Then, sitting down by his side and taking our mathematical tablets,—or, as you would call them, Lines—I told him we would resume the lesson of yesterday. I taught him once more how a Point by motion in One Dimension produces a Line, and how a straight Line in Two Dimensions produces a Square. After this, forcing a laugh, I said, "And now, you scamp, you wanted to make me believe that a Square may in the same way by motion 'Upward, not Northward' produce another figure, a sort of extra Square in Three Dimensions. Say that again, you young rascal."

At this moment we heard once more the herald's "O yes! O yes!" outside in the street proclaiming the Resolution of the Council. Young though he was, my Grandson—who was unusually intelligent for his age, and bred up in perfect reverence for the authority of the Circles—took in the situation with an acuteness for which I was quite unprepared. He remained silent till the last words of the Proclamation had died away, and then, bursting into tears, "Dear Grandpapa," he said, "that was only my fun, and of course I meant nothing at all by it; and we did not know anything then about the new Law; and I don't think I said anything about the Third Dimension; and I am sure I did not say one word about 'Upward, not Northward', for that would be such nonsense, you know. How could a thing move Upward, and not Northward? Upward and not Northward! Even if I were a baby, I could not be so absurd as that. How silly it is! Ha! ha! ha!"

read for free on Project Gutenberg and also literally everywhere else on the internet.

He's not a snitch. Not even remotely. He did not tell, as far as we know, a single soul what his grandfather told him.

He thought his grandfather was doing all of this to trick him into breaking the new law, and literally burst into tears over it.

The reason A Square eventually got caught, literally almost an entire year later, is because he couldn't help himself but tell everyone the whole story after he heard another scholar claiming that it was just the divine will of God that only two dimensions exist.

His grandson did not do anything wrong. He's not a snitch. He didn't tell anyone anything, and he's not the reason his grandfather got caught. He's most likely the equivalent of a little five year old, and he kept his grandfather's theories of the third dimension a secret even though he knew it was breaking the law by not turning him in.

[shioritsumi]

Mo Tuxuan is a character I haven't figured out as much on, but I have decided him literally being Mobei-jun reincarnated is funny so i'm rolling with it.

He was set up in a cold and distant home to be reborn in, professional, educated, powerful....kind of like being the royal family, but not quite. He was basically predestined to be the head of North Kingdom industries from the start and his entire life has been rearranged to that end. He's a little disappointed, his second life is almost the same as his first...but he's not technically royalty, and he's not a demon. Very little else has changed.

And then he's at a meeting with the CEO of another company and he encounters an account manager by the name of Shang Qingshui who seems off put by him but not....scared. Well, yes, scared, but not in the feeble sheep-like way most office workers are. He's carried his demon king aura and attitude with him, and it intimidates almost everyone he encounters. Qingshui immediately recognizes the aura and bristles bc there's NO WAY Mobei-jun is here, he CAN'T be this unlucky he'll just do his job and get out of the CEO's hair and maybe if he stonewalls the man he won't try to pull him back in.

Except Mo Tuxuan is so amazed there's a human who can stand up to him and casually disregard him he's actually kind of obsessed now. He needs to talk to that man more. He looks at Tuxuan like he's a WORM. No one else does that, no one else even dares to look at him like that. Everyone else looks up at him and cowers, Shang Qingshui looks up at him and narrows his eyes and digs in his heels.

Meanwhile on Qingshui's end, after his very first interaction with the man he sincerely hopes is not actually Mobei-jun because if he was that would be really fucked up right, he receives a message from the System announcing that he's just gained 1000 B Points! Quest line unlocked- North Kingdom Industries! What even, how did this happen. He was hoping being rude would make him not want to interact with him ever again. Instead, every time he does business with their company he insists that he be assisted by Shang Qingshui.

"Are you sure, sir? He's...just an accounts manager, not an assistant or anything." "Which accounts does he handle?" ".....payroll...." "I am interested in acquiring accounts from your company, I'll need to see how the payroll will function. I will require his help."

Shen Tianyu watching the whole thing playing out: "I think he's smitten with you something fierce. Remember how I looked back when Lianhua started coming around back in college?" "Or how Binghe looks at you...all the time?" "Yeah. That's how he looks at you." "....I am actively trying to bully him into leaving me alone." "I guess that's his kink." "Gross." "You're into it, though, I know you are."

Meanwhile Mo Tuxuan doesn't know why he can't stop thinking about the tiny human manager who reminds him a little of someone he knew in his previous life and who takes charge over him and is a wizard with paperwork and accounts payable and every part of him absolutely fills him with desire. The fact that they're both clearly aware how easily he could crush Qingshui and the fact that Qingshui still pushes back against him just makes Tuxuan's crush worse. He finds Shang Qingshui pathetic, not in a sad hamster way like Airplane, but in the epic boyfail way that he acts like he's hardcore and makes way too many unnecessary risks while trying to make himself seem unlikable and accidentally making himself into the cold-blooded rebel punk instead. It's even worse since Qingshui is educated and experienced enough by now that he should totally know better.

New Moshang after the identity reveal like "You killed me!" "And you killed me....." Shang Qingshui just sort of gives him a light backhand "don't say that in such a reverent tone like it's a marriage proposal, sir" But the blush increases bc that backtalk just makes Qingshui HOTTER.

[nyaagolor]

Crystal Nuzlocke Introduction

Got a pretty resounding "yes" on my poll asking if people would be ok with me dumping my idea sessions here so yippee! Since the story relies on a fair bit of context, I figured it would be nice to make an intro post before I start getting into the details of everything. Below the cut so the dash isn't clogged!

What is this project: A multimedia (mixed novelization and comic) retelling of a nuzlocke playthrough I did of pokemon crystal called Tastes Like Chicken (TLC). When it's finished it'll be posted on AO3, mostly as a written story but with comics and full illustrations supplementing the prose pretty frequently

Why multimedia: Comics take too long but I still want the vibe of a Nuzlocke comic. This is a happy medium

Setting: Takes place in Johto but in the Legends era, so it's based extremely loosely on early Edo period Japan. The characters are the same from the original games, just reimagined into the legends time period. The biggest change is that animals AND Pokemon exist here, so Pokemon are treated like yokai and are revered and feared as almost divine / godly beings because of their power and magic. Those who train pokemon (gym leaders, who act as regional leaders / daimyo) are said to be connected to the gods and use that divine power to rule and protect their lands, and bow to more powerful trainers. Wild pokemon behave pretty similar to how they do in legends

Premise: About a year prior to the story, one of the daimyo (Giovanni) staged a coup to officially seize power from the shogunate (Lance) while backed by four of the region's other eight daimyo. The coup failed quietly, but has risen tensions everywhere among the region's elite who fear their status and power are being threatened. Meanwhile, having stole one of his father's pokemon, the shogunate's son hides out in a small village, taking scraps and handouts from the local butcher (Yuki, the protagonist). A chance encounter leads them both to reveal they have been training pokemon in secret-- Silver to protect himself, and Yuki because she's leaving town for good and going on an adventure of her own. Yuki discovered, almost by accident, that Pokemon taste very, VERY good and is raising a cyndaquil she befriended so she can travel around the region cooking every pokemon she can find, with her ultimate goal being to eat Ho-Oh. They travel around the region together, getting progressively more involved in the region's testy political climate despite their best efforts

Main Characters: Yuki: A butcher who lives on the outskirts of New Bark. She discovred some time ago that pokemon are as delicious and edible as regular animals, and has befriended a cyndaquil from the nearby forest to help her cook, and eat them. When news of political unrest in New Bark reaches her, she takes it as a sign to leave the town for good and adventure around Johto in search of new things to try Silver: The shogunate's son. He has been raised in a high stakes political environment and hates the Johtoian elite with a passion because of it. He ran away from home after stealing a pokemon from his father and lives as a skittish street kid in New Bark while he tries to figure out what to do. He ends up hanging around Yuki, who leaves out food for him, and chooses to travel with her when she leaves town because he'd rather hang out with a pokemon-eating weirdo than starve

Story Changes: Little disclaimer of sorts that a fair bit of stuff is changed from the original games here. This is a reimagining of the game that's set in a totally different time period, so a lot of the worldbuilding, character ages, teams, and overall story are pretty different from what's in the actual game

[saionofvalflame]

❀ stained blood

The sun has set by the time he finishes with his Reason essay and moves on to the last item of homework: his Authority assignment. As he works, the light of the few candles flickers and wavers around him, tossing shadows here and there on the walls and furniture. Some people might find the dim and unreliable lighting annoying, but Saias has worked in these conditions for most of his life, learning his letters and tactics by night after the work was done and the other orphans off to bed. The low light does mean, however, that after he wraps up with his final piece of homework, he has to get up and walk all the way over to the better-lit washroom to clean off the ink stains from his hands and wrists.

(He’d almost always been a messy writer, and growing into the noble status he obtained upon entering the academy—coming in to the birthright he held within his veins—hasn’t done much to fix that, it seems. Good thing he uses inks that are easy enough to wash out, or his entire wardrobe would be sporting bad cuff stains right about now, to say nothing of his hands.)

The warmth of the water and the familiar routine soothes him, lulling his mind closer to sleep. It’s been a long day, and his candles had almost entirely burned down... he catches himself nodding off and jerks himself awake. He can sleep after he’s finished cleaning up, he reminds himself. It’s then that he blinks down at his right hand, which has been scrubbing at the same exact spot on his left wrist for several moments now. Oh, great Bragi, I really am tired, aren’t I. Shaking his head, the redhead huffs and rinses his hands, then frowns down at the smudge on his wrist in the same spot where he’d been repetitively washing. Saias sighs and gets the soap bar, rubbing it over the smudge and, when that doesn’t work, rubbing his thumb over it to get it to come off.

The smudge doesn’t budge.

Now more awake, the teen stares at the smudge in annoyed confusion. If his ink doesn’t stain like this, then what on earth did he get on his wrist and when? Is he going to have to ask a professor for help in removing it tomorrow? What if it’s a sign that someone cursed him while he wasn’t looking, unlikely as that may be since he would’ve felt it?

Gods, get a grip, you haven’t been this paranoid since you first came here. It’s just a smudge. Find a professor tomorrow and ask them for help instead of jumping to negative conclusions. Saias holds his wrist up to one of the lamps hung next to the mirror over the sink, in order to get a better look. The smudge doesn’t resolve, so he squints his eyes and brings his face closer—

It’s a sign of a curse, all right.

Bile churns in his stomach, clambering up his throat. He wants to cut off his hand and fling it away from him—except that won’t get rid of it at all, will it, not when it’s in his very blood, sewn into his entire being for the rest of his existence. It’s the emperor’s fault, for what other factor ties him to the only other bearer of the Mark of Loptous? Julius was lucky, in a way, that he didn’t grow up fearing the Mark and all that it stood for if that cult really was an integral part of his childhood. Saias hasn’t had that luxury, and now... now—!

He won’t go down to Abyss with his brother, he’s made too many good friends up here; however, he can’t hide the Mark forever, as the truth will always out despite a person’s best efforts. How will he be able to look the other Jugdrali who know and revere his future self in the eye when he is so thoroughly stained by the emblem of their ultimate foe? But going home is even less of an option—unless he goes home, back to the enclave, back to the people of Bragi, disciple of Maera, himself marked with Loptous’s filthy blood. Yes, that place may be the safest option for him until he can figure out what to do next (or more accurately, get a grip on himself and come to terms with his new... state).

He doesn’t want to leave though, not yet. It’s been a wonderful year and a half, and he has no intention of giving up his studies or his friends so soon. Not loyal and empathetic Chrom, not gentle and sensitive Shigure, and especially not his dear beloved stepmother. They don’t deserve to be left in the dark, and they would all be understanding towards him, comforting even...

—He can’t think. His heart races and his breath trembles. No, he’s in no state to do anything at all. He needs to go to bed and sleep and wake up and eat breakfast and then begin the process of putting his head back on straight, in exactly that order. He can do this, he did it after Mother died (but he was grieving the loss of a loved one, not the loss of his security in his identity, now, was he). He’ll have his friends and family to help him along the way. It doesn’t matter that he’s now Marked as Loptous’s. It doesn’t. He’s still the same old Saias Augustine Velthomer, son of Emperor Arvis and Aida, heir to Fjalar, stepson to Empress Deirdre, hardworking tactician, priest-in-training, student, friend, son, him. This can’t take that away or destroy it. It won’t. He won’t let it.

(Sleep does not come, and in the early morning he lingers at the gate, teetering on a precipice of decision.

He steps.)

[sinceileftyoublog]

John Coltrane Reissue Review: Evenings at the Village Gate: John Coltrane with Eric Dolphy

(Impulse!/UMe)

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Not even two years after A Love Supreme: Live in Seattle saw the light from Joe Brazil's private collection, a new John Coltrane treasure has been given to us, unearthed this time by accident. A Bob Dylan archivist, scouring through the archives of the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, found an August 1961 recording of John Coltrane with Eric Dolphy at Greenwich Village's long-shuttered Village Gate. While Coltrane's November performances from the same year at the Village Vanguard have long been available, either as part of his 1962 live album or a 1997 box set, this collection shows some familiar players a bit rougher around the edges. Future Nina Simone and Dylan engineer Richard Alderson, who wanted to test a newly found single ribbon microphone, decided to record the set, and everything from McCoy Tyner's restrained piano to, well, the overall sound quality, has the vibe of a group of geniuses still figuring things out, a fascinating snapshot in an ever-changing time in jazz.

In an era where our most revered artists take seemingly forever to release new albums, it's hard to fathom just what luminaries like Coltrane did back then, and the rapid pace of change they faced in a burgeoning music industry. In March, he released My Favorite Things on Atlantic, which yielded surprising hits in adaptations of George Gershwin's "Summertime" and Rodgers and Hammerstein's "My Favorite Things", the latter of which received significant radio airplay. Two months later, his Atlantic contract was bought by Impulse! While he kept Tyner and drummer Elvin Jones in his band, he replaced bassist Steve Davis with a young Reggie Workman and brought on multi-instrumentalist Eric Dolphy, forming the basis of a live quintet. His studio ensemble grew even larger on the first album he recorded for Impulse!, Africa/Brass, also one of his first to employ two bass players. Eventually, though, he'd settle into the Classic Quartet, Jimmy Garrison replacing Workman for the next several years, the four producing stone cold classics like, yes, A Love Supreme. It's impossible to separate this context when listening to Evenings at the Village Gate: John Coltrane with Eric Dolphy in all of its rawness.

Really, Evenings at the Village Gate is a true moment in time and one of arguable significance, though listening to it is a fascinating exercise. You constantly find yourself wishing you were there to witness it, watching an audience in real time react to where you know jazz would end up. As Jones' pattering drums and Workman and Tyner's steady bass and piano introduce "My Favorite Things", Dolphy subtly flutters his clarinet. Six minutes in, Coltrane announces himself with a brawny saxophone line before blasting streaks of notes above the band. When he very occasionally returns to the song's main refrain, it's like a sigh of relief before he embarks on another freeform journey. Sometimes, you can hear an audience member clapping, thinking his solo has finished, but he keeps going. Dolphy offers a similarly tattered solo on Benny Carter's "When Lights Are Low", while the rest of the band lurches. Tyner's solo, for example, is sprinkled but so low in the mix you can almost clearly hear background chatter in the club, and you can definitely decipher Workman's plucks. The band is risky and adventurous, unafraid to fail.

The final three tracks performed would eventually be recorded, including "Impressions", a Coltrane composition first set to tape in 1962. The version on Evenings at the Village Gate is an early run-through the way a lot of jazz instrumentalists do today. On one hand, hearing him breathlessly and immediately whittle away at schemas of jazz must have been thrilling. On the other, compared to the live versions of the song from months later, on this one, Coltrane embraces true chaos rather than controlled chaos. Only Jones and Tyner are truly honed in here, the former shining with his dexterousness throughout and underrated dynamism in his be-bop duet with the latter. If you've always thought Coltrane's recording of "Greensleeves", meanwhile, sounds a little bit like "My Favorite Things", Tyner somewhat interpolates the latter song as Jones' drum fills pervade the performance. Tyner's two-handed solo mid-way through simultaneously showcases the song's theme and his own phrasing, while Coltrane and Dolphy enter much later, as if they've been stockpiling on reserves before gradually taking the tune to dizzying new heights.

If there's a true highlight on Evenings at the Village Gate, it's of course the only known recorded version of Africa/Brass' "Africa". Art Davis fills in on additional bass drones, with Coltrane on tenor saxophone, and the song feels like the most the band had been in sync all night. Perhaps that's because there's nothing else to compare it to, but the performance is still thrilling taken on its own, from Jones' raindrop pitter patters to Tyner's unshakeable refrain. Coltrane and Dolphy give way to the rest of the band for a while, and the tune slowly ascends as they tease a return, first giving Jones his due with a rolling solo and then actually returning to rapturous applause, skronking and squeaking away. You have to think that some members of the audience had no conception for what they just saw. You also have to think the set made them want to dive in further.

