#maybe they have to stop this piece from being stolen because it is about to be on display somewhere!

[velvet4510]

The Legacy of Nicholas Scratch

After episode 9, Nicky’s spirit calling out “Mama, stop!” as Agatha kills Alice hits WAY differently.

The popular theory prior to the finale was that Agatha accidentally killed Nicky herself, perhaps by inadvertently absorbing a manifesting power of his own and being unable to control/stop herself. And his voice from the Ouija board was actually a memory of his last words as she was killing him.

But actually, it’s entirely different. Nicky’s words were not about himself. They were about her, and her actions.

Unlike Agatha, Nicky had a strong conscience in life, if only due to the natural innocence of childhood. He never felt good about his mom killing all those witches, to the point where he spent their last day together sparing the lives of the latest group of witches and drawing Agatha away from them. And now 250+ years later, thanks to Billy, his spirit is briefly drawn back toward the living world just in time to see his mother is still doing it. She’s still hurting her fellow witches. So he makes one last plea: “Stop!”

Because Nicky knows his mom, better than anyone besides Rio. He knows that she is capable of love and kindness. He saw it every day in her care for him and in their shared joy as they wrote and sang their little song together. He’s witnessed so much proof of her heart and her capacity for good. He wishes she’d let herself tap into that side of her, and stop letting herself be the monster that everyone says she is. He’s always known that she can be more than that.

And this is exactly why Agatha does stop, just from the sound of Nicky’s name before she even hears his voice. She’s reminded of his concern for life in spite of, or perhaps because of, his (most likely) being the child of Death. A concern that she never let herself have.

All these years without Nicky, she’s let her pain and grief motivate her in killing those witches. How could any of these witches possibly deserve to live when Nicky didn’t? It’s a similar mindset to Clint as Ronin when all those criminals outlived his family. She might as well punish “the undeserving.” And in doing so, maybe, somehow, she’ll gain enough power to fill that ever-present hole that was torn into her chest the morning she woke up to find that he never would wake again.

But now here he is again, forced to see what she has become. And he doesn’t like it. He still wants her to stop.

No wonder Billy’s question “is this how Nicky died?” is what finally gets through to her. On the day he died, Nicky abandoned her quest to inflict death on others, wishing they could just let them live. That day, Agatha continued ignoring his wishes in favor of her own agenda, prompting him to apologize and give in, saying they can kill more witches tomorrow. Now here is Billy, who went through everything he did just to give life back to his brother. Who is doing exactly what Nicky would’ve done if he’d had a brother. And Agatha is about to abandon him to her own agenda once again. To get him killed just as she got all those witches killed in spite of Nicky’s pleas.

No.

Not again.

So with a literal kiss of Death, she finally embraces Nicky’s concern for life. She enters death in order to let someone else have life.

But … in perspective, that’s just one boy. Nothing will ever bring back any of those witches she killed. Nothing will ever undo those years that she spent turning the only piece of Nicky’s legacy, his only contribution to the living world in the stolen time he was given, into a conduit of the very thing he always opposed.

No wonder she can’t face Nicky. No wonder she’s afraid of seeing him. Even centuries later, she was still doing what he didn’t want her to do, and was about to keep on doing it to the point of needing a reminder of him. And she’s been doing it using their song. Corrupting his beautiful sweet little tune into a harbinger of doom. The very last thing he ever wanted his song to be used for.

No wonder she’d prefer staying with Billy, who is considerate of others’ lives just like Nicky was. Who is the first person to make her feel tender emotions since she lost her baby, the first person to open her eyes to the true horror of what she’s been doing with that ballad all these years. Who is her second chance.

She wouldn’t give Nicky what he wanted: for her to stop. But she will give Billy what he wants: his brother. She will spend her new “afterlife” as a ghost doing for Billy what she should’ve done for Nicky: helping him get what will make him happy, and devoting herself to that cause.

She failed Nicky, but she won’t fail Billy or Tommy.

[girlthingdecay]

.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

some nights when i don't have enough time to watch anything, i just stare at the wall and try to work out this non-existent episode's plot

i do have a pitch for an episode of the x files where the agents are tasked with trying to solve a huge art theft. scully is convinced it was for normal art theft reasons (reduced sentencing for prisoners revealing their location, or perhaps the hubris of a very wealthy private collector) whereas mulder is convinced aliens are making a collection of earthly culture to enhance their understanding of the human species. i just haven't come up with the plot twist that makes them BOTH wrong yet!