[myuni-moon]

#for the harbingers

general headcannons for cult!scaramouche and signora

warnings: yandere content, yandere cult stuff, violence, slight gore, genshin spoilers

Scaramouche

he-- no matter how much he denies it-- is still somewhat an extension of baal; thus, he would harbor affections for you like his creator.

he vehemently also rebels against his own feelings by denying anything he can about you. he literally forces himself to dislike you even if the tsaritsa might not. scara is like a teenager going through a phase, actively rebelling against anything in your favor.

but when he sees you for the first time, he can't help but turn soft. childe makes fun of him for it, teasing the shorter man because "i thought you hated them, balladeer. maybe you're losing your touch."

scara would eventually just accept that he does, indeed, worship and revere you. he'll never say it to anyone else other than you, though. expect to only experience his neediness and clinginess when he has private time with you.

he's a bit snippy, but he respects you more than anyone else. if you scold him, he'll correct himself right away. if you give him orders, he'll heed it with no complaints. if you want to punish him, he's hesitant but he goes through with it if even if he has to grit his teeth or suffer in solitude for some time.

i've written this before, but you are his pride as much as he is yours. any and all insults directed towards him is an insult directed towards you. he cannot have that at all. he'll break bones and leave bruises if he even hears someone tell him how taxing working is under him.

scaramouche's form is lithe, delicate-looking because of his lean figure and porcelain skin. but his punches tell a different story. his fists are heavy, the force behind them strong enough to crush a boulder if he wanted to. he's powerful enough to take down even the largest of enemies with one blow, a small feat for someone as mighty as the balladeer. it's unfortunate the new recruits had to learn it first-hand.

a platoon of fatui are straightened out in a line, posture rigid and stressed at the sight before them. the ones working under the sixth harbinger have been around long enough to know how short their master's patience is. it's not surprising to them that when a young man had snickered in the middle of the harbinger's speech, the trainee would end up with a face colored purple and blue.

scaramouche pulls on the recruit's hair, promptly lifting his head up from the concrete floor. the fear is evident in the man's eyes even if his eyelids puffed up in a swollen mess from scara's beatings. the harbinger makes him look into his eyes, voice booming enough for all present to hear.

"i will not tolerate any more disrespect than this." he spits. "be happy i've been kind enough to leave you with a few bruises. any more than what you did will have you end up with broken bones." then he tosses him away like a ragdoll much to the horror of the lot inches away from him.

"if you don't want to end up like this poor sad sack, i expect full obedience and respect. am i clear?" even once that is cleared up, his hands are still itching to smack something. he really can't help it, not when he can imagine these worms doing the same to you.

La Signora

to be clear, she isn't really part of the cult. in fact she is one of the few who don't care for you at all. yes, she knows your existence and who you are, but does she really care? no. as long as you aren't in her way, she doesn't mind whatever the fuck you do

she'll never voice this out loud since the tsaritsa would have her head, but even she slips sometimes.

her fall starts when you interrupt her meeting with the shogun along with the traveler. it irks her just enough to rudely insinuate that you are no person of power, just a dumb mortal who wants to play hero. it shouldn't be so surprising that it sets baal and the traveler off.

you'll be watching from the sidelines, safe and sound, as signora becomes the victim to an onslaught of attacks much too aggressive for what treatment they should give a snezhnayan diplomat. it's unfortunate, really. if she just held her tongue, maybe she would've loved you too.

in her final moments, she'll see your face painted with pity. she's in enough pain to consider begging for your forgiveness and mercy as she holds out a hand in your direction.

you want to stop them, you really do. but at this point, signora is about to die so why even bother? baal's and aether's swords are crossed above her neck, inches away from cutting her skin. she weakly stretches a hand towards you, a plead for mercy in hopes that you truly are the benevolent god many believe you to be.

the flame that is her soul flickers dimly, on the verge of being snuffed out at the smallest of breezes. how ironic it is to die like a flame from the harshness of the wind-- it goes to show how all her sins have come back to her.

"please." she coughs out. the word sounds foreign on her tongue, but it's her only chance at survival. "please forgive me."

you want to, but you think back to the times she had so unceremoniously manipulated everything in her favor to grab the gnosis of the two archons you held so dearly. you truly pity her, but what kind of god would you be to ignore the suffering she caused your dearest followers?

so with a steeled will, you turn away from the scene before you. you give out the order for the two holding her head to do whatever they want. you hear her pleads echo before they're cut off by the sickening sound of sliced skin.

how pitiful. if only she wasn't such a bitch.

[googledocsdyke]

it is SO funny that eric kripke originally envisioned dean as a “han solo” figure to sam’s “luke skywalker” because like. sure dean has the fast car and the scoundrel grin but he actually could not be further from han as soon as you begin to break down his actual values and priorities as a person, as a character. like han’s ENTIRE deal is that he is in the world for himself alone (at least until he meets luke and leia) and is jaded to his bone by Harrison Ford Sexy Cynicism TM and has the kind of loose morality where he sees every interaction as a transaction where he can accumulate money and freewheel out of town and i can hear you all saying ohhhh just like dean winchester but NO! you are wrong! dean’s morality from the very first episode is SO tightly knotted to filial and familial duty and to Fulfilling His Particular Path as a hunter like not to quote this in 2020 but literally saving people hunting things the family business!!!!! 

can you IMAGINE dean winchester being like “if i rescue leia what’s in it for me” lmfao i have to laugh. yes he too cares about very few people but that is because his heart is bound SO TIGHTLY to a miniscule family that there is no room there for anyone else. yes he too seems amoral and obviously like . Kills People but that’s because his morality is ENTIRELY centred around his almost video-game-protagonist questlike duty (he is literally thee Righteous Man) of the limited to-do list he has set out for himself: protect brother, please dad, save world, save cas, etc. han solo doesn’t have a fucking to-do list!!!!! dean winchester would never run away from home!!!!!!!! he’s not even CYNICAL the way han is like this is the man who after thirteen years of onscreen brutalisation and betrayal and disappointment and horror and pain is still fundamentally like YES we’re in my favourite scooby doo story i hope it ends well :) like he is so deeply earnest about the things he cares for and it JUST doesn’t add up as a han equivalency none of it does

and it all just feels so indicative of a fundamentally early 2000s nerdboy approach to building character where dean winchester was first conceptualised not as a Person but as a compulsive repetition of established tropes, established Maleness, rephrased again and again as some kind of fucked-up substitution equation (impala = millennium falcon, seedy kansas bar = cantina, i love you = i know) that fails to recognise that man (protagonist) cannot live on aestheticised References alone . which has all been covered repeatedly by people much smarter than me but it still bears repeating because it’s CRAAAAAAZY and i also CANNOT STOP thinking about how a genuinely good and complex character emerged from these tired repetitions. like eric kripke went “this guy is a collection of Things That Indicate Coolness just like my favourite action hero” which just became an INCREDIBLE case of backfiring because 90% of dean’s action hero masculinity now only reads as sublimated gay desire à la “this man has wanted to fuck harrison ford since the 80s”. and so like somehow dean’s complex personhood not only pushed THROUGH those tired tropes but also made them more legible in a totally new way like i really do believe that dean winchester is a real person pulled to the surface by a text that vehemently hates him all while insisting that it is writing him out of reverence and love. the writers love dean but only in the way that john “loved” him: they love what they engineered him to be and hate not only what he ended up becoming, but what he always was. 

[whet-ones-write]

Baku Birthday 2021

So I’m posting this a /little/ early because I’m just too excited to share this fic! So I joined in with Bakugou’s Birthday Bash hosted by these amazing people!!

@phasmwrites​ @katsukikitten @bakugotrashpanda​ @lady-bakuhoe​ @jodrawssmut​ & @ramen-rambles​ 

And since joining I couldn’t have found a more supporting and helpful group on Discord!! Special thanks to: @hoe-doroki​ for being my beta reader and editor!! Thank you for dealing with my sorry, inconsistant ass and giving me the strength to pull though and just do some of my best writing to date! I haven’t written so much in so long and it was rather nice!! 

And to @notchesandbullets​ for telling me I can do this and be those words of praise when I needed them the most helping me pull though and finish this!

Contains: DragonShifter!Reader x Bakugou. Fantasy Setting,

WC: 3755 - Masterlist to all the works!!

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, oral (Female + M reviecing), Cowgirl, unprotected sex, Cum eating, Premature Ejaluations (if you squint), Age gap? It’s implied Reader is much older than Katsuki. Restraining Katsuki, Pervert Kiri

Looking around his throne, Katsuki couldn’t help but scoff at what came to his mind. He had everything a chief could want, but it still wasn’t enough for the young, barbaric male. Vast and grand was his home. People were happy, going about their day, harvest due and bountiful, the river running steady and clean. 

Though, he was still missing a vital element to his life. Someone to make him happy, to have by his side and call his own. So the only thing he had left to need or want was someone to walk into battle with him, because not just any person would. 

No, they had to have a few key traits to meet his standards. They needed to have a willingness to fight, to want to protect those around him and themselves with everything they had. They had to be able to take flack and a joke but also be serious when the time came. They had to be able to take no shit from anyone and make sure to be willing to put others in their place if they went out of line.

It wasn’t much! Honestly…Or at least he thought so. 

“...ugou, Bakugou!” A voice snapped him from his thoughts as he glanced at his adviser, unhappy over the fact he was interrupted from his thoughts. 

“What is it?” Katsuki questioned as he lazily shifted his attention to the man standing at his right side. 

“As I was saying, there have been some sightings of strangely coloured dragons in the nearby valleys. We do not know if it is one or more or if they’re passing by or staying. Moreover, they have yet to attack the villages, but it would be wise to at least investigate the surrounding areas before anything happens,” his assistant spoke as he looked for what the King was going to do. 

Taking a moment, Katsuki couldn’t help but smile as he got up and began to stretch. “Eijirou, prepare for a flight. It seems there might be someone that needs a reminder of who those valleys belong to.” 

Though to the Bakugou family dragons were revered and seen as good omens, there was a limit. Dragons that fought over territory could be destructive and wipe entire lands from existence, so if there was ever more than one in an area it could prove to be a bad omen instead.

One dragon or one family were seen as protecting the lands, keeping invaders at bay and being loyal by nature. Though another one could offset the balance, should they prove to be hungry or hostile. The valleys in which the Bakugous lived were famous for having the longest standing relationship with the red dragons of the Kirishima clan. They had served one another for generations with the latest duo being that of the Barbarian King Katsuki Bakugou, son of the late Chieftess Mitsuki Bakugou, and the dragon that protected the lands, Eijirou Kirishima, son to late Hikori Kirishima.

Standing at seven feet, the mostly human nodded and saluted as he walked with his friend outside. “Yes, sir.” He beamed happily, seemingly excited by the prospect of seeing another dragon. “Though, what are your instructions, should they prove hostile?” 

“Hostile?” Katsuki mused, placing a hand to his chin as the other morphed into that of a forty-foot-long dragon from the tip of his nose to the very end of his arrow-pointed tail. Once finished, Kirishima leaned down to lower his wing, letting Katsuki get on by walking up the thin bone of the arch of his wing and holding onto his spines, climbing all the way to behind the red horns that adorned his head. “Should the dragon wish to try and stay, we will start through the diplomatic route.” 

That was the thing about Katsuki. For all his bloodlust and anger, he was quite the strategist when it came to monsters several times his size. Having worked with Eijirou for some time, they had built up a bond of trust valuable for when trouble arose. 

“Should that fail, we will have to take things up a notch. I would like to avoid a fight if at all possible.” He sighed as he clung to the horn while the other took off. “The valley is full of fish making their way upstream for the breeding season,” he muttered before groaning and slapping his face as he remembered something, getting even more irritated. 

“It could be a female dragon,” he groaned, looking down to Eijirou. “With breeding season approaching, it could prove very troublesome,” he grumbled as he lay down to keep low as Eijirou took to the sky. 

“Hm,” came a deep rumble from the beast.

A female dragon would be far better than a male should they be able to move it along. It could prove worse in the long run, though, as other males came to try and have their chance, destroying the local landscape fighting over the female. 

“Not going to be influenced? I know you’re a young male.” Katsuki snickered as the dragon grunted and shook slightly in a ‘no’. “Don’t worry, whatever happens we’ll sort it,” he offered quietly as he calmed down to focus on the mission at hand. 

They took to the base of the mountains and looked for any signs of disturbance. With fear running though the nearest village, it was clear to see that the crops were half unattended and in the middle of being harvested. “I’m going to go take a look at the surrounding areas and talk to the locals. You go on up the mountain and scout that out,” the Chief commanded. With a short huff and a nod, Eijirou turned to slowly and carefully make his way up and around the mountains. 

It wasn’t long before Eijirou returned with some news. Meeting in the center of town, the dragon descended slowly and waited for Katsuki to approach before he spoke. “I found a trail of blood from the ground leading up to a cave roughly halfway up the mountain. 

Nodding, Katsuki signaled for Eijirou to lower himself so he could climb onto his back. “Sounds about right. The locals saw a figure flying unsteadily across the sky and into the mountain. There was a loud thump before all went silent. It’s more than likely a dragon. It hasn’t done harm to the villagers yet, though, so a slow, quiet and careful approach is needed.”

Coming to the entrance of the cave, Katsuki hopped off Eijirou, immediately noticing the plants had been recently crushed and a splattering of dried blood was leading into the cave. Looking up to Eijirou, he nodded and quietly led the way in. Eijirou used a small breath to light the torch that Katsuki would have to use to see. 

It didn’t take them long to find the cause of the blood and crushed plants. Lying in front of them was a bronze dragon just as large as Kirishima, if not bigger, bleeding heavily from it’s hind leg, belly and face. 

“Holy shit,” Katsukimuttered as he looked over the sight. He froze as the dragon raised its head. Chuckling, you looked over at Katsuki and Eijirou. “If you have come to kill me, at least make it swift.” 

“Tch, don’t lump me with most humans,” Katsuki stated as he approached you, looking over the wounds. A huffing could be heard as he made his way closer, your muscles tense and beady eyes watching his form, ready to attack should harm come. “I’m a Bakugou. We don’t harm your kind.” 

“You may not harm but you enslave. I feel sorry for the red scaled one over there. Forced to serve you like their ancestors,” you mumbled, laying your head down and closing your eyes to rest. 

Eijirou huffed before he sat down. “I’m not. It’s nice to have lands that we don’t have to fight over and live in harmony with humans,” he protested, watching as Katsuki assessed the wounds. “I am from the Kirishima clan.” He beamed, almost a little too excited to say so. “It’s nice to see another shade of red around here. Normally those of the Shinsou clan are around these areas.” Eijirou started, tilting his head to the side. “So what brings you here?” he mused. 

Which was how you explained your side of the story. It wasn’t uncommon for humans to attack those of draconic race because of the first dragons causing havoc and turmoil for humankind. You were a young dragon who still had not found some land to live in. So, you were aimlessly looking around for somewhere to sleep before you were ambushed by a kingdom that had a bad past with dragons, driving you out. 

“Well,” Katsuki started as he backed off. “If you revert into your human form, we can take you back and give you medical aid. I’m not about to let a creature like you just die pathetically cold and alone in such a depressing state.” 

With that, they watched as your form changed into a bloodstained, corseted, sleeveless dress, wings still visible with a tail barely peeking from beneath your long skirt. Their eyes lingered for a little too long to be completely respectful.  

Getting up from where he lay, Eijirou gently enclosed you in his claws, protecting you, letting Katsuki onto his back before taking off back to the kingdom to give you the aid you needed. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next thing you knew, you were waking up to some argument going on outside, though you took no heed to it. After all, you would need to at least stay to repay the kindness the human has shown you before taking your leave. 

As the flap to the tent opened, you looked up at the figure that came to inspect you in the cot. “How are you feeling?” The one that entered had torn red wings and a thin arrow-headed tail much like that of the dragon you’d seen earlier. 

“Much better, thanks.” He watched you as you got up to move around.

“Yeah, my mother is a great healer.” The man beamed proudly before his face dropped for a moment in realisation. “Oh, that’s right! I’m Eijirou Kirishima!” He offered a hand for you to shake as he introduced yourself. “I’m Katsuki’s dragon companion. Speaking of which, when you feel up to it, he wants to see you in the throne room. He’s currently occupied with some business, so why not come later tonight before dinner? He wants to talk to you about some things.”

“Ah I see” You nodded in agreement though still clearly wary of him. 

“Yeah, my mom specialises in herbal and magical treatments for dragons. You should be fighting fit by the end of day! So enjoy yourself and have a look around! You’re more than welcome here as long as you don’t kill anyone.” You found yourself chuckling lightly along with him as he waved. “See ya! Rest up well and don’t push yourself too hard!” He beamed as he left. 

As Eijirou left you alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t help but think back to just how trustingly and kindly Katsuki had treated you. Taking your leave from the tent, you looked to the sky to gauge the time of day. Deciding you had at least an hour before the sun would set and you would need to see the Chieftain, you went to see what the town had to offer.

As you walked among the townsfolk, you couldn’t help but notice that dragons and humans walked around one another as if that were a normal thing to do. Had things always been like this? And how had this not spread to other countries? Though be that as it might, you were happy for these people; they seemed to be comfortable and welcoming just like the man who had found you. Perhaps you could stay a little longer than intended… 

Still, once the sun started to set you walked back the way you came only to come across a tent larger than most, assuming that was where Katsuki would be wrapping up the day. 

You slowly opened the flap as some villagers came out, happily discussing the day’s harvest before you heard. “Come on in, dragon!” Katsuki called as he remained seated on his chair smirking to himself. “Feeling better, I see?” he questioned as he sat up straight. Even like this, you could see and feel the power he irradiated. 

“Yes, much, thank you.” Bowing, you smiled before you were told to stand upright. “If there’s anything I can do for you, please just let me know. It’s the least I can do after you saved my life.” 

The moment those words left your mouth, you had a feeling that you were either going to live to regret it or thank him.

“Speaking of which,” he started as he leaned back and patted his lap. “Please, come here,” he commanded. Once you approached, he leaned forward, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger as if inspecting you. Up close, you could just see how deep ruby red his eyes were as well as how sharp his teeth were. For a human, he had a great set of fangs on him. ‘Shame he’s a human; he would have made a great and fierce dragon,’ you couldn’t help but think before he spoke, bringing you back to reality. 

“Yes, you’re perfect,” he muttered, pulling you into his lap forcefully by your waist. “Strong willed, a fighter, and someone I could learn to grow better with,” he stated as he suddenly captured your lips. “You will be my partner,” he stated as his hands wandered low. 

Spluttering and blushing, you thrust your arms at his chiseled chest, putting some distance between the two of you. “B-But how do you know? I could kill you! You barely know me,” you protested, though with his power he forced you to fold your arms, leaning in to whisper. 

“But you owe me your life. Surely this is nothing and if you don’t feel like you’re the one you’re more than welcome to leave,” he purred.

You knew he was right. This young, powerful man knew that dragons didn’t back down on their word, and so serving him would mean repaying the debt? A small price to pay, truly. 

“So why not get on your knees for your Chief and thank me properly?” he offered, leaning back and letting go of you. You watched as the grin on his face was almost ear splitting as you sunk to your knees in front of him. He let his hands wander down his trousers to help you get them off and down to his ankles. 

“That’s it,” he praised, reaching out to gently lay his hand on your head. His eyes watched you with keen interest as you slowly took him into your mouth. He wasn’t completely hard and you shifted to get a better angle and grip him in your hands, though he tried to encourage you with soft words. “That’s it, fuckin’ take it all in,” he muttered as he leaned back, getting more comfortable on his throne. The grasp on your hair got tighter as he started to get impatient and guide your face along his length. “Come on now, no need to be so shy about it.” His teeth showed as he smiled. “You’ve lived longer than I have, surely you have the experience?” he goaded. Which, if you were honest with yourself, was true. You were most likely older than him, and could show him a thing or two while you’re at it. 

Straightening your back a little from the floor you looked over his hardening dick. Licking your lips, you took the head in, using the flexibility to weave in between the head of his cock and the shaft before leaning up and taking it in as much as you could. Tongue flat, running along the thick vein underneath, you slowly bobbed your head back and forth, breathing when you could. It wasn’t long before you felt a tug with the hand that ran through your hair to pull you away from him, leaving you panting, and breathless from working so hard to please him. 

His cheeks flushed a bright pink he chuckled almost as breathlessly as you, having forgotten how to breathe in the moment before letting go of your hair. “What a good girl,” he praised as he shifted back and patted his lap.  “Why not come for a ride?” he questioned as he watched you stand. “I would have taken you back to my room, but I'm feeling impatient. It’s my birthday after all,” he informed, eyes hungrily watching over your form as you stripped naked, and then worked on taking off his trousers completely. 

“Your birthday?” you questioned him as you straddled his lap. “I see. Perhaps this will be enough of a gift then?” you mused lining yourself up, slowly trying to sink yourself down on him.

His head slammed back against the back of his throne as he groaned. You were taking your time, though as you hadn’t prepared yourself. You knew your body could and would stretch, but it was painful to begin with. He was stretching you to your limit, but you licked your hand to reach down to let the saliva coating his dick for an easier entry only then were you able to sit down fully on his lap. 

Taking a good minute or two you both sat, panting, just feeling one another as you got used to the stretch of his cock within you. His hands empassing your hips, he tried to get you to move, but you had other ideas. It was his birthday? That’s just fine, but you would make sure it would be a ride he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. 

You gently grasped his hands and took them off your hips to raise them above his head as you started to roll your hips back and forth. Leaning in close to kiss him and to distract him, you used your tail to wrap his hands above his head. He only just realised when you leaned back.

“W-What the fuck is—shit—the big idea?” he panted as his eyes were glued to your form, which started moving so effortlessly up and down on his dick. 

“It’s your birthday. I want to spoil you, so enjoy the ride.” Chuckling a little darkly, you couldn’t help but use your wings to give you some extra momentum and power into your movements as you rode him. 

He couldn't believe just how lucky he was to have such a beautiful person ride him within an inch of his life. You knew just what to do and how to please him, which, to his embarrassment, had him orgasming not much longer after you started. 

“F-Fuck!” he grunted, unable to couldn’t help it when his hips met yours. Though your gut had only just started to coil with your own orgasm, much to your disappointment. You remained seated on his lap as he came down from his high, letting go of his arms. 

He watched you only to frown. Noticing you hadn’t orgasmed yet he couldn’t help but feel like a teenager all over again. 

This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. 

Growling, he forcefully lifted you up from him as he slid to the floor, getting you to sit in his seat. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he brought you to his face and started to lap up not only at his own cum that had started to seep it’s way out from the confines of yourself, but searching for any original taste of your own essence. This surprise had you leaning over with a groan. In all your years, no other man had been so willing about doing this. 

Smirking from the inside of your thighs, he knew from your expression that you were loving it or at the very least surprised by his movements. “What?” he questioned, so close to your cunt that you could feel his breath ghosting it. “Never been eaten out before?” He seemed a little too smug, as if he almost already knew the answer. 

With a shake of your head, he only shifted closer and got more comfortable as he nudged your clit with his nose. “Hmm, good. I'm a man starving for pussy and it’s delicious, so don’t mind me,” he muttered before his gaze lowered. 

Though his dick felt great, this was almost a thousand times better. There was no painful stretch, only a soft muscle, though not deep. The slurping and sucking sounds and sensations were what quickly brought your end. He was more than happy to guide you though your high as you remained hunched over his head, hands which you now realised were in his hair, forcing his face just that much closer. 

Leaning back once you had come back to Earth, you watched him as he wiped his chin and cheeks with the back of his arm. “Thank you for the meal.” He chuckled, giving off a lopsided smile, showing off the pearly whites of his sharp teeth. He stood as he gathered up his trousers as he got dressed. “You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner in my home,” he stated as he turned to you and passed you back your clothes. 

Slowly taking them, you nodded as you got dressed despite the shake in your legs. “Y-Yeah, I think I will,” you confirmed as you slipped back into your clothes. 

“Good choice. I’m not finished with you yet, beautiful.” Leaning in, he kissed your cheek before taking his leave only to find a very flustered Eijirou waiting outside. “Something wrong?” Katsuki questioned with folded arms, knowing exactly what he was doing. 

“N-No!” the dragon protested, though the redness that was spread all the way up to his ears gave him away. 

“Next time, just ask. It’s rude to eavesdrop.” Katsuki laughed as he walked away, going to join the mass for dinner. 

“K-Katsuki! I had to make sure you were safe! After all, she’s a rogue dragon,” Eijirou protested in earnest. Though he wouldn’t admit it, that would be something that Eijirou would very much like to do. 

“Sure, sure, whatever you say, man.”

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki took a seat at the head of the banquet table, waiting for your arrival before the festivities could begin.

[stufftippywrote]

not an astronaut

This is based off a personal experience. Tw for fat-shaming, homophobia, and general assholery from an asshole kid.

The bell rings cheerfully as Bitty steps through the doorway. This was one of his favorite places when he was younger. The eclectic curios, every shape and size and color, packing the shelves were an endless source of fascination for young Eric Bittle, and the owners were friends of the family, so they knew Bitty well and didn't freak out when he picked up a ceramic pepper shaker or glass figurine and held it in his hands like an ancient treasure.

He walks through the store with that same sense of wonder now, 30 years later, and brushes his hand reverently over the shelves. They’re not looking for anything in particular today, but Bitty has told Jack about this place so many times, he simply couldn’t help but visit. Besides, you never know when you might find the perfect accent piece for the new home.

Chicken-shaped serving bowls, a porcelain figurine of a girl dancing, a set of silverware in a dusty wooden case. Bitty is spoiled for choice. As he browses, there’s a movement at the back of the store, and he catches a glimpse of someone hauling boxes through a door. He wonders who runs the place now. The sign still says Thompson’s Antiques, but he knows Mrs. Thompson passed and Mr. Thompson is getting on in years. Could it be that…

A prickle of fear runs through him.

The figure in the back drags the box to a nearby aisle and starts unpacking it, placing items on a low shelf. Bitty’s curiosity overflows. He moseys into that aisle and begins to speak, but the man raises his head before he can get a word out. He has to catch his breath all over again.

The man’s face goes slack. “I know you,” he blurts.

Eric puts his hands on his hips and gives a bright smile. “Davey Thompson. So you’re here after all!”

~~~

“Davey, this is Eric. Eric, this is our little boy Davey.” Mrs. Thompson’s smile is bright as she urges her son forward. “Why don’t you two go play at the playground while Mommy and her friend talk?”

The kid is tough-looking, with ruddy cheeks and a thick build. Eric reaches out his hand to lead Davey along the way. The minute they’re out of earshot, Davey snatches his hand back like he’s just touched a hot stove. Eric turns, surprised.

“You’re fat,” Davey says.

Eric blinks.

“You look dumb,” Davey adds on. And thus a quote-unquote “friendship” was born.

~~~

Davey stands up. He still has the same tinted cheeks and stocky build that Bitty remembers, but his face is sunken somehow, and he’s built up muscle where baby fat used to linger on his arms and shoulders. He’s got a tattoo on one arm – a Japanese koi fish, mid-splash.

“Nice ink,” Bitty comments.

And Davey Thompson, for possibly the first time in his life, smiles at Bitty. “Thanks.”

“The shop looks nice,” Bitty says, surveying the shelf like it’s his domain. “Hasn’t changed much since I used to come here.”

“You’re – you’re Eric Bittle, right?” Davey says, sounding almost scared of the answer. “From school?”

“From way before school,” Bitty responds. “You’re looking good.”

“Uh. Thanks. Same to you.” Davey looks uncertain, almost sheepish. There’s a moment of awkward silence. Davey tries to break it. “Um. So. What are you –”

He doesn’t seem to have the strength, or the will, to come up with the rest of the sentence. Bitty picks it up. “I’m a pastry chef,” he says. “I have a bakery and I cater, and I’ve put out three cookbooks. Can you imagine that?”

Davey looks kind of stunned. “Wow,” he says slowly. “Good for you. Where’s the bakery?”

“Up in New England. Providence, Rhode Island, to be exact.”

Davey snaps his fingers. “That’s right, you went to college up there. For hockey, wasn’t it?”

~~~

Bitty takes a swing at the ball. He misses, and it goes tumbling behind him into the net.

“Hah, you’re the worst goalie,” Davey says.

Somehow, Bitty finds the courage to say, “Let me play forward.” But his words are swallowed by the passing of a car on the cross street.

“What?”

“You be goalie.” Bitty gives the phrase all the menace he’s got in an eight-year-old body.

Davey laughs, a cruel laugh that sounds like ripping paper in Bitty’s ears. “Why? I can score on you all I want. That’s why we made you goalie.”

Resentment simmers like a low sun in Bitty’s gut. He wants to challenge Davey to play him on actual ice. He knows Davey can’t skate. As bad as he is, Bitty can’t possibly lose to him there. But the words stay stuck inside, plastered to the inside of his stomach, making him feel sick.

“Worst goalie ever,” Kevin chimes in.

“The worst, the wooooorst,” all four of them sing to him.

Bitty crouches low and is glad they can’t see much through the oversized goalie mask. Someday, he thinks, someday I’m gonna get them.

~~~

“Something like that,” Bitty answers easily. “And you’ve been here running the store?”

“Pretty much.” He doesn’t look very proud of that fact.

“I remember you used to say you were going to be an astronaut.”

“Ah, well –” The rose tint on Davey’s cheeks grows a shade deeper. “We were kids. I figure I missed my shot to make something of myself.”

All of Bitty’s nurturing instincts come alive. “Don’t say that. You’re doing well. Doing good, honest work. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Nah, man. It was just the easiest thing to do, once Mom got sick. I had to be here for her, and I … just stayed.”

Bitty gazes at him. This isn’t the attitude he expected from Davey Thompson, not in the slightest. He seems so defeated, as though Bitty’s arrival has reminded him of everything he isn’t. Bitty doesn’t want to be that for him, but he doesn’t think he has a choice in the matter. He quashes the small, self-satisfied demon that’s cackling in the back of his head. He’s not that kid anymore, either.

Just then, the chimes jingle at the front of the store. The babbling voice of a young child brightens the room. “Ah,” Bitty says, “there they are. He had to keep them outside a while before they calmed down. Little kids just work themselves up into a dither sometimes.” He offers an apologetic smile to Davey and retreats down the aisle toward the front of the store.

Suze is quiet, but it’s clear she was crying her eyes out earlier. She hangs on to her Papa with a fierce fist. Robby’s eyes are bugging out at the sight of the store. “What’s that?” he keeps asking, tugging on Jack’s slacks. Jack himself looks a little the worse for wear, but happy. That kind of tired-happy that they see in each other’s faces every night once the kids are in bed.

“Come on, Rob,” Bitty says, holding out his hands. “Want to see Daddy’s favorite store?”

Robby holds out his hands to be picked up. Bitty obliges, despite the warning creak of his back. He turns to take Robby further into the store and sees Davey standing there, staring them down.

He points. “I know you, too.”

“Ah, here we go,” Bitty says with a laugh.

“Were you in school with us? I don’t think that’s right, but—”

Jack holds out his hand for a shake. “Jack Zimmermann,” he says. “And you are?”

“My old friend Davey,” Bitty fills in. He can’t help but put a pointed emphasis on the friend part.

Davey clasps Jack’s hand but doesn’t seem to want to let go. “You’re Jack Zimmermann? The hockey player?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

Davey pumps Jack’s hand about four more times before finally letting go. “It’s – it’s good to meet you.” He looks at Suze, still curled up in Jack’s other arm. “And these are your kids? Or—” He turns to Bitty, face contorted in confusion. “Are they your kids?”

“Both,” Bitty answers cheerily. “Davey, meet my husband.”

Davey Thompson very nearly has a coronary right there.

~~~

“Hah, you’re just small all over, aren’t you?” Davey says with a pointed glance at Bitty’s crotch.

“You can’t help how you’re born,” Bitty retorts, but he pulls up his boxers right quick.

“Yeah, some people are just born stupid,” Davey agrees. Bitty instantly regrets replying at all.

Kyle whispers something in Davey’s ear. They both laugh.

“You’re right,” Davey says. He turns back to Bitty. “He’s right. They do say things about you.”

Bitty’s heart drops to his stomach. “W-what things?”

“You know! That you’re—” Davey flaps his wrist.

He doesn’t seem to have the nerve to say the word, but he doesn’t have to say it. The others in the locker room laugh.

For not the first time, Bitty is tempted to just ask, “So what if I am?” But he can’t. Not to these people. This isn’t how he wants his coming out to happen. So he just turns away and pulls on his sweatpants, ignoring the rills of laughter that echo against the lockers, and feels small. Small all over.

~~~

Davey recovers from his shock and nods his head rapidly. “Oh, I get it. Uh, congratulations. Uh, Bittle, could I talk to you a sec?”

He has that sheepish look again. Bitty watches as he retreats into one of the side aisles. “Gimme a sec,” he tells Jack, setting Robby down, and follows Davey.

When they're isolated, Davey turns to him sorrowfully. “I, uh—” Davey looks at the floor. “I was pretty mean to you in school.”

It isn’t what Bitty expected, not at all. To be honest, demons in the back of his head aside, this sort of thing doesn’t bother him so much anymore. Why should it? He’s married with two kids and a brand new home. He doesn’t spare a lot of time thinking about the distant past. “Um,” he starts, suddenly terribly embarrassed.

“No, let me—” Davey raises a hand. “Just let me. I said a lot of nasty things to you back then. I’m really sorry about it. I think about it a lot, and I’m just – I’m really sorry.”

There is a piece of Bitty that’s happy, even smug, at hearing this apology. But mostly he just pities Davey at this point. What a thing to carry around your whole life. “We were kids,” Bitty says. “Kids say dumb things. It’s all water under the bridge.”

“Still.” Davey says.

“I can’t say it didn’t hurt me,” Bitty goes on. “But I turned out okay, don’t you think?”

Davey laughs grimly “Yeah, look at you … and look at me.” He shrugs.

“You seem to be doing all right,” Bitty says charitably.

“I’m not an astronaut,” Davey says.

Bitty laughs. “Neither am I. We’re all good.” He pats Davey on the shoulder. A moment passes between them, silent, as they both listen to the sound of the past giving way to a new, kinder present.

After the moment passes, Bitty grins “Come on, I’m going to introduce you to my kids. Do you have kids?”

Davey flushes. “Yeah, I got a teenager. A real smartass. I wonder where he learned it.”

“Pictures!” Bitty declares. “Get that phone out, I demand pictures.”

Davey struggles to pull his phone out of his jeans pocket. This time, he flushes with pride. He narrates the story of each photo as they walk back toward the front.

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 2 (Rowaelin)

Part 1

~Rowan~

Rowan didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

The only time that even came close was when he lost his first and only court case, but over the years he'd come to live with that.

This though?

This immature, childish, irritatingly clever woman... he had a feeling he'd carry the rage he felt against her until the day he finally died of it.

Although, if he was honest, his returning move had been a little childish, too.

He'd ordered one of the guards to strip her cell of everything except the chess set. Her mattress, the makeshift knife he shuddered to think she'd had in the same room as him, her pillow.

If she wanted to steal his shit, he'd steal hers, too.

He'd also had the guard move one of his pawns forward on the board.

Not the most creative, but he didn't have many options.

What did you take from a woman who had nothing? How did you punish someone who was already serving the longest punishment available?