[nariism]

letters from heaven — g. satoru

"i think i'm in love with you" + "wait, don't pull away... not yet." + oblivious pining

synopsis. love tastes like chocolate ganache topped with fresh strawberries. that was satoru's first thought when he accidentally blew your cake shop into smithereens.

wc. 2.4k

— for the lovely @hanrinz 🎀 | event masterlist ✉️

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

If you had asked Gojo Satoru what love tasted like two years ago, he would have answered with a lump in his throat.

Like curses, he would have told you. Like death and destruction. Fire and ash. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Satoru was surrounded by love from his very conception.

Wrapped in silk blankets and bathed in warm milk when he was born into this world—it was as if the nurses thought he had been spoonfed ambrosia by the gods themselves.

He knew what it was like to have his entire clan at his feet with their foreheads pressed to the floor; to be dressed in the finest cloth and only by the most nimble hands; to get anything and everything he ever wanted without question. 

He was above everyone and had the eyes to prove it. He knew love like it was his only purpose.

Satoru was always a head in the clouds kind of guy. He understood his place in the world better than anyone else. That he was special. Gifted. Born with a blessing that only happens once in a millennium.

He hated the righteous above all. The ones who wanted to change the world that was promised to him from the moment he took his first breath. It was insulting; an act of defiance against the gods. Against him.

That is why he hated Geto Suguru—someone who wanted to change the world.

Satoru believed that he was too down to earth. It irritated him. But he never stopped being surrounded by love and never stopped loving, either.

For some reason, there was a strange comfort in standing alongside another. 

Perhaps it was that Suguru had never once bowed down before him—the fact that he had gotten the chance to memorize every inch of his beautiful face. Or maybe it was the tender way he had spoken his name, so soft and filled with adoration.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he was more than just his eyes.

Satoru adored and despised every part of Geto Suguru. He always would, even in death.

He thought that secret would die with him. That there was no one else worthy of standing by his side. He never thought he was capable of loving another again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

(He was about to learn that love would loom over him wherever he went. It would chase him relentlessly, even if it were to the ends of the earth.

After all, Gojo Satoru was born to be enveloped in silk and sugar and everything wonderful in the world.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Love tastes like chocolate ganache topped with fresh strawberries.

That was Satoru's first thought when he accidentally blew your cake shop into smithereens with a misfired blast of energy. 

There was nothing particularly spectacular about you. There you were: horrified, head in your hands, crying over the phone to what he presumed to be your parents. He'd never seen someone doused in flour like you before, as if you had been plucked straight out of a cartoon.

Yet he remembers that his breath was stolen from him the way books described it.

Your very existence felt like it was built up from cubes of sugar. He was embarrassed that it was his first impression while you glared horribly at him.

The lawsuit came in the mail a few days later.

He paid, of course, without argument. And he tried to get your number afterwards because he really wanted to try that cake you were decorating before he blasted your shop to pieces.

You slapped him across the face and he let you. He even released his technique just so you could.

To your dismay, he kept showing up at the shop after it had been rebuilt. But he was a paying customer, and who were you to deny him a slice of butterscotch pie?

Still, he laughed at your ever-growing irritation with his presence. How he would preorder cakes days in advance just so you could anticipate his arrival. The way he would drop an extra five thousand yen on the counter and tell you to keep the change.

"Don't make me get a restraining order," you had once threatened him while he browsed the cupcake selection for the day.

"You wouldn't," he sang. And you didn't, because he knew your type.

You were the opposite of the one he loved most in the world. You wanted to make as little of a splash as you could—to bake pies and frost cakes with buttercream roses and wipe down your counters until they sparkled.

You knew your place in the world just as much as he knew his. And it seemed to be right behind the counter with a scowl on your face because of another poor attempt at flirting.

You didn't want to change the world. You just wanted to live in it, flour and all.

He found comfort in that, too.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Satoru became your midday companion when business slowed down. The sound of the bell strung to your front entrance brought you comfort when you were stressed about your little shop.

A part of you knew that this man was no ordinary human being. His eyes shimmered bluer than the sky when he would look at you with affection, nearly making your knees buckle beneath you on more than one occasion.

"What do you do at work?" You asked him curiously one afternoon as he sat on a stool watching you mindlessly pipe frosting.

"...Nothing important," he panicked, the thought of scaring you away when you had just started opening up to him too much for him to handle.

"Nothing important," you hummed, repeating his words until your eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

"I am," he admitted shamelessly.

You looked at him in confusion, not missing the way he avoided making eye contact by burrowing his head into his arms. Through the glass of your display case, you could see his shoulders bunch up in distress.