The bank had seized her assets when she'd been locked up, and the lease on her apartment had long since run out. She didn't have any personal items with her, didn't seem to even care about anything besides making his life hell.

Case in point, when he got home that night, exhausted from dealing with Aelin and spending a long day at the office, he'd discovered her retaliation.

She'd stolen his bed.

The whole goddamn thing, frame and all.

How she'd managed to get it out of a penthouse condo with security not realizing a thing, he had no idea. He knew from experience it wouldn't even fit through the door.

It'd seemed if she was going to be uncomfortable, so was he.

Steaming with anger, he'd showered and flopped on the couch like an idiot, not even able to sleep thanks to the rage she'd worked him into.

She was completely kicking his ass. From the inside of a jail cell.

He hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep before giving up on even trying. At six, he'd dressed and driven to Whitehorn and Salvaterre, the law firm he was a partner at.

If he couldn't sleep, he'd at least figure out how the hell she was pulling this shit off.

Looking through her folder, he went through her daily schedule, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

Eight am wake-up, breakfast, shower, lunch, yard time, dinner, lights out at nine. Between activities, she worked out in her cell or read a book from the run-down prison library.

In the eight years she'd been in prison, she hadn't had a single visitor. Her cousin Aedion--a playboy Rowan couldn't be paid to associate with--delivered a care package on the first of every month.

Strange, considering nothing of the sort had been in her cell.

She'd been in solitary confinement ever since randomly attacking her cellmate a little over a month ago. She was still allowed yard time and meals with the other prisoners, but she was chained at all times.

Also strange, considering Aelin wasn't the type to do anything randomly.

Rowan watched the security tapes he'd strong armed the guards into giving him, going through the past few days to see how she'd gotten out of her cell to rob him.

He watched as she was escorted to the yard, watched as she ate breakfast and lunch and dinner alone, watched as she put herself through vigorous training in her cell.

Days of footage, and he didn't find anything.

Feeling like a bit of a creep, he watched the nighttime footage of her sleeping, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

She didn't move too much or too little--both of which would indicate it wasn't really her under that thin blanket. There were no attempts to pick the locks in between her wrists and ankles, no digging into the wall behind her toilet.

Nothing.

Which meant someone was helping her.

He could go through the official channels and ask the police for her known connections, but he hadn't reported either of the robberies yet.

Partly because he wanted to deal with her himself, partly because he felt a bit stupid getting robbed from a woman in the most secure prison in the city.

Which means he'd have to go about it a different way.

Grabbing his keys from his desk, he debated how else he could make her miserable, unfortunately finding nothing else he could do to her, no revenge he could get from robbing her tiny little cell.

No, he'd have to try something new.

Maybe he could bribe her into confessing. She didn't have anything right now, but maybe he could give her something to lose.

He'd bring her lunch, force himself to apologize for yelling at her, and just politely ask who her accomplice was.

He thought on it as he rode down the elevator to the garage. It probably wouldn't work, but he didn't know what else to do.

And besides, he knew from experience Aelin didn't respond well to his anger.

Checking his email to make sure he wasn't missing any important meetings, he pressed the button on his car fob, expecting to hear the resounding beep from his designated parking spot.

Except the beep never came.

Slowly looking up, Rowan had to amend his earlier statement.

Now he didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

He stormed over to the security booth, hardly refraining from grabbing the man inside and throwing him to the ground.

"Where's my car, Rolland?"

"In your spot, boss," the stout little man replied instantly and surely, snapping his gum and looking at him in confusion. "Haven't seen you drive out yet."

"Yes, exactly. Which is why it's a mystery why it's no longer in it's spot."

Rolland caught up slowly. "You mean... it was stolen? From here? From you?"

Jaw so tight his molars were practically fused together, Rowan growled, "Just let me see the security tapes from this morning."

The guard nodded quickly, eyes nervous as he typed something into the desktop in front of him.

"That's weird," he muttered a moment later, typing faster and sending Rowan a nervous glance.

"What?" he asked, trying to calm himself down with a few of the breathing techniques he'd learned over the years.

"The tapes are gone, but there's... this."

Rolland turned the screen so Rowan could see it, and all the breathing in the world couldn't keep him from slamming a fist into the side of the security shack.

The footage was gone, and on the blank black screen read: Bishop to J7.

He was going to fucking kill her.

~Aelin~

"Enjoy your taxi ride here?" she asked sweetly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.

Rowan scowled at her as he crossed the small room inmates could use to talk to their lawyers. He yanked the chair across from her out, then threw himself into it. "You are such a pain in my ass."

She just shrugged.

He sat across from her, angry and broody, and for a long time, he just stared at her.

Finally he asked, "Why are you doing this, Aelin?"

"I told you. You locked me up for something I didn't do. I want you to be as miserable as I am. It's simple, petty revenge."

Nothing about it was simple, but that was besides the point.

He was quiet for another moment. "Why now?"

She sighed, but she wasn't upset. Truthfully, she'd been waiting for him to ask that question.

"I want to tell you a story."

He stood up suddenly, face exasperated. "I'm not fucking joking around. And I'm not going to let you waste any more of my time."

He made his way to the door, and his dismissal of her pissed her off enough to say, "Sit down, or your car's going off Whigsby Bridge."

He smiled like he'd won their little game. "So you admit you have it."

"Sure," she said casually, honestly not giving a shit about the car.

His brow furrowed. "You're giving up? Just like that?"

"You're a fucking idiot if you think this is about your car, Rowan. But sure, I admit I know exactly where it, and your bed, and your little dagger are being hidden."

He narrowed his eyes. "This conversation is being recorded, and you just admitted to being an accessory to robbery, so-"

"You aren't going to press charges," she cut him off, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and lighting it.

Nasty little prison habit she'd developed, smoking.

Or maybe she just did it because she knew he hated the smell.

"Oh, really?" he asked incredulously, eyeing the cigarette with disdain.

She grinned. "Once you sit and hear my story and realize I'm telling the truth, you're going to feel so guilty you won't even care about the car. Now sit down. I'd hate to see a classic get totaled because you're being stubborn again."

He glared at her, but came back to the table and sat down again.

Then reached over and snatched the cigarette from her lips, putting it out against the steel table top.

She just pulled out another, lighting it with one of her last matches. The irritation on his face made it worth the loss.

He waved a hand as if to say Get on with it.

She'd debated how to tell him this story for a long time. It was long, and messy and not particularly pleasant for her. But she wanted him to know the full thing, so she'd decided to start at the very beginning.

"My parents died when I was four," she began, ignoring his dramatic sigh. "I went into foster care, and as you can imagine, I was a particularly unruly child."

She smiled at the few memories she had. "I stole from the nuns, snuck out of my room at night and ran through the house, set all the clocks back an hour so we could sleep in. Small stuff. But it irritated them, because they couldn't prove it was me."

"Sounds familiar," he grouched, making her grin.

"I was adopted by Arobynn Hamel a year later."

As she'd predicted, his mouth fell open at that.

Arobynn was the known king of the underworld in Rifthold. He had a hand in every aspect of crime, yet no one could do anything about it because he never committed the crime himself.

His name was revered, so much so no one ever dared to cross him.

"But your record says-"

"That I stayed in foster care until I turned eighteen, I know."

Arobynn hated public records and had a deal with someone in the system that he'd take some of the kids off their hands if they kept quiet about it. Illegal as hell, but he wasn't someone you refused without suffering serious consequences.

It was the perfect crime. No one would miss unwanted kids, and it gave the system one less mouth to feed.

"I didn't know it, but he'd been watching me for a while. He... I don't know, saw something in me. Natural, innocent talent he could work with and turn into something different. He adopted me on my fifth birthday. And then he started training me."

"To do what?" Rowan asked, shoulders tensing.

"Everything," she answered with a shaky laugh, taking a long drag from her cigarette. "Stuff I wanted to learn, like how to pick a lock or walk without making sound. But as I got older, he taught me other stuff. Stuff I didn't want to know."

"How to kill," he finished, picking up on her tone.

She nodded, finishing her cigarette and flicking the butt on the floor.

"I was good," she told him quietly, looking down at the table. "By the time I was fifteen, he said I was the best he'd ever had. None of his other... children could beat me in a fight, not even the older ones who had a hundred pounds on me. And I could steal anything and not leave a trace."

His eyes didn't show an ounce of doubt, and she didn't know how to feel about it. But she kept going anyway.

"I was his favorite. I was his best asset, and I didn't care about anything that would compromise me. I lost my parents, and despite how much he wanted me to, I never loved him. I had no weaknesses. Except Sam."

"Another of his students?" Rowan asked, and it wasn't lost on her he said students instead of children.

She nodded. "We were adopted around the same time, grew up together. He was a year older, and whenever I had a problem, he was the one I'd turn to. He was good to me, and by the time I was seventeen, not a small part of me loved him."

Aelin broke off and took a deep breath, wishing she had another cigarette and trying to figure out how to put into words how much he'd meant to her.

"Was?" Rowan asked, so softly and quietly and understandingly that she was reminded of the man he'd once been, the one she'd loved.

Shaking her head to clear it, she said, "He made a mistake. He went on a job; he was supposed to break into one of the underground casino's owned by Arobynn's competitor and memorize the ledger, but he got caught. It was messy and horrible and stupid, and the owner wanted blood. Arobynn promised he'd kill Sam as retribution."

Rowan's eyes widened, almost like he hadn't realized how brutally she'd been raised until that moment.

"I begged him not to. Sam had saved me and helped me so many times that I couldn't not do the same for him. I told him I'd do anything."

She studied her hands, regret and guilt thick on her skin. "Arobynn said if I took ten of the jobs Sam was supposed to do, he wouldn't kill him. I thought they'd be similar to the one he'd messed up on, small break-ins or robberies. So I accepted."

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she batted it away as she continued, "The second I shook his hand, Tern--another of Arobynn's--shot Sam in the head."

Rowan's face blanched so quickly, she thought he might pass out.

He started to say something, but she spoke faster. "I... snapped. I killed Tern, tried to kill Arobynn. You called me a murderer, and that's true. I am, and I don't regret it. Tern was a sadistic bastard, and I'm glad he's dead. And one day, I'll kill Arobynn for what he did."

Rowan shook his head, confusion and shock and something similar to pity in his eyes. "Why didn't you leave, run away?"

She leveled a look at him. "I didn't exactly have a choice, Rowan. My punishment for Tern lasted for over a year."

There was a long pause.

"Punishment?" he asked in a breathless voice that made something in her chest hurt.

She looked at the table again, skin pebbling at the memory of that year. "He locked me in a cell in the basement, in the dark. Once a month he'd come in to ask if I knew someone named Sam. It took me ten months to get confused, another three to say no."

Still not meeting his eyes, she looked at his hands, noticing they were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. And a part of her, buried under all the rage and resentment and sadness, warmed at the thought that he was... he was angry for her.

"It took me a long time after to figure out what was real and what wasn't. But Arobynn never let me forget our deal. And right before I met you, he told me the first job."

"What were the jobs?"

Aelin looked back up at that, the air thick between them as she said, "You already know."

"The murders."

She nodded, somehow managing to keep her spine straight despite the feeling of a hundred pound weight being lifted from her shoulders.

He at least knows why now, she thought to herself.

It was one of the things that had bothered her over the years. That he didn't know why she'd done what he thought she'd done. That he thought she'd.. wanted to do it.

He was silent for a long time, just watching her with a carefully emotionless face. "Thank you for telling me that," he said eventually. "I never could understand why."

Then he stood and walked to the door again, and it was only when his hand was on the handle she spoke again. "You asked why I'm doing this, and why I'm doing it now."

He opened the door but paused. Waited.

"It's because I tried to tell you this all those years ago, and you didn't care. You just assumed I was guilty because the evidence looked like it."

She spoke around the lump in her throat. "I told you I didn't kill those people, Rowan, and you didn't even care."

He spun around, slamming the door so hard it rattled, and in a split second, he was in front of her. A hand on the table, the other on her chair, he leaned down and got in her face.

He was so angry, so unbelievably enraged she couldn't believe it. He was angry?

"I didn't care? I didn't fucking care, that's what you think? Watching you get dragged away in cuffs was the worst moment of my life, and you think I didn't fucking care?"

Shock hit her like a bucket of ice water.

That moment was crystal clear in her mind, and she couldn't put what he was saying with what she knew.

He'd watched her with that same expressionless face, with cold eyes that had haunted her ever since.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he wasn't done.

"I fucked loved you! I thought you were the love of my life, Aelin. I begged you to tell me something that would help, tell me anything. But you didn't! You just kept saying you were innocent; you didn't give me anything to actually work with."

"I-"

"I found that stupid fucking list five days before I reported it, did you know that?"

She shook her head, because she hadn't.

"Exactly. You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he growled, eyes flashing. "I spent five days investigating it myself, trying to make sense of why you'd know those names. After your arrest, I spent two weeks trying to find anything, a single piece of evidence, that said it wasn't you. And after the trial, I spent another two months trying to poke holes in my own goddamn case."

He slammed a hand into the table. "I did everything I fucking could! I was desperate for it not to be you. I argued my case so your lawyer could plead circumstantial evidence. I put you on the stand so you could say anything you wanted. I went for life sentences instead of the death penalty to give you time to actually tell me what the hell was going on!"

She was breathing heavily, heart breaking and reforming over and over again at what he was saying, what he was implying.

"I didn't assume shit," he said in a low voice, so close they shared air. "You didn't tell me anything."

Aelin's voice trembled as she croaked, "I tried."

He shook his head, letting out a breath of amusement. "No, you didn't. If this past week has proven anything, it's that you don't try to do anything, you do it. You didn't tell me anything, Aelin. You're still not telling me anything."

"I'm telling you to look again! I'm telling you you didn't look hard enough, because I left breadcrumbs only you could find, breadcrumbs that explain everything."

"Stop playing games with me!" he shouted, eyes flashing with a fresh wave of anger. "It's been eight years! Stop holding onto whatever secret you're holding onto and just tell me!"

Gods, she wanted to.

He was the one person she couldn't trust with this secret, this stupid, most important secret, and yet he was the also the one person she wanted to tell it to.

She opened her mouth to tell him, but what came out was, "I didn't kill them, Rowan. I promise I didn't kill them. I can't... I can't tell you anything else."

"Jesus, Aelin," he spat, pushing off the table and turning to leave.

"Just look into it," she called after him, fingers digging into the table to resist the urge to try and follow him. "I promise you can figure everything out, and you'll understand everything. Please."

She knew why, after all this time, it was so important for him to know the truth when that hadn't been her original plan.

It was because she'd spent eight years believing he hadn't tried, believing she hadn't been a good enough person for him to even look into the possibility it wasn't her.

And maybe it was because he was once again leaving her, or maybe it was because she felt like she was in that courtroom again, begging him to believe her, or maybe it was because of something she didn't even understand yet.

Regardless of the reason, she found herself saying, "I loved you, too, you know."

He looked at her with sad eyes that she was sure mirrored her own and shook his head. "Not enough, apparently."

"You don't believe that," she argued, shaking her head and trying to keep the building emotions down.

"If you'd loved me, you would've told me. You would've given me the proof, whatever breadcrumbs you're talking about. You wouldn't have let me watch them take you away."

"Rowan-"

"You wouldn't have thought, for a second, that I didn't try to fight for you. And you sure as hell wouldn't have waited eight years to do whatever it is you're trying to do."

"I had to," she whispered, even as she knew it wouldn't be enough.

She shook with the effort to not tell him everything, but even after all he'd told her and how everything had changed, she just couldn't. Not yet.

He stood at the door, watching her with those eyes she'd once thought looked like the most beautiful emeralds. "Sometimes I think about it, you know. What life would be like if I hadn't tried to fix your sink in the middle of the night."

She smiled sadly. "Me too."

Rowan shook his head, gaze taking in her face like he thought he'd never see her again.

He thought it was over now, she realized. He thought that now she knew he hadn't given up on her immediately, now that she'd told him the story she'd wanted to tell him, that it was over and she'd give up.

"Look again," she whispered. "You know I didn't do it. It's why you're here, why you kept looking after the trial ended. You know I wouldn't."

"Goodbye, Aelin," he said instead, not telling her any of the things she really wanted to hear.

It wasn't until the door shut behind him she finally let herself cry.

She'd told herself that it didn't matter; that in a month the truth would come out and everything would be normal again.

She'd told herself she was only messing with Rowan for revenge, not because she wanted to see him again or test that he'd find the clues she'd left for him.

She'd told herself this was just a game.