You decided to drop it. It wasn't important.

"Here," you said softly, reaching around the glass separating you to place a dessert in front of him. "Don't worry about it."

Satoru gazed at the plate before him. Chocolate ganache and strawberries layered between sponge cake.

"This is for me?" He asked, poking at it with the fork as a grin split his cheeks.

"Just for you," you smiled. "As an apology for slapping you."

"I deserved it. I blew up your shop."

Your smile only deepened. "Sometimes things need to be destroyed to be rebuilt even better."

The strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer of his time was reduced to a puddle at your next words,

"I met you, after all. Didn't I?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Love tastes like champagne-raspberry truffles and cappuccino chocolates.

On the day he planned to confess, you unconvincingly glared at him as he approached you with his hands behind his back.

You pursed your lips, expecting him to demand you make him something out of season. Outlandish requests were not new from him, but you always managed to whip up something that had fruits imported from South America, or using that expensive hojicha he insisted you take off his hands.

Instead, he held out a box of lavish chocolates he bought in Belgium.

Nervousness replaced the confidence that was permanently etched into his every feature, and your expression melted into something mellower than the warmth simmering in the pit of Satoru's tummy.

He had been pining for you for months. There was something about your company that made him feel whole again—more whole than he had been in all the time since Geto Suguru left this earth.

You laughed as if it were a joke, using your palm to hide how you flushed slightly.

"Satoru..." You quirked a brow. "What's this?"

The way you said his name stuck arrows through his heart. You could act like you hated him all you wanted, but the way you smiled at him when he wasn't being a prick was enough for him to feel comforted.

"Chocolates from Europe," he straightened up, trying to shake off his nerves.

"Why?"

Why? His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth and he sucked on it in anxious thought, suddenly unsure of the right thing to say even though he had practiced all night.

Wasn't it obvious that he liked you?

You took the box from his hands and placed it down on the counter. Then you rounded it, picked up your spatula, and continued folding your meringue.

Satoru's silence made you glance back up, scrutinizing his downcast, troubled expression. You huffed through your nose with an exasperated little shake of the head.

"Save some nice things for yourself, too."

He was surprised when you reappeared in front of him. His eyes trailed from your sneakers, up your dirty apron to your smiling face.

Chocolate was melting between your fingers.

His grunts of protest were muffled as you stuck the treat against his lips, forcing it into his mouth. He glared at you, but ate it anyway.

Sugar coated his tongue and eased his nerves. You only laughed at his fluster.

He pinched your cheek.

You didn't know that Satoru already had everything else he ever needed. The only thing left was standing right in front of him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Love is easy to taste when it's on your lips.

At least, that was the thought driving Satoru insane.

He didn't know when such an obsessive idea started plaguing him, or how to remedy it. For the first time in his life, he felt like a boy with a silly, childish crush.

Worst of all, you seemed none the wiser. All his attempts to make a move on you fell flat—though, he wasn't very good at following through with them in the first place.

It culminated in his final attempt to rid the terrible thought from his mind: he was going to avoid you at all costs until it blew over.

If he could just have the time to get over you, to move on from his feelings, he could probably act with some normalcy around you again. It was tiresome to tread on eggshells around you, even if you were blissfully unaware of it.

You, however, did not take his avoidance very well. He did not see that coming.

Satoru's phone rang at 3:24 am, well past your store hours. In fact, you were supposed to be waking up in another hour and a half to get all your prep done.

"Hello?" Your timid voice crackled through the static of his phone and he jolted upright, fisting his blanket in anticipation. "Satoru? Are you up?"

He swallowed thickly, mouth moving to formulate an answer with a strange amount of effort. "Yeah," he said, voice hoarse from sleep.

The other end of the line was silent for another moment before there was a loud crash, and he could make out the distinct clatter of metal bowls hitting tile.

He could imagine you standing there in defeat, surrounded by dirty dishes and drowning in work, trying to catch up for the next morning.

The thought was enough for him to rip out of his sheets, a flurry of limbs as he got dressed to find you.

"Hang on," he told you over the phone, then hung up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You had not anticipated that Satoru's very obvious avoidance would take such a toll on you.

You'd let it escalate until you were overwhelmed with emotion, unfocused at work, and not able to untangle the feelings you had for him.

And now he was standing in your shop again, helping you pick up everything you had clumsily scattered across the ground.

Whipped cream and icing spilled on the floor, painting the tile an array of pastel colours. You grimaced at the mess, thinking maybe you should just close the shop for the day and take a vacation.

Satoru was dutifully wiping up cream as if he were being paid to do it. But he wasn't—he was just too kind to you. Too generous. You desperately wished he would get mad at you for waking him in the middle of the night.

Instead, he only seemed concentrated and slightly concerned.

"That's enough," you told him quietly, standing up to discard the towels you used. "I'll clean up the rest tomorrow."

Satoru stood up with you, trying to decipher the doomstruck expression on your face.

"I'll come by tomorrow to help."

You shook your head. "It's okay, you've done so much already. Thank you."

Everything about him had grown so familiar, so warm. You missed him more than you cared to admit, and that scared you. In the three weeks since you had last seen him, it finally came crashing down on you.

You liked Satoru.

The thought was heady and overwhelming in your mind. You stumbled a bit and he caught you by the shoulders.

"Woah there," he chuckled lightly, finally able to make out the look in your eyes.

"Sato—" your lip wobbled and he stopped it with his thumb. Then, he used his fingers to clean up the icing decorating your face.

"I got you."

He snorted softly at your dazed expression, drawing away from you. Your hands shot up to grasp at him, keeping him in your bubble. 

"Please don't pull away."

Satoru stilled, letting you drag him back into your personal space. "M'not going anywhere."

You weakly punched him in the chest, fist remaining there for a moment before you let it fall limp. Glaring at him, you sniffled.

"You're avoiding me."

"I was," he admitted.

"What happened?"

"I realized that I liked you a lot more than I thought."

Silence hugged your bodies, heavy and stiff. You blinked at him in surprise, having trouble processing his words.

"H-Huh?"

"I like you," he said again, more adamant. More confident.

"Oh," you breathed. Heat enveloped Satoru's heart at how relieved you sounded. "That makes me..."

Your face morphed from relief to realization. Realization of the situation, of how close your bodies were.

"Really happy," you concluded, squeezing your eyes shut as his hands adjusted to cup your face a little more intimately.

He kissed the apple of your cheek, making sure not to skip over the spot where icing lingered.

The thought entered his mind: I am exactly where I need to be.

Gojo Satoru was born to be loved. It tastes like maple buttercream. And it's spilled all over the floor, stained on his hands and knees. Between his fingers. Melting on his tongue.

[jaysgirlx]

Airport Au!Jason gets coffee spilled on him right before he boards his flight back to Gotham and of course, he's the victim of hot coffee spilling all over his crotch. The good news is, Jason didn't suffer any burns and you were quite apologetic to him, nevertheless, he was still pissed at you and those clumsy hands of yours. To make matters worse, the two of you are seated next to each other on a 15-hour flight.

Airport Au!Jason lets you have the inside seat even though you ruined his favorite Wonder Woman t-shirt and kinda fucked up his black jeans. He even puts your suitcase away for you and he has no fucking clue why. Jason knew he didn't help strangers like this, not just be nice and flirty to girls like Dick did. But didn't do things like this for no reason especially not for pretty girls who- wait did he just call you pretty? Oh, he was so fucked.

Airport Au!Jason can't tell if he's mad at you or if he wants you. To him those feelings could be the same, he has no problem with wanting to make out with the girl who spilled coffee on his shirt. He didn't see a problem with wanting to make you his, it was an accident and you apologized a million times so maybe he should just forgive you, especially since you actually tried to clean his crotch. His self-control stopped him from letting you, but now he wishes he had let you.

Airport Au!Jason gets immediately bored after the plane takes off, he hadn't pack much because he likes to travel light. When his gaze falls in your direction, he notices that you are reading and annotating one of his favorite Sylvia Plath books and quickly starts to chat you up. You immediately light up when you find out he loves reading, especially classics and poetry. The two of you quickly got acquainted and introduced yourselves which was quickly followed by an apology. You didn't think boys who were smart and hot truly existed, you thought those were myths but Jason Todd was indeed very real.

Airport Au!Jason lets you nap on his shoulder and even orders your lunch for you so that you'd at least get some food when you woke up. You wake up to the boy thumbing through your annotations. You point out your favorite scenes and quotes and go into detail about what you thought their meanings were, well at least to you. You rambled for what might've been a good hour and fuck, Jason knew just by hearing you talk like this, he wanted to put his lips on yours so bad. Maybe shut you up for a second, not because you rambled but because your lips looked so delicious like he could devour them if he wanted. Maybe it could last more than a second, but that depended on what you'd let him do to you.