She'd told herself all sorts of things that turned out to be lies.

~~~

Part 3

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 6

The final part!! I hope this is a satisfying conclusion! Thank you so much to everyone who has reblogged/commented/shared - it has meant so much. Special thank you again to @morganofthewildfire I'd still be working away at this fic if it wasn't for you, I don't know I ever would have finished it off. Your comments and analysis helped me so much and made this fic better than I could have alone, I'm so grateful.

13k - masterlist - ao3

--

There are five weeks between the eventful wrap party and her first day shooting the Netflix miniseries in Antica. Five weeks for Aelin to sort her shit.

It’s ambitious, and probably unattainable, but she needs a goal.

She needs something to draw her mind away from Rifthold and the director she knows is no longer there.

She gives herself a week of self pity. A week of lying around her sparsely decorated and impersonal Orynth apartment dwelling and pointedly ignoring the headlines she knows have been released. Elide let her know only one picture was captured of her with tears in her eyes leaving the party. Only one and gods bless Elide she shut it down.

Aelin lies on her uncomfortable couch in well-worn pyjamas with unwashed hair and runs through the photos on her phone of her and Fenrys, her and Manon, and the group of them together on set doing whatever shit they used to do.

She spends more time than she should like that. She sits there until her coffee table is overflowing with takeaway wrappers and Aedion and Elide have stopped texting more than once a day. She’s awful for ignoring them but she’s still mortified.

She hasn’t been able to look Aedion in the eyes since he dropped her back at her apartment after their long flight home from Rifthold. He didn’t say much. After he managed to again get her out of the party with minimal press she had cried, curled up between Aedion and Lysandra in their bed, and he didn’t offer judgement or instruction.

He just held her, whispering words she can’t remember but appreciates anyway. Now she hasn’t replied to any of his texts.

She hasn’t texted Fenrys or Manon either. She doesn’t know what to say.

She knows Fenrys jumped immediately into another movie, an action movie she knows he’s been chomping at the bit to get training for, and Manon into the second series of her show that she’s probably too famous for now.

They’re busy. They’ll understand. At least that’s what she tells herself.

The worst thing she does in that week is pour over the photos she has of Rowan. She didn’t realise she had so many but her camera roll is full of silver and green.

There are photos of just him, looking like Rowan, tall and handsome and understatedly happy, smiling covert little smiles at Aelin behind the camera. He was used to her instructing him to pose by the end of filming, she loved snapping away as he did anything. Eating, sleeping, smiling, everything - if it was Rowan she wanted it captured.

Now every photo is a knife to the chest.

The ones of the two of them together are worse, they twist the knife, pain splicing through her until she can hardly breathe. There are pictures of their cheeks pressed together, eyes shining, some serious, some silly. In all of them Aelin can clearly see her own happiness.

She can’t stop looking at them even as tears swell in her eyes and her throat gets tight.

For one week.

Until it’s been seven days since her flight landed back in Orynth and she gets up off her couch and deletes them. She almost doesn’t, her thumb hovers over the button for a good minute before she presses down but then it’s done and they’re gone. She showers and changes her clothes, she throws away all the rubbish on her coffee table and makes a plan.

Filming the movie with all of them it was easy to feel better than she did before, surrounded by new and exciting things, new people who didn’t know her before or treat her differently because of it. It was easy to lose herself in who she was there and with them.

Now though, she’s back to real life and real life lasts for an uneventful three weeks.

She tries what she can, she reads, she runs, she bakes, she teaches herself how to knit. None of it is satisfying and it's hard to make it stick. It’s all boring and never quite captures her attention the way she hopes. Never captures her attention enough to tear it away from Rowan and Rifthold.

A week before she flies out to Antica it changes.

She stumbles upon the change, completely accidentally, and she doesn’t realise what she’s needed until it's right in front of her.

Her usual run route is obstructed by construction and so she takes a left where she usually takes a right, heading down into the west side of the city, the side she doesn’t often frequent.

She used to. She used to spend hours strolling the streets letting the warmth of the sun and Sam’s hand in hers settle into her skin as they observed the numerous bakeries and small boutiques. Thankfully the scenery appears to have changed since.

The chill breeze of the September Orynth air teases the loose strands of hair tickling her face as she comes to a stop outside the sleek shop front. The wooden panels are painted a dark, glossy black and the windows are polished so brightly they reflect what’s left of the sunlight.

Music of Mistward the sign reads in curved, white lettering.

She can see her reflection in the shop window, her cheeks flushed, hair unruly, her running gear nowhere near to what would be appropriate attire for the shop dripping in class but she can’t turn away.

A bell tinkles as she pushes through the door, her headphones gripped tight in her fist as the gentle jazz playing over the sound system greets her. She doesn’t like jazz, it’s not her thing, but along with the musk of wood in the air it’s soothing in welcoming her in.

She passes walls of guitars and violins until she reaches the instrument that caught her eye. It’s sleek, black lid propped open revealing the elegant strings, pulled tight in neat lines. The sharp contrast of the keys against each other, bright against the deep black of the case. Her fingers ghost over them, dying to press down.

She hasn’t played since those days in Rowan’s Doranelle home. She’s wanted to, longed to feel the cool keys under her fingertips and the flood of the music pouring out of her, but the cheap keyboard in her Orynth apartment wouldn’t do Rowan’s beautiful instrument justice.

Aelin would rather not play at all than attempt a cheap imitation of what she felt there.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice sounds behind her, low and raspy but cheerful all the same.

She turns, taking in the older man, his grey hair cut short and his classic shirt and slacks pressed crisp. She glances back to the piano before facing him fully.

“Stunning,” she breathes.

The man steps forwards and offers her his hand. She slips her hand into his and he pumps firmly as he introduces himself.

“Emrys,” he says. “Welcome to Music of Mistward.”

“Aelin,” she says, surprised to hear her voice thick.

“Great to meet you, Aelin,” Emrys says with an ancient smile. He nods towards the piano. “Do you play?”

“No,” she says and Emrys’ smile flickers. “Yes, I mean I used to. I want to,” is what she settles on.

He nods, satisfied, before taking a step closer to the piano. He runs a hand over the top, almost reverently and smiles to himself.

“Antique,” he starts, “almost one hundred years old but well loved. I acquired it recently - here we deal mostly in antique instruments, it’s a passion for both myself and my husband. The previous owner only sold it to me when she inherited it and didn’t know how to play, she wanted it to find a good home.”

He shares a smile with her as if she’s in on the joke but her breathing still hasn’t settled.

“Satin Ebony finish,” Emrys continues, “eighty-eight keys, all original but preserved to the highest quality. Accompanying bench, cut with refreshed velvet. I don’t know in all my years I’ve seen such a fine instrument as old as this.”

Aelin glances back to the piano, it’s big, it won’t fit in her apartment in Orynth but she doesn’t care. She can… adjust. She hasn’t felt a pull like this in a while, she doesn’t want to deny it when she does.

“How much?” she almost demands from the man in front of her.

He appraises her and she knows what he sees. Her bedraggled state and the tension through her shoulders doesn’t give the impression of someone with this much cash to throw around. She abruptly ignores that the way she probably can afford this is because of Rowan’s movie.

When he doesn’t speak she repeats herself, more firmly. “How much?”

“Our price includes delivery and tuning on arrival.” He seems apprehensive of telling her the truth. Aelin waits.

When he finally reveals the figure Aelin blinks. And then she extends her hand. “I’ll take it.”

To his credit Emrys just nods, shaking her hand. “You don’t want to at least play it first?”

Aelin feels the smirk she hasn’t worn in a while creep onto her face. “Is there a risk you’re pulling a fast one on me?”

Emrys returns her smile, a playful glint in his eye. “Not a chance, Aelin. Please follow me to the register where I can take your details.”

Aelin almost stumbles. Almost, but then recovers.

“Any chance I can pay a deposit and then let you know where you’ll be delivering sometime soon?”

Emrys winks knowingly. “Absolutely.”

She follows him to the counter, signs away part of a disgustingly large total of money but leaves with a sense of satisfaction. It’s an accomplishment, a step for purely selfish reasons.

The first thing she does when she leaves the shop is call Elide.

Aelin meets her new therapist two days before she flies out to Antica.

She hasn’t called her old one in months and thinks that’s probably a sign. And she’s all about changes at the moment.

She isn’t shooting in Antica for too long, only a couple of months until she’s back in Orynth and then back to Rifthhold for press. Her stomach drops everytime the thought wanders into her head.

She’s excited to be back in Rifthold, but the company is daunting.

Fenrys and Manon will easily be pissed at her disappearance. She knows Manon will play aloof but she also knows she’ll be upset, Fenrys too. Aelin didn’t mean to hurt them, didn’t mean to drop off the face of the Earth, and she knows she’s let them down but Fenrys and Manon remind her of Rowan. She couldn’t trust the conversation not to eventually steer towards him and Aelin isn’t ready for that.

Their break-up feels weirdly anticlimactic. After everything they built to, Aelin just dipped.

She knows it seems that way to Rowan at least. She hasn’t texted him, or rang him or anything since the party. She’s wanted to, wanted more than anything to hear his voice as she cried, but it’s not fair to him to drag it out and she knows that. She knew when she drew the line she had to stay on her side of it, no matter how much it hurt.

She had cried until her head pounded and her throat was raw. She cried until her eyes itched with no tears left to fall, until all that came out of her was hoarse screeches as she ached to hear him call her Fireheart one last time.

But no one needs to know that, she had kept it as hidden as she could.

She definitely didn’t need any more paparazzi pictures of her with red-rimmed eyes looking downtrodden. She couldn’t bear the thought of Rowan, or worse her mother, seeing them.

She knows Fenrys and Manon; Aedion, Lysandra and Elide would see through her flimsy excuses and so it was easier to stay quiet.

She’s not thinking about facing them yet. She supposes that will be something that likely comes up with this new therapist, but so far on her own, she’s choosing avoidance.

She gets Maeve’s number from Dorian, and she comes highly recommended by a number of Dorian’s other high profile clients. She’s well-versed in non-disclosure agreements, secret sessions and back street exits; she feels like the perfect fit for Aelin.

Unofficially, Dorian lets her know Maeve takes no shit, and that’s also just what Aelin needs.

They agree to online sessions while she’s in Antica, but Maeve recommended an initial meeting and Aelin is open to all of her suggestions.

Their first hour is not directly her most life changing but it’s a start.

“Welcome, Aelin,” Maeve says, sweeping an arm out towards the firm-looking, orange couch in the centre of the room.

Aelin takes a seat, mutters her thanks and glances around the room.

The room should feel cold with the exposed brick and minimalistic decor, the only furniture being the couch Aelin perches on, the almost regal armchair Maeve reclines in and a lamp, but it doesn’t and she gets comfortable tucking her feet beneath her thighs and leaning against the arm.

“So,” Maeve begins, surveying her in the way only a true professional can. “Let’s get started.”

Aelin feels bare beneath her gaze, and like everything about Maeve and her practise it should be unnerving but she just blinks against the scrutiny.

“Why are you here today? You could start with sharing why you have made this appointment.”

And isn’t that the million gold-mark question?

Aelin takes a deep breath through her nose and raises her chin.

“I don’t want to move backwards,” she admits. “Or maybe I just want to know I’ve actually moved forwards.”

Maeve’s expression stays calm, but Aelin knows she’d be smirking if she could. She’s well aware of how therapy works but even so, speaking her thoughts aloud can help to verify them in her own mind.

Aelin hopes so at least.

Their hour is over quickly and Aelin is resolved that Maeve is a good fit, reassured in Dorian’s claim that the woman takes no shit. Her all-knowing assessment of Aelin should have been unsettling but the frank dissection is what she needs.

Online therapy, especially fitting it around shooting might be a challenge but it’s for the best. As much as she values her independence and standing on her own two feet, Aelin is big enough to admit that facing her mother again may require some professional guidance. Seeing Rowan too, but again, she’s not thinking about that yet.

Antica is hot and Aelin is sweaty within seconds of stepping out of the air-conditioned luxury of the airport. That feeling lasts the entire time she’s there, disrupting the otherwise enjoyable time she has shooting the series.

Her new co-stars are fine, they invite her out with them and make her smile but she can’t help as though a part of her is always comparing them to who and what she left in Rifthold. Aelin tries her best to enjoy her time there with them, she hosts dinner parties and invites them to a game of Aedion’s but nothing quite hits the same as her time spent on The Crescent City.

She rationalises it to Maeve, that The Crescent City was a big turning point in her life and that it has nothing to do with Rowan, Fenrys or Manon, but she’s not sure she even believes it herself.

She spends the rest of her time in Antica trying to convince herself, and Maeve, that she’s moving past it. That she’s moving forwards or else she’ll move backwards. She’s not sure how much of it is futile.

The Crescent City is done, whether she likes it or not, and she can’t deny it changed her in ways she didn’t expect. It’s a hard pill to swallow that maybe it changed her beyond return to how she was before. She also can’t quite figure out whether she thinks that’s a bad thing or not.

They have a dinner for the core cast and crew, including Rowan, once they’re all back in Rifthold for the beginning of the press cycle. They have one night to reacquaint before they’re shoved into the whirlwind that is interviews, photoshoots and promotion.

She’s seen the trailer already and it’s just as she expected but more. It’s dark and dreary with flashes of brightness from herself and Fenrys and she’d want to watch it if she chanced a viewing as a member of the public.

What is surreal, is to see herself in a polished version of the film they were creating. Or at least a part of it.

She said each of the lines, rehearsed them over and over until they fell off her tongue without thought, but she still doesn’t recognise the girl in the trailer. A droplet of pride slips down her chest at the realisation that it’s not Aelin in the trailer but Feyre. She knows she’s good, has known it all along, but the realisation and reaffirmation is ecstasy better than any drug.

She hovers outside the restaurant, watching through the window, needing a couple more seconds before she submits herself to the assault of them all again. She still hasn’t replied to either Fenrys or Manon and the thought presses on her like lead but it’s too late to change that now.

If she’s honest she’s concerning herself with Fenrys and Manon in the hopes of distracting herself from the fact that she’s seconds away from Rowan. Seconds away from him in the flesh, his solid body in front of her that she had learned almost as well as her own.

Her palms are clammy and she wipes them against the fabric of her trousers. The upcoming interviews and photoshoots will all be styled for her and so she’s relishing in her last moments for a while of truly dressing like Aelin.

She takes a step towards the restaurant door, the tip of her trainer bumping the wood when a voice sounds behind her.

“Well, hello there, Stranger.”

Aelin braces herself, hand paused outstretched where it had been reaching for the door.

She turns, biting her lip as she faces Fenrys. He looks the same as he did, skin still golden, eyes still dancing with mischief, but his golden curls are trimmed shorter than the last time she saw him. His expression is carefully blank.

“I- Hi… um,” she stumbles over the words. “I’ve missed you.”

Fenrys breaks almost immediately. “Oh thank the fucking gods.”

He surges forwards and wraps her into a tight hug. Aelin clings to him, fighting the tears in her eyes as she buries her face in his chest. She’s gone far too long without this, without him, and it’s all her own fault.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” Fenrys asks. “Oh wait, no you don’t. I’m assuming your phone broke, or was stolen or something since you never replied to any of my texts letting you know.”

Aelin knows her cheeks are stained pink. “I’m sorry,” she admits.

“I know.” His voice softens, losing the teasing edge as he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

He pauses before he speaks again, his eyes running over her face. “You could have texted me anytime, you know. Manon too. I know you might forget or try to convince yourself otherwise, but we are your friends. You could have called us about literally anything.”

Aelin feels like she could cry. She’s not sure that she isn’t.

“It doesn’t have to be about anything serious, especially not related to the movie,” or Rowan he doesn’t say but Aelin hears it. “We just wanted to hear your stupid voice.”

Aelin pouts. “My voice isn’t stupid.”

She pokes her tongue out as he rolls his eyes, easily falling back into the dynamic they had shaped a few months ago.

“Not what I meant,” he says before pausing, taking her in as she stands in front of him. “You can’t lose us that easily, you know. We’re like rats or fleas or something. Hard to get rid of.”

“Nice,” she comments, but her chest is tight at his words.

He smiles at her before adding, “and you had fucking better text me back.”

Aelin laughs through the sniffles he’s kindly ignoring. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and finds his contact. Hi she sends and feels his phone buzz against her.

“Much better,” he says and releases her from his arms. “Now, are you ready for a night of the finest dining all on the studio credit card?”

Aelin laughs again. “Lead the way.”

He shoots her a wink and waltzes ahead to hold the door open for her.

Fenrys’ presence shouldn’t reassure her the way it does, especially after the way she has treated him but she clings to him anyway. He’s her buffer for now, a crutch for tonight and tonight only. Once tonight is over and tomorrow begins she and Rowan can be professional, they managed it for months during filming and this should be no different.

Rowan still looks the way he did the night she broke his heart.

His silver hair falls elegantly over his forehead as he bends his head to talk to Manon, the pair of them are engrossed in a conversation as she and Fenrys walk over, not spotting them yet. She loves his hair, loves the thick silver waves and the way they feel between her fingers. She loves the way any attempt he makes to arrange the thick strands is never quite able to tame the beast. She loves the shirt he has on, with the sleeves rolled up exposing inches of tanned skin and dark ink, the same worn green cotton she wore numerous times around his living room all those months ago. She can still remember the feel of it against her bare skin.

His smile is the same, his green eyes crinkling as his lips barely part as he does his best to hold it back.

His smile is the same until he spots her.

He catches sight of her when she reaches the table and his smile drops, the shutters closing over his expression so fast she wouldn’t know he knew how to smile had she not just seen it.

It tears her chest in two and any attempt at a smile on her part is futile. It’s all she can do to make it to her seat without stumbling and she’s sure she misses any other greetings she gets as she slumps onto the chair opposite Manon. She absently notes Fenrys dropping in at her side.

She can’t look away from Rowan, her eyes scanning to try and find anything that distinguishes him from the man she loved all those months ago. She finds nothing. He’s still Rowan and Aelin still… fuck.