Airport Au!Jason can't help but want your attention sooo bad. He's chatting you up, making you laugh and for fucks sake why was your laugh so cute?? Why were so pretty to him? Why did you make him question every part of his being? It was like you were this missing piece he had finally found and he needed that piece. He needed you.

Airport Au!Jason jokingly warns you he's not good for you but that only makes you tilt your head with a big grin. You told him that you didn't want a "good" guy. You wanted someone morally grey, someone who understands that just because you've done bad things doesn't mean you're a bad person. You of course cleared up that you didn't support racists, homophobes, and such but you weren't past dating a criminal or even a vigilante if they matched your vibe. For a moment, Jason felt like you already accepted who he was, that you would still want to know him as the Red Hood. He hoped that maybe that was the truth.

Airport Au!Jason sneaks you into first class, pulling the "Bruce Wayne is my dad" card with the flight attendants, who swoon when Jason brings out the stolen Amex card. He'd give it back to Bruce another day or maybe just sneak it back into his wallet. The reason he gets you in so you can sleep comfortably because he knew there would be free seats (he's done this a bit too many times). You told him you didn't need to, that you liked napping on his shoulder, that he was enough but he said you deserved the luxury treat, not crappy shoulder. And it made you laugh because it was so cheesy, and Jason wished then and there, that he could hear you laugh like that for the rest of his life. Now, did he hate having to pull the "Bruce Wayne" card? Yes. Did he regret it? Hell no. Would he do it again? Yes…

Airport Au!Jason lets you play with his hair and even touch his neck scar while you lay in first class. You graze your finger across it and you feel him tense until he relaxes when your fingers lace with his. He lets you believe the white parts are dyed and tells you the scar was from a kidnapping incident that happened in his teens. You don't question him on it but instead, ask him if he still wants to know once the two of you land in Gotham. He looks at you with a cheesy grin. He says he doesn't have his phone on him but you could write your number on his arm. You knew he was joking but he was just so attractive. He enjoys the feeling of one of your hands combing his locks and the other intertwined with his.

Airport Au!Jason falls asleep with you in first class and when you two finally wake up, you decide to check how much time is left on the flight: 2 hours. A soft whine left your lips, from the thought of having to wait a a little longer to be able to kiss him. You could just tell Jason wasn't a fan of pda and if you did kiss him you'd definitely want it to be private. You told yourself to be patient and you knew you could be just a little longer, just for him. Jason on the other hand was an impatient asshole who ached for you, especially after hearing that goddamn whine. Were you trying to tease him? Because if you were it was definitely working. Jason couldn't wait 2 hours.

Airport Au!Jason brings you into the first bathroom and locks it behind him, even after receiving about of weird looks. He kisses you in with your legs almost instantly hooked around his waist and his arms holding you up against the wall. Your arms are wrapped around his neck bringing him as close as possible, while you clawed at his clothes. You weren't exactly sure where this was going but you wanted that coffee-stained shirt off him. You hooked your fingers on the ends of his shirt whining desperately to feel him. Maybe those clumsy hands of yours were good at something. And when he finally breaks the kiss, he only mutters out these words just for you, "Wanna help me get out the shirt you ruined, sweetheart?"

[jolalibrary]

18. calming peach

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter eighteen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 4.2k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. too idiots who clearly want to have a future together. an: we're so close to the end and i'm crying.

prev chapter | series masterlist

read on ao3

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You’d never consider setting an alarm an hour early for anyone else, silencing it with a groan and stretch, leg bending out like a lazy, sleepy starfish until it meets him.

He who is waiting, palm sliding over your thigh, up to your waist, gently tickling your stomach until you wiggle. Frankie’s breath grazes your neck as he sighs, pressing each syllable to your skin, Morning.

Sometimes when you wake next to him, you stretch out and he comes to your side; others you fold over onto his, and occasionally you meet in the middle, leg between his, rousing to the sounds of neighbours, heartbeats, birds, or silence.

But like clockwork, always after a moment, your lips meet his in a tender kiss, soft and layered with a smile before growing needier, the only time his movements aren't slick and coordinated.

“Shower?”

He hums against your mouth, tracing the band of your sleep shorts.

Soon enough, the hour is stolen by cuddles and whispers before a shared shower washes away lingering sleep. Hisses blend with steam until you're both towelling off and slipping into clothes.

“Do you think you’ll be gone all day?” you ask, pouring fruit into your yogurt, handing him the bowl as he sips his coffee.

“Not sure—could be. You’re staying here, right?” You nod and grin, chewing a piece of fruit. “Good. I like knowing I’m coming home to you.”