He recovers before she does, ever the collected courtier, clearing his throat and nodding.

“Aelin,” he says and she adores the sound of her name on his tongue.

“Hi Rowan,” she manages and hears how weak she sounds. Rowan hears it too. She can tell from the purse of his lips and the tension in the hand he rests along the back of Manon’s chair.

Aelin allows her eyes to drift to Manon and she finally catches the thunderous expression the younger girl wears.

“Hi,” she whispers and Manon blinks.

“Hi?” Manon repeats incredulously.

Aelin is fucked.

“Five months and I get a hi?”

It’s loud and a few heads turn their way. It’s simultaneously mortifying and everything Aelin deserves.

“I’m sorry,” she says plainly.

She could lie, make up some useless excuses but in the end there’s nothing else but the truth and if Manon wants her to grovel she will, she’s just not sure this is the time or place.

Fenrys shares her thoughts. “Later, Manon,” he says, gently.

Rowan’s eyes stay firmly glued to the tablecloth as Manon frowns, seemingly unwilling to let it go.

After a few seconds, seconds Aelin spends waiting for the ground to open up and swallow her, Manon nods. She nods and turns to Fenrys, demanding to know what he’s ordering. And just like that Aelin has a moment to catch her breath.

She knew this dinner wouldn’t be easy, knew she’d be walking into the lion's den of her own making, but she hadn’t expected it to be as hard. Hadn’t expected seeing Rowan to feel like a slap, hadn’t expected Manon’s hurt to scrape across her skin leaving her raw.

She tries not to think she deserves it, Maeve would only raise a brow as if to say we’ve been over this. The thought is sobering, and she manages to lift her head.

It is what it is, what’s done is done and she can only apologise and move forwards.

As much as she tries to resist, Aelin finds herself watching Rowan throughout the night. It’s scary how familiar he feels, he should feel like a stranger, but he feels like she knows him too well. He laughs when she expects, rolls his eyes when she predicts. He orders what she thought he would and he sips away at an orange juice the way he did the first dinner they all had together.

Aelin already feels so different than she did the last time she was in Rifthold and he seems unchanged.

She observes for most of the night, feeling drained despite her minimal contributions to the conversations. She speaks when spoken to and actively avoids speaking when Rowan does, she definitely doesn’t respond to anything he says even though she wants to at least twice and wants to laugh a couple more.

She makes it through and clings to Fenrys again as they all leave, linking her arm through his as they leave the restaurant. He knows what she’s doing but graciously guides her out of the building. Once on the pavement outside the restaurant he pauses and turns to her.

“What hotel are you staying in while you’re here?”

The rest of the group are milling about, calling taxis and bidding their farewells. Aelin doesn’t know how she’s getting back yet, she’s assuming she’ll split a ride with someone.

“Um, the Glass Castle, I think,” she says, desperately trying to recall the name of the hotel she dumped her bags in a few hours earlier.

“Boo,” Fenrys laughs, pointing his thumb down. “They’ve got me in the Torre Cesme. Think I’m ages away from you.”

Aelin laughs, disappointed but ready to order her own taxi back when a voice she didn’t expect sounds.

“I’ve just ordered a cab to the Glass Castle, I’m staying there too. You can jump in if you want.”

Rowan.

She shoots Fenrys a panicked look but his expression is pure glee.

“That would be great thanks, Boss,” Fenrys says, shrugging his arm out of hers and nudging her towards Rowan.

“No problem, Boyo.” Rowan offers Fenrys a dark grin at the nickname and the sight of it stills her. It’s new, he used to roll his eyes whenever Fenrys would drop it into conversation, but now Rowan’s playing along. And the grin, the curl of the lips and the narrowing of the eyes, it’s sexy as fuck.

It’s only taken one night and she’s back in the danger zone. She doesn’t want to be, hell, she wants him to take her back to his hotel room and peel off her clothes but this is Rowan. She’s spent the last few months trying to get over him, falling into bed with him the first night she sees him again would not likely be defined as progress.

He’s also not likely to want that after what she did.

“You don’t have to,” she says. The first direct thing she’s said to him since their greeting.

“I know.” A slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “But we’re going to the same place, it wouldn’t seem logical to take different cars.”

Logic. That’s all it is.

“Right.” She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so awkward with him, not even at the start. “Thank you,” she says, following him to the car.

Fenrys shoots her a grin as he slips into his own taxi. Traitor.

Rowan holds the door open for her and slips in behind her. She tries not to think anything of the fact he could have easily taken the front seat.

The ride is silent apart from the easy chit chat he makes with the driver, another thing she’s not sure she noticed him do before, and she stares out the window as the city passes by. The streets of Rifthold are not her home but she feels a brightness as she glances down the curving roads, spotting groups of people milling about enjoying the night.

She knows the first call she made to Elide in weeks was the right call. Elide is the only person she’d trust with her bank account and access to real estate listings. The link to the flat her friend had sent over has stayed open in her browser since she got it.

It’s modern with classic twists, situated in a recently renovated old warehouse with miles of exposed brick and rustic wooden panelling. She loves the master bedroom the most, with its adjoining en suite with a huge bathtub she can picture herself soaking in. She has a viewing booked in two days but doubts she’ll even need it.

It’s not long before the taxi pulls up outside the hotel and she follows Rowan through the glass doors. He presses the button for the lifts and Aelin shifts in the awkward silence.

Awkward is not something she’s used to with Rowan. Or it wasn’t before.

The doors slide open and again she follows him inside.

He pauses with a hand hovering over the buttons for the floors. “Which floor?”

“Nine.”

Aelin hates these one word exchanges compared to the hours they used to share talking about everything and nothing. She can’t believe this is the man she was so vulnerable with.

His short huff of laughter drags her gaze to his face.

“What?”

“Makes sense,” is what he says, shaking his head and pressing only the button for the ninth floor.

The ride takes seconds, a minute at most, filled with the silence between them.

When the doors open to the ninth floor she steps out, determined not to follow him again, and she feels him follow her. Even now she’s so aware of his powerful body and the way he moves it. She shouldn’t be so attracted to the power emanating from him, from the breadth of his shoulders to the sureness of his steps. She wants him, doesn’t think she ever stopped, except now he’s the forbidden fruit. Forbidden only by her own actions.

She reaches her door, room 905, but pauses with her key tucked in her hand.

“Thanks for letting me share your cab,” she says, finding herself desperate not to say goodbye yet. “I can transfer you for half.”

That finally, finally, cracks a whisper of a smile but she’s not sure she enjoys his laughter if it’s at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

That should be the end of it, she should open her door and shut it behind her, they have a few weeks ahead of them that will be hard enough without any complications.

She left him and he seems gracious enough to have mostly moved past it.

“It was good to see you, Aelin,” he says, seemingly unwilling to let the night end as well. She doesn’t let the seed of hope sprout because what would be the point?

Nevertheless, Aelin smiles, leaning back against her door.

Rowan continues, “even if I wasn’t sure how the night was going to go.”

Her attention is spiked. “What do you mean?”

She can’t lie, a part of her expects him to back down at the edge to her voice. He doesn’t.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to pretend nothing ever happened between us.”

She blinks, giving herself a second to process.

Maybe this isn’t the same Rowan from all those months ago. That night he let her walk away from him, gods know she needed it, but a dark little part of her had wanted him to fight her harder. Fight harder for her. When he hadn’t she’d taken it as her sign.

She knows the expectation was toxic, if he had fought her it would have only pissed her off, but she wishes she’d had someone to tell her it was the wrong choice. It would have helped to hear in the moment, rather than be faced with Rowan months down the line that she wants and can’t have.

The Rowan in front of her, the third Rowan she’s known, stares her down. His eyes peel away each of the layers she’s worked with Maeve for months to don in a second.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

It’s honest and maybe she’s not the same Aelin as a few months ago either.

That’s what she had asked for that night in the cool air, to move past them with as little commotion as possible, stirring up as little attention as they could. She hadn’t wanted to let them eclipse the movie and yet that ended up being exactly what she had accomplished.

Now though, Aelin knows better.

Rowan nods as his eyes dart across her face. He seems to step closer without realising. Aelin notes the motion, still so aware of him and his proximity to her.

His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “I was so angry at you for leaving.”

Aelin loses her breath at his confession.

Eventually she manages, “was?”

He looks away from her, glancing down the dark hallway, his jaw tight. When she’s with him she forgets about the world around them, there’s probably-definitely-CCTV in this hallway but he’s here and she can’t let him go yet.

His fists curl and uncurl as he takes a deep breath.

“Was,” he says shortly. “I was so angry at you, the way you did what you did was shit.”

Aelin swallows. He’s not wrong.

“I know.”

“But now I don’t know.” She lifts her eyes to his, swimming in the openness she doesn’t deserve. And fuck that. That is such bullshit. She meets his stare, returning all that he isn’t saying. “I spent a long time thinking about it, thinking about you, and it took me a while but now I get it.”

That hurts more than she expects. She didn’t expect him to be all over her the minute they reunited but his understanding was always a kicker.

“I know why you did it,” he continues. “And that took most of the wind out of my sails.”

Aelin frowns. He can’t possibly know why.

“I don’t think you do.” He tilts his head, an invitation for her to expand. “Or you’d know that nothing has changed.”

“Hasn’t it?”

His question throws her. Completely.

She tilts her head up to look at him, closer to her than he’s been all night, pushing her to keep being honest with him.

She’s dazed being this close to him again after so long, the green of his eyes stronger than she remembers. Or maybe her brain had assured her the memory of him couldn’t have been real.

“I don’t know,” she admits, unable to fight the way her body leans into him.

His teeth graze his lower lip and she follows the motion.

He’s silent for a beat too long and her skin is thrumming under his attention. She doesn’t know how she’s gone this long without him, she doesn’t know how she thought she’d survive never having him again.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” he says finally, drawing back and a rush of cool air fills the space he had taken. “Goodnight Aelin.”

He turns and she watches his back down the hallway. He slips easily into a room a few doors down and she’s left watching the path he’d taken, feeling the weight of his eyes on her lips.

Her head thuds against the door as she screws her eyes shut. She wants to scream, wants to chase him down the hall, wants to fly back to Orynth where she was safe.

She doesn’t do any of those things.

She tucks herself into her hotel room and readies herself for the whirlwind that’s about to hit. These next few weeks are going to be hard, not just dealing with the Rowan situation, but she can’t fight the excitement she feels.

Fuck. She’s back in Rifthold, back where she loves, doing what she was born to do.

This is big. She can feel it.

The Crescent City is not her first project, and so she’s been a part of press cycles before, she knows how they go. What she doesn’t know is how a press cycle for something like this works.

The only word she can find is insanity.

There are somehow earlier mornings than they had while shooting and often longer days. She gets poked and prodded in hair and make-up for hours before they spend all day sat in a hotel room filming repetitive interviews for various magazines.

She and Fenrys are genuinely friends and yet they still have to put on a show in front of the cameras. She plays up her laughter when he cracks a joke and he makes sure to never look away from her for longer than two seconds when she speaks or a producer behind the camera makes a comment.

She loves Fenrys but it’s exhausting. Her only blessing is that for most of her engagements she’s with Fenrys and Manon with Rowan conducting his own interviews separately as she had hoped.

Sometimes though, given their relatively similar ages and general level of chemistry, they get grouped together.

The four of them are filming a video for Buzzfeed, filling in a quiz to find out which character from The Crescent City they’re most like. She’s unsurprised to discover her result is Rhysand and it’s fun even if her heart does pound every time she has to act like she’s unfazed and friendly with Rowan.

There’s a moment, just a moment, where she almost breaks from her friendly and unbothered interview persona. It’s her turn to read the question, what item could you not survive without on a desert island?

It’s Rowan that speaks. “Her shampoo,” he says, “it’s jasmine.”

There’s a split second where she doesn’t speak, where all she can do is stare at Rowan, stunned that he remembered and thought to mention it now.

In that split second she’s transported back to memories of them together in the shower at her rented apartment, kissing lazily under the spray after spending hours between her sheets. She remembers dumping the shampoo into her hand and then onto his head, massaging his thick locks and surrounding them in the scent of jasmine.

She remembers how he kissed her neck as she did, trailing his hands over her silky curves, slick with the soap, with his kisses building in heat until her hands dropped to his shoulders. He’d lavished kisses down her chest until he’d jerked back, shampoo in his eyes and she’d laughed until he was safe and pressed his lips again to hers, continuing where he’d left off.

She’s shocked he’d bring this up when there’s a camera on the two of them and she can only imagine the comments it will spark. She’s not sure she cares if it keeps Rowan’s eyes on her.

“It’s luxurious for a reason,” she says when she recovers, tossing her thick locks over her shoulder. “Well worth it.”

She doesn’t miss the flicker in his own mask at her comment.

That kind of interaction will no doubt ignite the sparks she’d only ever wanted to avoid.

As the press cycle goes on and on, and they get closer and closer to the premiere it only becomes harder for her conviction to hold.

She tests her own argument, the clear line she drew in the sand, when she manages to keep it professional with Rowan and she’s not sure where that leaves her. She had thought they would overshadow everything about the project and now she’s not sure.

She said nothing had changed and he had challenged her.

She’s still not sure who’s in the right.

Everything is simultaneously completely new and exactly the same. Rowan is still gorgeous, still charming in his own reserved way, still almost reverent when he talks about his craft throughout interviews. He still talks with his hands and Aelin still can’t draw her eyes away from their motions, she still craves the touch of them on her skin. He’s still seven years older than her and the director of her big break.

Yet there are differences.

They’re still often on the same page, offering similar answers and backing each other up but now he never backs down from a challenge. Now he doesn’t hold back those comments she knows he was always dying to let slip. She should be annoyed, everytime he drops a line that pushes her to expand a little part of her wants to roll her eyes.

She doesn’t though. Her blood heats and her skin prickles. She loves this with him. Loves the dance they play, the teasing, verbal games that shouldn’t start her off but do. She loves the smirk he wears when they end up down that path, and she knows she wears it’s mirror image.

She always ends up squirming in her seat and it should be wrong but it isn’t. The cameras can’t see below their chests and the flush in her cheeks could easily be from the warmth of the day.

She’s beginning to wonder if she’s powerless against Rowan Whitethorn. If she’s powerless against the green of his eyes or the curl of his accent. The slant of his brows or the points of his teeth when he smiles.

She doesn’t know that it’s just one thing. It’s all of the things, it’s all of him, and more so than ever she’s completely fucked.

But they aren’t talking outside of the interviews and photoshoots, and the knowledge of which hotel room is his itches her toes every night. It would be so easy to sneak down the hall, to knock on the door and slot her lips to his when he opened.

It’s only a couple of nights before the premiere when the temptation becomes too much. She’s been around Rowan all day, surrounded by the smell of his aftershave, the notes of pine and freshness and Rowan and it’s too much. She strides down the hallway, resolved in her decision and closes her fingers over the button for the lift.

She needs to be elsewhere or she’ll make some bad decisions.

She’s come so far, survived months without him, she can’t cave due to proximity.

The hotel bar is deserted when she walks in and makes a beeline to the bartender. Yeah, maybe after her wobble at the wrap party a bar isn’t the best decision she could make but her options are limited. Trying to sleep with Rowan is, after all, probably the worst of both options.

“Just a sparkling water please,” she says to the barman who nods and returns a moment later.

“Put it on my tab.” A voice from the end of the bar.

A laugh bubbles out of her chest as she closes her fingers around her glass. Of course he’s here. She should have spotted Rowan the minute she walked in and it’s cruel that the reason she didn’t was that her thoughts were too wrapped up in him.

“Be careful what you sign up for,” she says as she walks over, her steps measured as she comes to a stop before him. Her hips swing of their own accord and his eyes dart up and down the length of her. “I can put a number of these away.”

The smile he gives her is surprisingly unguarded. It seems he’s done holding himself back too. Aelin loves it.

“I don’t doubt it,” he says, nodding at the stool next to him. She obliges as he speaks again. “It’s hard to switch off sometimes.”

He’s always on the same page as she is. Aelin shrugs, taking a sip of the drink he bought her.

They’re quiet for a moment, both unsure of how to break the silence between them when one of the last things they knew was the taste of each other’s lips.

“I keep thinking I’ll get used to it, that one day this will just be my job, but I never do,” Aelin says eventually, tracing a fingertip through the condensation gathered on her glass.

Rowan nods, smiling softly down at the bar and taking a sip of his own drink. An orange juice as usual.

“It’s hard to sleep at the end of days like today,” he says. “It’s why I’m in here.”

The bar is dark at the late hour, and quiet with no one else in there but them and the bartender. There’s something about the late hour, the darkness and the stillness surrounding them a break from the recent rush, that feels a little bit too close. She feels a little too exposed under the weight of his gaze but she rolls her shoulders back and leans an elbow on the bar as she turns towards him.

“I thought you’d be used to all of this by now,” she says and he cocks his head.

“Why?” His question is coy, begging her to expand.

“This is not your first rodeo and all of that,” she says with a smile.

Rowan laughs softly, the sound curving around her like an embrace.

“It can still be overwhelming after your first big movie,” he says gently, but with an edge to his voice that she needs to immediately get rid of.

“I don’t doubt that,” is what she whispers and his brow seems to soften, sensing her lack of malice.

She hates the way they’re in the position where he assumes the worst of her. She has to make that change.

“I don’t think if I get to do this for the rest of my life that it would ever feel normal.”

“No,” Rowan agrees, “I don’t think it could.”

“So then we need this film to do well.” Aelin shifts on the stool, finding herself leaning closer to him without conscious thought. He doesn’t retreat. He stands his ground until they’re only inches apart. “Lest we find ourselves fading into obscurity.”

“I doubt you ever could,” he says with a laugh and it’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