His words spread warmth through you, a blaze of happiness. You stare at him for a moment before asking, “Is that so?”

Placing his elbow on the table, he traces his jaw as he stares. “Yeah. That okay?”

Shrugging, fighting a smirk. “Not the worst thing I’ve been told.”

“What you working on today? ” he says, pinching a piece from your bowl—ignoring the chopped-up, untouched yoghurt ones left for him. “Still those graphics?”

Nodding, you motion to stab him with your fork when he tries again. “Get your own, Morales. Stop wanting mine.”

“Can never stop wanting you.”

Narrowing your eyes, you watch him grab a piece from the free bowl, smirking as he chews.

“I made you a lunch, by the way.”

Chewing and smirking, he drags his tongue across his bottom lip. “Like a lunch lunch or—?”

“A lunch in a brown bag—with maybe a love note in there.”

His tongue pokes his cheek as he smirks. “Yeah?”

You nod, pointing at the fridge. He moves quickly, opening the brown bag, rustling through it before pausing and turning fully.

“You made me lunch.”

“I did.”

You might have ruined me for lunches from now on.

Ah, this is why I didn’t make you them before—wanted you to fall in love with me for me, and not my excellent packed lunch. You hating what you have today?

It’s not hitting the spot.

Did you make it yourself or grab it on the way?

Grabbed it?

Well, there’s why. It isn’t made with love.

I did like the fact I got a note in mine the other day.

Special treatment. Hope you didn’t throw it away.

Don’t laugh, but it’s in my wallet.

Aw Butterscotch, you loveeeee me.

If you make Luca a packed lunch, I think he’ll make you stay forever.

Well, I’m not going anywhere. If that’s okay?

I meant living with us, but good to know that we’re on the same boat about being a forever kind of thing.

I don’t make lunches for just anyone.

Because of the risk of them falling in love with you?

It’s a blessing and a curse, Morales.

Placing the platter down, a breeze blows the tablecloth on the newly painted and restored garden furniture Frankie had surprised you with.

The temperature warm, birds chirping as you check and recheck the various paint shades ready on the paper plates—the canvas’ already set up on their stands as he waits, resting his chin on his palm.

“Ready?”

Scrunching your nose, you sigh. “I think so?”

“What if I can’t paint you how I see you?”

Kissing the top of his head, feeling his head tilt up as you press another to his forehead, to his nose. “Oh, I’ll cry if I look like a monster.”

His laugh ripples out as you press your mouth to his, feeling one of his hands skate around your middle, squeezing.

A scroll on your phone one night had led the two of you to purchase a vase from Harold’s small homeware section, filling it with a bunch of different date ideas. Some cheap, at home, some further afield that required more planning.

Last week’s had been backyard camping. The tent had been big enough for all three of you, fairy lights strung on the inside as Luca’s s’mores (an insistence on them from both you and him) had accompanied well with Frankie’s reading of Luca’s ghost story. Which was basically one of his books with a ghost on the cover.

Today’s, on a rare free day off, had you both back outside and ready to paint. Thirty minutes on Frankie’s phone, a set of paint shades that would definitely make it difficult to capture the beauty of his eyes and an array of nibbles that smelt too good to keep avoiding.

As you sit, both grabbing a brush in hand, you glance over at him and nod as he begins the timer, his focus already deep on his canvas. He looks up, catching your eye and offering a smile that’s familiar, all but warm.

“You know,” he says, dipping his brush into a bright blue, “this might be my favourite date yet.”

You grin, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the sun. “Because you’re getting to paint something other than a dinosaur?”

He nods, eyes twinkling. “I do paint a good dinosaur.”

“You do. Very talented.”

Laughter continues as you begin with his outline, the conversation flowing as you try to capture his nose, his smile—the crinkle of his eyes. By the time the alarm goes off, you're almost happy. Dropping your paintbrush, hands up as you admire for a moment before picking yours up to show him.

“You’re going to be blown away.”

“I’m ready, baby.”

Turning yours first, his brows raise, leaning forward, slightly squinting. “I'm getting the idea that you like my nose...”

Smirking, slowly lowering yours back to the stand. “Oh, I like your nose, Butterscotch.”

Laughing, he then turns his and what you see takes your breath away. His painting of you, beautiful but also absolutely hilarious, has your smile cutting up into your cheek, teeth showing before a laugh rumbles out. It high-pitched, scratching your throat as it forces it out—tears pricking at your eyes, as he slowly lowers it.