As he looks at her, his expression soft in the dim light, his smile holds something special for her and her chest lifts that she managed it. That he was willing to give that to her.

“My agent sent over the initial critic reviews earlier,” he says and her stomach plummets.

“And?” she demands, her voice wobbling slightly. Her confidence from a minute ago vanished.

This is the moment where she could sink, the moment this could all be over.

“And they’re good,” he almost whispers.

“Good,” she repeats and it’s not a question but he nods.

She wants to throw herself at him at the news, a couple of months ago she wouldn’t have even hesitated, but now she sits clenching her fists and trying not to smile too wide. It feels like a waste. She’ll never get this feeling again.

She turns to him and he’s smiling so she does what she’s wanted to for months. Aelin leans forwards and wraps an arm over his shoulders, pressing her chest to his.

His arms slip up slowly over her shoulders at first, unsure but gaining confidence as he tightens his grip around her, drawing her further into his chest. Aelin laughs a little, throwing her other arm around him and resting her face against his shoulder.

It’s not enough, it never could be with him, but it will do. She’s just happy he didn’t push her away.

Eventually, after a length of time that feels far too short, she pulls back to see him gazing down at her with an expression she can’t name. His brows are drawn in with his lips gently parted. He’s happy but apprehensive, open but distant. Aelin will take what she can and the distance between them has always been too far.

She wants nothing more than to close it, to draw herself into him and he into her, but she can’t. They’re here for one thing and one thing only and she refuses after what they’ve been through to mess it up again.

She knows he can read her own expression but she doesn’t care. She’ll hide from everyone and anyone but she’s realising she could never hide from him.

She wants Rowan, will probably want him for the rest of her life, but she made the call and he’s wrong, things haven’t changed.

Apart from all of the things that have.

The day of the premiere Aelin feels sick.

Her stomach twists and she tosses and turns all night and the dark circles under her eyes are brutal as a result. Her make-up artist tuts but diligently packs concealer on until Aelin looks well rested. Or as close as she can.

She’s trying not to think of the stretch of carpet she’ll have to walk tonight, a smile plastered across her face as she poses for the hundreds of cameras. Their premiere is one of the biggest of the season and, along with Fenrys, she’s the star.

She’ll have nowhere to hide.

Aelin sits in front of her mirror, her hair and make-up are done but she’s yet to get dressed. She takes herself in, making sure to note every strand of hair to every line of her lips, feeling as though she needs to remember this moment. The moment before it all explodes.

They’ve been building to this for almost a year now and this is as close to a culmination as she’ll get.

Her dress is something fierce. Endless, flowing velvet in the darkest shade of black. Long sleeves and a fitted bodice with an almost indecent dip in the back. The dress would be modest without that cut out, she can’t wear any underwear it dips so low.

It would be a simple dress, some might even dare to say boring, if it weren’t for the back. The majority of the fabric that remains is covered in gold embroidery taking the form of a dragon, coiled to strike. Aelin adored the dress the moment her stylist revealed it to her. She didn’t consider any of the other dresses, didn’t even acknowledge them as options.

The dress is what she needs, something strong, something to help her hold her head up high. She can walk the red carpet and stare down every single person who doubted her and know that they were wrong.

Aelin doesn’t need their approval. She doesn’t need the reassurance of faceless commenters, she doesn’t need the support of the magazines and the newspapers. She doesn’t need her mother’s approval. On anything.

Aelin is confident and self-assured and she can walk the red carpet knowing that.

Her sessions with Maeve have helped to reassure her stance, but she’s realising day by day she’s known it all along. It’s just taken a little bit of digging to uncover it.

She slips into her dress and it slides on like a second skin. She takes in her appearance, the arch of her brow and the red smirk of her lips makes her look intriguing, like a confident young woman.

Aelin was born to be an actress but she’s proud to say the sight in the mirror is real.

She poses for a few photos before she’s led out of her room and into the car, waiting to take her to the theatre.

She spends the ride in silence, barely listening to the jabbering of the aide in the car with her, and she focuses her thoughts on the calm before the storm. She takes deep breaths and centres herself the way Maeve has taught, she knows this could so easily be overwhelming but she’s determined to enjoy it.

The car stills and she can hear the noise of the crowd outside. She takes a final deep breath and allows her lips to spread into a smile. This one is genuine, nothing forced about it, and she pauses for one last beat.

This is big and Aelin is ready.

The car door opens and the sound hits her like a wave, slamming down onto her and it's so loud she can hardly think.

This is it. This is the moment she has dreamed of.

The nights where this image was all she could cling to to make it through could never have compared to how it feels standing here now, screams of her own name wrapping around her and urging her on.

Her steps are slow and purposeful as she glides down the path forged for her, the red carpet beneath her stilettos is plush and bright. She pauses where she’s instructed, rolling her shoulders back and smirking at the cameras with a hand on her hip.

She knows she looks incredible and the shouts of the photographers do nothing to change her mind. They are here for her, they’re all here for what she has accomplished, along with Fenrys, Manon, Chaol and Rowan and everyone else involved.

There are so many forces upon her, the flashing of the lights, the screams and shouts calling her name or Fenrys’, the magnitude of what this is could knock down a lesser individual but all it does is raise Aelin up.

She’s been through worse than this and survived, she’ll stare down the lense of all of these cameras, of everyone who has ever spoken her name and she won’t cower, she won’t just survive. She’ll thrive.

A warm hand lands on her waist and somehow the flashes of the cameras explode.

“Hey, golden girl.” Fenrys’ words are almost hard to hear even though his lips brush her ear. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Aelin wraps her arm around his back and grins, “I thought I’d at least show my face.”

He returns her smile and together they pose for the cameras, their shoulders back and smiles confident. She’s not sure this could be better.

Until she turns slightly to her left and gets flashes of silver where she and Fenrys are gold.

Rowan and Manon, posing for their own pictures mere metres away. He looks spectacular, the deep black of his tuxedo doing nothing but bringing out the depth of his tan and the shine of his silver hair.

He’s smiling his public smile and it’s gorgeous even though it’s not her favourite of his smiles, she loves the private ones he used to save just for her, and her own smile falters at the sight.

She’s here with Fenrys and it’s not wrong but it doesn’t feel right. The arm around her waist shouldn’t belong to Fenrys.

She should be where Manon is, smiling up at Rowan while they marvel at what they’ve accomplished. She knows her smile has dropped and she fumbles for anything to plaster onto her expression other than the longing she feels for Rowan.

As if she’d called his name he turns to her, green colliding with blue, and she knows he feels the same.

And that hurts far more than all of the months they spent apart.

All the months she spent hurting, trying to deny what she always knew, trying to pretend that they were anything other than a force of nature. They had been an eclipse, threatening to over take all of this but she was wrong. Rowan was wrong too.

It doesn’t matter whether everything or nothing has changed because she wasn’t right in the first place.

She should have known better than to think that whatever flimsy decision she made could halt what they were, what they should be.

She can only hope he forgives her. She can only hope he feels the same.

But the thing about this new Rowan is that she can’t read him the way she used to read her Rowan, she can’t tell if the way he steels himself and turns away from her is a dismissal or if the look they shared had been just as painful for him as it had been for her.

“A masterpiece.” - Rifthold Reporter

“Fenrys Moonbeam shines alongside Aelin Ashryver in The Crescent City. See our full review here.” - Wyrd Stone

“Latest Rowan Whitethorn flick smashes Box Office records.” - Valg Weekly

“Unapologetic, daring and thought provoking. Award nominations expected to follow for The Crescent City.” - Terrasen Tribune

Her phone has not stopped buzzing for the past four days.

Dorian texts every waking hour with the updates he gets, the numbers coming in and all her latest offers. It’s surreal. She knew they were good but she’s not sure she ever really expected this. Aedion texts her a picture every time he sees or hears her name, it should be terrifying the frequency with which he texts her but she has to fight back her smile each time he does.

She managed to find an hour the night before to call Lysandra and the majority of their call had consisted of Aelin repeatedly asking what the fuck was happening while Lysandra cackled down the phone.

She’d even got a text from Lorcan. It was alright, he’d written. Followed by, I hope I die before ever having to watch you make out with someone like that again.

She’d sent three middle finger emojis and a kissy face in response.

Now is probably not the best time to move to a different country but she’d signed her name on the papers two days before the premiere and Rifthold is calling, irrespective of the fact she’s only been back in Orynth for two days.

Most of her stuff headed out yesterday with the moving company leaving Aelin with two suitcases to fly back to Rifthold with tomorrow.

There’s one last place she needs to go before she heads back to finally get a good night's sleep before her flight tomorrow. She’s never set foot in this graveyard before, she’s never had the courage to dare before, but she’s emboldened. By the success of the movie, by her progress in the past year, by her sessions with Maeve. This has felt like a natural step.

The shining, black headstone is understated and classy and completely to his taste.

Sam Cortland. Beloved son and brother, taken far too soon.

Aelin waits with her head bowed, allowing all of her emotions to rush through her veins. She doesn’t fight them, it would be pointless to try, and she embraces the tears that gather. Eventually she steps forwards, placing the smooth, small stone on the crest of the headstone.

She rests her hand on the cool stone for a moment before sinking down and crossing her legs beneath her as she leans against it.

“I’ve missed you,” she says aloud, “I can almost hear you telling me to stop being such a sappy shit. I can’t help it, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

She pauses, letting the wind drift through the field sweeping her words away.

There’s no one else here but her and Sam, no one else she’d want to hear her confession.

“I wonder what you would have made of all this. I think you’d tell me to enjoy it all, to not miss a moment, and I’m not. I’m just choosing the ones I want to savour. And this is one of them, Sam. I wish you’d been there with me, you would have loved it, the cameras, the lights, everything.

“I have to keep pinching myself to know it’s real, I did it, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come and see you.”

She sighs, letting her head tip back to rest against the stone. She didn’t prepare anything to say, didn’t realise she’d even want to speak to the open air but here she is.

“I’m not the same Aelin as the girl you knew anymore,” she says after a few moments of silence. “I didn’t think I would have the capacity to love again after you but I did, and I feel terribly guilty that I do. I have to remind myself that this is what you would have wanted, you would have wanted me to be happy.”

The silence in the field is more than an answer enough. So typically Sam to give her an answer without so much as speaking a word.

“I was happy,” she says, trailing a fingertip along the words etched into the stone. “I will be again.”

A faint haze of sunlight drifts through the Orynth autumn clouds, a whisper compared to the chorus of brightness she misses in Rifthold, and she stands, brushing off the dirt from her jeans. She touches the stone one last time before turning and heading out of the graveyard.

Her visit was years overdue but her chest didn’t crack open the way she had expected, the tears hadn’t been relentless the way she had expected. She’ll visit him again the next time she’s back in Orynth, probably visiting Elide and Lorcan for Yulemass, and she’ll visit again and again for as long as she lives.

But for now, she has a plane to catch.

Months later and two days before the Oscars, when they’re all back in town for the ceremony held in her new home city of Rifthold, Fenrys throws another party.

She’s managed, this time, to stay in touch with Fenrys and Manon, having made up with the younger girl before the press cycle had finished. Aelin knows her upset was real but partly suspects the animosity was a front. She even finds herself participating in the group chat with the three of them and Rowan. She’s only texted him one to one once to wish him a happy birthday and they had caught up briefly but not texted since.

She’s missed him in a different way to the last time she missed him. This time missing him doesn’t feel necessary, it feels wrong not to text him, wrong to be away from him and she’s itching to see him again.

It’s no one's birthday this time but they’re all together again to celebrate, no matter the results they’ll see in two days. Aelin is very carefully measuring her excitement about her own nomination for best actress. Fenrys is up for best actor, Rowan best director and the movie best picture.

She’d almost dropped her phone in the toilet when she found out from Dorian a few weeks ago.

The party is small but still in full swing by the time she arrives. Big names from the industry, all in town for the ceremony, are scattered all around Fenrys’ Rifthold apartment. He’d bought a place here not long after Aelin and she’s secretly relieved she’s not the only one so moved by their experience.

She waves to a few people she knows and tries to stay calm when she spots Sartaq Khagan in the corner chatting away to a small group of people. Holy shit Fenrys has some famous friends.

Aelin finds herself a glass, tops her orange juice off with a splash of lemonade and begins her rounds. So many more people want to talk to her after the movie dropped.

Her mother had been one of them, and Aelin’s thumb had hovered over the accept button for a moment before decidedly pressing decline. She had blocked her mother’s number a moment later, and then she had made some calls closing the bank account her mother kept topped up and arranging for every penny she’d ever received from Evalin Ashryver to be paid back.

It had hurt, emotionally and financially, especially in the month she’d moved to Rifthold, but it had been worth it. To never let Evalin pass any judgement over her life again was a relief worth any cost. Aelin’s hoping there’s a possibility she could end up with a reward.

She doesn’t know how long she spends talking to big name after big name and it’s a realisation that drops onto her that she fits in here. Aelin Ashryver is a big name. No matter the outcome of the ceremony she has prospects, already a number of projects lined up and she’s loving every minute of it.

She drains her cup for the third time tonight and heads back into the kitchen. She’s barely seen Fenrys all night, and she doesn’t even know if Manon is here.

She frowns into the fridge, there was definitely a full bottle of orange juice in here the last time she topped herself up. She shuts the fridge and spins around.

“Looking for this?”

She should have known.

Rowan looks predictably gorgeous in the dim kitchen lighting. All tanned skin and silver smiles. He’s dressed in her favourite look of his too, worn denim jeans and a soft cotton shirt.

It’s the softness in his gaze that really takes her though, it seems the animosity from the last time they saw each other has faded if not disappeared. Her chest squeezes at the thought. She has no idea what could have triggered it but she will take it.

“Nope,” she says, stepping over to where he stands with an arm braced against the counter at his side, the other holding out a bottle of orange juice. “I was hoping Fenrys would have some chocolate in there but I guess this will have to do.”

She takes the bottle from him, her fingertips brushing his and she feels her cheeks heat at the innocent brush.

His smile is genuine and she knows what he’s remembering because she’s thinking of it too. The first time she visited his house during filming and their moment in the kitchen. They’ve been through cycles, she supposes, but hopefully now for the better.

“I’m sure we can find you some somewhere in here,” he says as she fills her cup, pulling open the cupboard next to his head.

Aelin smirks. “I’m going to leave the rummaging through Fenrys’ cupboards to you. You could find anything in there.”

Rowan winces, closing the door before returning her smile. This is friendly and the hope that’s been planted in her chest begins to sprout.

“Yeah, maybe not,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “We wouldn’t want to risk it.”

Aelin pauses for a moment, taking in the glory of him in front of her. He’s still Rowan, he’s still tall and deliciously broad. His silver hair is slightly more grown out and there are a couple more lines around his eyes but she doesn’t care, in fact it’s charming. He’s still and always will be stunning. She takes a sip of her drink before she takes one of her biggest risks so far.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, not daring to look away from his face.

He bites his lip, his tongue darting out to soothe the skin before he speaks. “I’ve missed you too.”

The smile that spreads across her face is all too telling but he’s smiling too so she doesn’t think it matters. He definitely feels the same and she’d be annoyed at the months she spent worrying but the relief is too sweet.

“Good,” is what she says, far too happy they’re here to bother with pretending she’s anything other than ecstatic. “Congrats on your nomination.”

His eyes dart to the floor and then back up at her, he’s too modest about his own skill and Aelin adores it. “Thank you,” he says softly, “you too.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you.”

“Me neither,” Rowan says.

He’s close to her now, closer than he has been to her for months and her skin cries out for contact. She almost can’t believe she’s here now, talking to Rowan without any animosity, days before the Oscars that she’s nominated in.

The smile that takes over her face is completely of its own accord. She’s floating and it seems Rowan is too if the beat they share, exchanging incredulous smiles, is anything to go by.

“It’s crazy, right?”

She’s been asking herself the question for so long it seems only natural it slips out to him.

He laughs softly, and the rough sound curls straight to her core.

“Definitely,” he agrees, his voice low. “I don’t think last time felt like this.”

Aelin slaps a gentle hand to his chest and ignores the thrill that shoots through her at the eventual contact. “I get it, this is not your first nomination.”

Rowan rolls his eyes and she didn’t know how much she missed this, playing with him. She adores his reaction every time, the begrudging amusement he only lets shine through to make her smile.

“Some of us have never been nominated before, this is all completely new.” Aelin takes a sip of her drink. “I had to give up my social media accounts to Elide, it got so crazy.”

Something flickers over Rowan’s face at her comment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes darting across his face trying to decipher the expression. “She’s always had access and I still do so I can post if I want to but it just became a lot. It stopped being fun when I would see what people were saying, whether it was good or bad I don’t want to see it anymore.”

Rowan nods before his eyes lock onto hers, the intensity in his expression shreds her control.

“And you said nothing had changed?”

Aelin gets it now.

She shifts her weight, leaning as close to him as she can without sliding herself completely into the circle of his arms. “I was wrong. Lots of things have changed,” she says, her voice quiet but strong. “And lots of things are now right that weren’t before.”

She doesn’t mean to skirt around the truth, hiding in veiled words and double meanings, but as always, Rowan sees her. He sees her meaning and he smiles. It’s the most beautiful smile Aelin has ever seen him wear.

“I’ve been looking for you two.”

Fenrys bursts into the kitchen, startling Aelin back from Rowan. She hides her guilty smile in her drink and notices Rowan doing the same. Fenrys just grins, clearly enjoying whatever he thinks he’s seeing.