“See? I told you I couldn’t paint you how I see you.”

You laugh, blinking back tears, heart full. “Frankie, you drew me as a dinosaur.”

He cracks then, mirroring you, laughing. “I wouldn’t run from you.”

Shaking your head, wiping another tear from your eye you snort. “I’d trample on you.”

“I’d let you.”

Wanted you to know that a certain person is wondering if he can watch cartoons and eat ice cubes with you. Aw, how’s the little man feeling? He’s still got a temp, but it’s less than yesterday and he’s managing to keep toast down. I’ve rang Harold already, thought he might have been okay today but. Does Harold need help?

You don’t even think, question.

The offer had been on your tongue on the day Frankie had called from the car to tell you he needed to pick Luca up. Explanation interspersed with hissing at traffic and grumbling, as you conjured the image of him tugging on his hair as he hurried his way to the school.

Frankie had said it would be fine when you’d offered before—it’ll be one day, that’s it. Now it was day three, and medication from the family medicine doctor as Luca battled an ear infection that had him not even wanting to talk dinosaurs.

There’s a delivery, but he says he’ll call his nephew.

Dialling his contact and pressing the phone to your ear, you drain the last parts of your coffee, tidying away the opened letters on your countertop as it rings, and rings, and—

“Call him and tell him I’m on my way.”

Frankie laughs, mumbling a hello as you hear him clanging a pan and something else. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I haven’t got much on—and even if I just accept it for him, let him tell me where he wants it, then it’s sorted.”

“You sure? This… you don’t have to do this.”

Laughing, grabbing a t-shirt from your drawer, before pulling out a pair of older jeans. “You kidding me right? I get to hang out with Harry—hear his puns first-hand? I’m more excited than he’ll be.”

“Rainy…”

Your mouth opens, letting out a heavy exhale before you stare at yourself in the mirror. Seeing the smile on your face from his words, finding yourself unable to tear yourself away from it for once. Liking it, the look of joy on your face, the one he etches just from his voice.

“Rainy?”

“It’ll be good for me—think I need to get out of the office, my house.”

There’s a silence, just for a moment. “You okay?”

Muttering an uh-huh back to him as you place him on loudspeaker, dragging the t-shirt over your head before he says your name.

“Just another rough day with a person who is using me as a punching bag. Woke up to an email, but… it’s fine, it’s really fine.”

“I hate that you keep having them.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me too. I feel like I brave it up and get rid of one and two grow in its place.”

Frankie exhales, his breath sliding down the phone, “Can I do anything?”

“Well, if you don’t mind me being fake Frankie, I’d love to go help Harold out—it’ll be good for me. Feel like… I’m good at something.”

“Rainy.”

“I know,” you say, finger-tracing a pattern on your bedsheets, “I know. But… just how I feel.”

“You’re good at lots of things.”

“Like?”

He snorts, loudly. “Making me laugh.”

“You laughed at a meme for ten minutes the other day about a dog’s tongue poking out.”

“It was hilarious.”

Sitting yourself down, back lying on your made bed, you run a hand down your face. “I’m just a little tired, I think. Usually, it wouldn’t bother me this much.” Frankie makes a noise in agreement, the back of your wrist resting on your forehead. “Truthfully, I want to see if Harold would be impressed by my puns.”

Frankie laughs, more clanging heard under it. “I’ll call him—but only if you promise to let me order you food for when you’re done.”

“Oh. Not worried I’ll get whatever Luca has?”

He snorts, and you can imagine the roll of his eyes even down the phone. “Unless you think you can catch an ear infection, I think you’ll be good.”

Smiling, slowly pulling yourself up to a sitting position, a pang of worry knocks through you—threatens to shake things. “Harold won’t mind, will he… I know you said he runs things differently.”

“I think he’s been wanting to replace me with you since you wandered in that day—he’ll be hoping it becomes permanent.”

Are you doing okay?

Yeah! It’s been fine, most are on palettes. Did spot a large order of butterscotch paint—that for you?

Haha, no. It’s actually been picking up in popularity.

It’s you modelling it on your page.

Shh, no it isn’t.

Baby, I love you—but I saw your latest video. From when you helped Benny, if I wasn’t already getting the chance to be in the sheets with you, I’d be thinking it.

It wasn’t that hot.

You really, really grossly misunderstand how hot you are, Francisco. Your arms for one.

You’re making me blush.

How the turn tables turn. Me, in your apron, you at home being flirted with.

Now I’m picturing you in my apron.

Yeah?

Don’t tell me what’s under it, let me fantasise.