“You’re missing out, we’re playing kings in the living room if you want to join?”

Rowan glances at her before he turns back to Fenrys. “I think we’re good, thanks.”

Fenrys’ smile turns smug and Aelin resists the temptation to flip him off. She’s in too good of a mood to be annoyed at him.

“Okay, see you later, lovebirds,” Fenrys says, already on his way back out of the door.

Aelin pretends she isn’t blushing as she turns back to Rowan, his green eyes shining.

“This might sound crazy,” he says with an alluring tilt to his lips, “but do you want to get out of here?”

She’s reached a point she truly never thought she would.

She’s an Oscar-nominated lead actress in a box-office-record-breaking movie.

She’s happy, healthy and out from underneath the thumb of Evalin Ashryver.

The part that’s most uplifting, the part that has her unable to wipe the smile off her face as she strolls down the streets of Rifthold, is the arm she has tucked through Rowan’s.

They’ve been walking for a little while, enjoying the cool night air and the ease with which they managed to sneak out of Fenrys’ party. Her heels are killing her and Rowan very graciously offers her an arm to lean on and each time she takes a step in time with him she smiles.

“I never thought I’d like doing television,” he says.

She didn’t know he’d taken on a miniseries, similar to the one she’d done after filming, but she’s loving the recap she’s getting of the months they’ve been apart. The chill of the air is more than fought off by the warmth of Rowan by her side. The streets are mercifully empty and she can bask in the knowledge that it’s just the two of them out here, that they’re insignificant, that anyone who sees them will immediately dismiss them.

“I always thought I’d stick to movies, singular stories but I enjoyed it. I guess change can be good.”

Aelin laughs softly and squeezes his arm. He looks down to her, a question written in the slant of his brow.

“Change can definitely be good,” she says as she takes in the sights of the skyscrapers surrounding them. “I would know that I suppose.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I bought a flat recently.”

“You did?”

He’s so graciously giving her the floor to say what she needs to say and she holds his arm even tighter.

“It’s right here in Rifthold.” Aelin avoids his gaze, lest he think it’s a speedy invitation and that that’s all this is. “I bought it just after we were back here for press, I realised that I adore Rifthold and being here. I missed it when I wasn’t here and I don’t feel there’s anything holding me in Orynth anymore.”

Rowan laughs softly, his feet scuffing the floor.

“What?” she demands.

“I swear I’m not following you,” he says and she feels a smile creep onto her face. “I bought a loft here too.”

Aelin gasps. “But your house was gorgeous!”

Rowan’s smile twists as he looks away from her. “I didn’t say I sold the house.”

Aelin cackles as she squeezes his arm, the sound joyous and bright as it echoes around them. “I knew being Mr Big-Name-Director has its perks.”

“It does,” he agrees with a smirk.

Aelin wants to kiss that smirk. Wants to pull him down and twist her fingers through his hair as his own tangle along her skin.

Instead she says, “I copied you somewhat too.”

He only raises a brow.

“I bought a piano like the one in your house. It was too big for my old flat in Orynth and so I knew what I had to do.”

“That’s good,” he says as his arm drops out of hers. She almost pouts until he instead tangles their fingers together. Her smile says it all, reflected back in his own. “You play beautifully.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks are glowing. “You’ll have to come over and I’ll play for you sometime, neighbour.”

“I’d love to.”

Aelin slows, using the hand tangled with his to pull him to a stop too. Her free hand trails a gentle path up his chest before coming to rest at his collar, her fingertips tracing the golden skin peeking out from his shirt. His free hand finds her waist.

They’re close, closer than they have been in such a long time when he speaks.

“I don’t know what you think has or hasn’t changed.” His hand leaves hers to cup her cheek. “But I still feel the way I used to about you.”

Her heart takes off, pounding within her chest.

“I do too, Rowan.” Some of the easiest words she’s ever said to him. There’s something about the way the streetlights shine through the silver tips of his hair and the way his calloused fingers feel between hers that she’s feeling brave. “I loved you then and I love you now.”

His eyes flicker across her face as his smile dawns, taking over his face as he smiles so brightly. This is all she’s ever wanted, to have a Rowan like this, with pure, unfiltered happiness in his eyes as he looks at her.

“You love me?”

“I do. To whatever end.”

His lips are barely a whisper from hers and she only acknowledges the thought that they’re in public for long enough to realise she doesn’t care.

“And I love you.”

His words are simple, but sweet. They wash over her and settle into her skin as his lips land on hers. He kisses her with what she can only describe as love. His lips pour devotion onto her and his hands light a fire inside her as he tastes her tongue.

They kiss for longer than she can keep a track of, wrapped up together illuminated only by the street lighting. She’s missed this, missed him, and she can’t help but feel right when his hands are on her. She can’t help but feel right as she stretches onto her toes to throw herself into his kiss.

This was never wrong, this was one of the first things she knew was right.

She loves him and he loves her and nothing and nobody else matters.

She doesn’t win the Oscar, and neither does Rowan. Fenrys does and she screams herself hoarse cheering him on as he makes his way to the stage.

The moment that takes the cake is when The Crescent City takes best picture. She takes to the stage with some of her best friends to recognise what they achieved together and maybe she is a soppy shit but she definitely cries. Fenrys laughs at her and Manon grins but Rowan just throws his arm around her shoulders and it's worth it.

Afterwards, she logs into her Instagram account for the first time in a long time. She posts a picture of Rowan looking absolutely delicious with his tux unbuttoned and his bow tie hanging untied around his neck with a greasy burger in one hand and hers in his other.

Posting him is a statement but she doesn’t care. In fact, she wants the world to know. She wants the world to know that nobody does it like he does. Nobody does it like they do.

[nagitolovebug]

nagito faces crystalline water, moonlight refracting onto his face, piercing his gossamer skin like sharp glass. his jeans are rolled up, kicking the water to disrupt the eerie perfection that makes his head buzz, reminding him too much of a flawless, artificial world. a prison within his own mind, containing every nightmare and regret, every cruel word and action that remained without consequence thanks to the god he revered. who manufactured the entire ordeal.

and he starts to shiver.

he gave his jacket to hajime earlier, because his cheeks were flushed and he kept rubbing his hands, and he didn't want hajime to get a cold. nagito's always cold regardless, he reasoned, figuring hajime needed it more than he did.

nagito's teeth start to chatter, but he's lost in watching himself break up the stars whenever he fractures the water.

he startles, feeling a hand on his shoulder.

" -agito??? are you alright? jesus christ, you're ice cold."

and it's hajime, beautiful hajime, warm, radiant, caring hajime slipping off the jacket that swallowed him up and covered his hands and made him look small and vulnerable and for once not like the person shouldering the responsibility of caring for the entire island.

nagito's voice sounds meek, small and pathetic, gruff syllables dragging across his blunt throat and heavy tongue as he speaks.

"hinata-kun, its alright, I'm fine...you're cold, aren't you? you should keep the jacket."

"nagito, you're shivering."

nagito scoffs. "I'm anemic, hinata, I'm always shivering. you need it more than I do. please..."

and hajime's still got one arm in, one arm out on his precious sweater, brows furrowed, heterochromatic eyes gazing unwavering into nagito's. he huffs like he's made a decision and suddenly nagito is tucked into hajime's side, his large jacket being pulled over both of their shoulders while hajime rubs his hand up and down nagito's arm to warm him up. hajime pulls him in as close as he can. nagito cannot tell if it's hajime's warm blood setting his skin ablaze, or if he's conflating his own feeble heart's thunderous beats with the steady presence of hajime's breaths.

surely it was nagito's own heartbeat that reverberated through his entire fragile body. the only reason hajime could possibly be that nervous around him is if he was scared of nagito, and they both knew hajime could crush him between his fingers as easily as a cruel child would rip the dainty wings off a struggling butterfly.

"there. now we can both be warm."

and nagito's overwhelmed. he feels warm inside, flames too alike the ones that once licked his face in a dusty warehouse alight inside him, burning him alive and constricting his chest, just like the oxygen had grown thin as the poison settled in his lungs a lifetime ago.

mostly, more than anything, he feels scared, scared of this moment ending, scared of him misinterpreting what hajime feels for him, scared of the sky falling down on them because he had the nerve, the audacity to finally be happy.....but mostly scared of the swirling and confusing feelings that made his mind feel foggy and lost.

it wasn't anything new for nagito's head to feel like a swirl of unending mist and static, onset diseases and years of trauma clouding his mind. but. it wasn't like hope or despair...but something entirely new.

and nagito starts shivering for an entirely new reason.

but that doesn't stop hajime from pulling him closer, breathing hot air into his neck while he whispers calming words and stupid jokes.

so while their feet go numb as they stand in place in the frigid water, reflecting starlight onto their faces, nagito's cheeks go warm as he begins to shake and cry bc he's scared, hes scared, hes scared, and he clings to hajime in a sort of feverish desperation.

hajime looks concerned but not scared, never frightened of him, or his luck, or his past. simply watching him with this inscrutable look in his eyes. fondness? nagito couldn't let himself believe it.

nagito stops gripping the front of hajime's shirt like a lifeline, beginning to trace the outside of his face, sweeping over his cheekbones, tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the budding stubble toward the end of it. he laughs as his tears splash into the sea and disrupt the stars' mirage once again, pressing in close to hajime until they breathe the same air.

"hinata-kun..."

"hinata, hinata, hinata, hajime..."

he repeats hajime's name, like a mantra, like a prayer, like he's begging for permission. he knows its too good to be true, he knows if he breathes too hard he'll blow the illusion away and still he presses closer, leaving the ghosts of kisses on each of hajimes freckles. he lets go of hajime's face and holds onto his waist instead, pressing his face into hajime's neck before whispering,

"hin- hajime...can i?"

he raises his face again until hes forehead to forehead with hajime.

"hajime, hajime, can I?"

hajime gives an imperceptible nod and nagito presses the lightest kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"hajime.." his voice starts to break, "hajime, is it really ok? can I really do this ? please, please, oh, hajime..."

hajime's voice is gruff and desperate when he croaks out a "yes, nagito" and something inside nagito breaks and he's all over him.

a reverent god, a pathetic nobody, nagito's hope and despair and his future defiles himself, running his hands through every crevice of nagito's filthy, worthless body. nagito can't tell if he's begging for more or for hajime to stop, completely at his mercy as hajime touches him with a foreign tenderness nagito has never known. nagito slips through his hands, immaterial as air, yet hajime impossibly holds him still, all the love in the world wasted on someone like himself.

hajime kissed him. again, and again, and again. every inch of his body glowed under the attention, ephemeral paradise blessed on his skin.

nagito barely noticed when he was hoisted into the air, when he unconsciously fisted his unworthy hands through hajime's surprisingly soft locs.

perhaps if he had paid more attention, hajime might not have slipped, pinning nagito to the fine sand at the shallow bottom of their ice cold heaven.

he didn't blame himself too much, as it was admittedly hard to focus when hajime's teeth bothered at nagito's pulse point like he owned him.

hajime pulls him up, still sat in the shallow pool, dragging nagito onto his lap.

nagito is terrified, his luck letting nothing gold stay, of course. hajime will bury him into his watery grave, run away and never look back, realize that nagito is not even in the realm of being worth his time.

hajime surprises him, as always, breaking his banal platitudes just as easily as he always had.

hajime blinks at nagito twice before bursting out laughing, pressing his head to nagito's chest like it belongs there.

and nagito feels a weight he never knew he had finally leave him.

"come on, let's dry you up. if you get a cold on my watch, mikan will kill me."

they walk hand in hand back to hajime's cottage, nagito feeling, for the very first time, safe and secure.

and finally, finally happy.

[cafedanslanuit]

catholic boy

⌘   —   pairing: armin x reader

⌘   —   tags/warnings: +18, HEAVY SACRILEGIOUS CONTENT (mainly catholic), dom/sub themes, slight humiliation, semi public sex, sub!armin

⌘   —   a/n:  I've decided to make this a multi-part series! Rather than having a plot, it's a collection of small stories about the experiences shared between Armin and the reader. Hope you like these! c:

⌘   —   length: 1380

⌘   —   chapter guide

part 2

Kneeling on the pad of the pew while his hands rested on the back of the one right in front of his, Armin looked forward, pretty blue eyes taking all the decoration in the chapel. His eyes set on the cross in front of him, made of expensive wood with beautiful, baroque-esque golden details. White light emerged from the top, illuminating the table and the chair where Father Louis used to seat during the mass. The rest of the university chapel was almost in the shadows, with very dim lighting, as he had been told to turn off all of the lights but that one.

That was what she had instructed him, and it embarrassed how he had almost run to the light switch and obliged to her wishes. Armin pondered how exactly things turned out this way.

He had been warned by Father Louis that a new student was going to be added to the bible study Armin ran every Monday and Friday night as a punishment for her defiant nature in class. He nodded a the words of his superior.

“Father, may I ask what kind of defiant nature it was? Was she aggressive or- should I prepare for Monday somehow?” Armin asked.

In retrospect, Armin wished he had been thoroughly warned of what he was really facing.

“She…” Father Louis paused, meditating his words. “She kept questioning God’s word during her Ethics class. Kept pressuring Sister Nancy into answering her questions about the sexual emancipation of women and kept defending the sinners that commit the sin of abortion. Honestly, I…” he sighed, making the cross sign on himself. “If her family wasn’t one of our top donators of this university, she would have been asked to leave long ago. I’m putting my hope in you, Armin,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Everyone loves your bible study sessions and maybe you can be the one that makes her see the light. If anyone can do that, is you.”

Father Louis’ words resonated inside Armin’s head as he gripped the back of the pew so hard his knuckles turned white, still on a praying position. His legs were trembling and he felt as if they were going to give out any second. He gripped the pew tighter, letting out a shaky breath. How could a simple woman have so much control over him? Was Father Louis right when he had said it was the Devil all along, and women were mere vessels of him? Women were meant to walk behind men, they were meant to be quiet, servile, obedient. The ones that defied God’s commands and lived a life of sin were destined to go to Hell to forever repent the choices they made in life.

But if that was true, then why did this feel so good?

You pressed a kiss on Armin’s right shoulder, the faintest of whimpers leaving his lips. Smiling at his reaction, you shifted on your seat and bent down further, so your breasts were flushed against Armin’s clothed back. You loved whenever he wore that white shirt, how they made his blue eyes pop and how he looked even more innocent than usual. Both of your legs were situated on each side of his thin frame, shoes resting on the pad. Even if you couldn’t see his face as you were sitting behind him, you could almost imagine the red tint on his cheeks as soon as he felt your body so close to his.

Your hand was clasped around his cock, pumping him slowly. This time, you had told him only to unzip his pants and lower his underwear but somehow this was one of the times you had seen him more riled up than ever. Your thumb drew a circle around his tip and he let his head fall, legs trembling thanks to the great pleasure he was in.

Smiling softly, you took his chin gently with your free hand and forced him to lift his head once again.

“Eyes on the cross, pretty boy,” you instructed. Armin did as told and he soon felt your hand going faster around his length. “Can’t believe you’re tainting this holy space,” you teased him, before leaving a couple more kisses on top of his shoulder blades. “I should just leave you here, see how much prayer it takes you to ask for forgiveness for doing this.”

“No!” Armin quickly said and you felt him twitching in your hand. “Please. Please, don’t stop, I need…” his words died in his mouth as he started moving his hips against your hands, slowly fucking it even though he looked like he was about to collapse any second.

“Yes? I couldn’t catch that,” you hummed, the thumb of the hand that was holding his chin up softly stroking his cheeks. Armin leaned his face against your hand and your heart skipped a beat at his sweet gesture. “What do you need?” you insisted, sitting back on the pew, waiting for his response.

“I need-- I need to come, please ,” he whispered. “Please, I’ll do anything, just-- keep touching me, please.”

“Well, you have been good today,” you pondered in a playful tone, your hand following the rhythm of his hips. “Maybe you deserve to come today.”

Armin turned his head to you. The image of you sitting with your legs open wide behind him, your uniform skirt riling up enough for him to see your thighs almost made him lose control. “Please, please, I--”

This time, you hastily turned his head back again.

“I said eyes on the cross,” you said sternly.

Armin muttered an apology and you slowed your pace, getting off at the desperate, soft whimpers that left his lips, and the way his hips moved erratically trying to get more friction. 

“Let him see how much of a desperate slut you’re being right now,” you said, pressing your chest against his back again, your lips ghosting over his ear. “How you’re begging me to keep touching your cock. I bet he can even hear those pretty moans you’re making for me right now,” you chucked. You licked the shell of his ear and Armin let out a shaky breath.

You picked up the pace again, your hand moving quickly and squeezing him just how he liked it. Armin’s soft pleas were breathless whispers, as he held tightly on the pew and did his best to follow your commands and keep his eyes looking forward, straight to the cross.

“Please-- please let me come,” Armin whimpered, his voice broken, pathetic whines leaving his pink lips as he kept rutting his hips against your hand. You smiled and pressed a kiss against his ear.

“Fine,” you chuckled softly. “If you really need to come so bad…”

Only two strokes more were enough for Armin to come undone in your hands, spurts of cum landing on the pad he was kneeling on and the chapel’s floor. You kept moving your hand, making sure you got every single drop of cum, milking him completely dry. 

Soon, all that was left of Armin was a trembling figure, his forehead finally resting over his hands, as the aftershocks of his orgasm still ran across his body, legs too weak for him to even attempt to stand on his own.

“You did such a mess here,” you clicked your tongue as you stood up and fixed your skirt. “You should clean that before you leave, doesn’t Father Louis get here very early tomorrow?” you asked, feigning ignorance

Armin didn’t reply, his back rising up and down as he tried to catch his breath. With a soft smile, you walked back to him and gently lifted his head once more. His perfect blue eyes looked back at you, a little teary and full of devotion.

"You were such a good boy today," you whispered. His eyes opened even wider and he slowly nodded at your words.

Before you left the chapel that night, you made sure to leave a kiss on his trembling lips, his tongue tasting like strawberry milk and reverence. A wild thought about who really had a hold on you crossed your mind, but you quickly shoved it away as you walked towards the back door.