Should I bring it to yours later?

Yeah. Yeah, do that.

There’s something about the noise of fight night.

It is both thrilling and anxiety-inducing as Frankie leads you in, his palm firmly on your back, guiding and easing you in. You reach a hand back to touch his wrist, a comforting ritual you’ve developed since that first time.

Your eyes scan and search for the others, a routine that brings a sense of normalcy to these events. Feet slowing, almost coming to a stop as you see Will wave, drink in hand, pointing at it as you nod back to Frankie and guide him through the growing crowd.

The music is louder tonight, the air tinged with more restlessness as you move, slide, and push your way through until you reach the rope.

“VIP, are we?” you call out, wrapping your arm around Will’s neck in a hug.

“Only the best.”

You step aside as the rope is reattached, letting Frankie and Will greet each other while you wave at the others. Out of the corner of your eye, you see all the slaps on the back, Frankie’s fingers cupping the back of his friend's head as he grins, nods, and talks right into his ear.

Then, there’s an arm around your middle, a familiar warm breath on your ear. “You good, baby?”

“I am.”

His lips press a tender kiss to the side of your head before you follow Will to sit down. As you settle in, you listen to Will telling Frankie that Benny is in the back and how he’s really stepped up over the last few days. You find yourself distracted, your tongue chasing the straw in your drink, until the conversation turns to yoga. Will mentions that you think it’s been quite good for Benny to shut off, and you give Frankie a look, mouthing, ‘Told you,’ to your boyfriend.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Will says suddenly, shouting over the music. “How did it go showing him the—”

Involuntary, your elbow slams into his side mid-sip. Your eyes widen as it forces a cough to smother the other words, staring boldly, almost coldly, right into Will’s face.

“I haven’t had a chance to show Benny the video,” you say, curtly, sharply. “It was very bright in the helicopter.”

You hope the lie is good enough, solid enough. You also hope Will picks up on it. Notice the distress in your eyes as Frankie, who is hanging onto your side and you can feel is darting his eyes from you to his friend and back again.

It takes a second, eyes narrowing, your stomach knotting as you fear the surprise you’ve been planning for Frankie is about to unravel.

“Ah, alright. Well, it would be good to see when it’s ready.”

Nodding, you lean into Frankie’s side, watching his eyes smooth out, relief washing over you as the tension dissipates. “Hey, so how does this night go? Is he the main fight?”

Shaking his head, Frankie adjusts his hold on his drink as he slings his arm around your neck, beginning to explain things as you shoot a smile at Will, managing to catch, quickly, the mouthed apology as you wink and let Frankie explain what tonight is for.

Your phone vibrates on the side, glancing at it as you help Luca roll out a small pizza circle from the dough you made last night.

“Rainy, can you helps me with my hat?”

Fingers adjusting his chef hat further down his head, a thing you hadn’t been sure if he would like until you saw his face light up when you pulled it out with its matching apron.

We should be done in about half an hour. And then I can come inside? You will be greeted at the side door by our mini-waiter who will be happy to show you to your seat. You breaking child working laws, Rainy? He had a work permit I swear.

Stepping back from him, you turn the oven on as you mentally tick off another thing, before scanning over the recipe that you have printed out.

It’s splattered in the sauce you’ve already made—and slightly damp from grabbing Luca's water earlier.

I think you’re lying. I think you grossly misunderstand how seriously we take things at Dino-Moralesaurus Diner. Excellent name though. I can’t take all the credit, your son is a genius.

At the sound of a knock, you help Luca down from the cooking stool Frankie had made him as he runs off excitedly screaming. It’s even harder not to grin at the sound of his boots coming off, as he comments nice hat, chef to Luca as you continue rolling out the dough.

You’re aware you’re covered in flour, that the side is a mess of sauce stains and random half-chopped ingredients.

“What’s this?”

Luca, now hatless, fulfils his duty as a waiter, offering the chalkboard to him as he explains, in the most adorable voice, that the special is pizza, the main is pizza and the dessert is—

“Rainy, what’s the dessert again?”

“Ice cream.”

“’Tis ice cream, Daddy.”

Lifting your head from chopping toppings, you catch his eye and exchange a knowing smile before Luca leads him to the already set table, clinking plates and silverware as he clambers up onto the chair to pour him a glass of lake water.

“Now, tell me, are the pizzas dino shaped?”

“Hmm, lets me ask the chefs. Chef Rainy?”

“Yes, Waiter Luca-saurus.”

You can’t fight the smile that spreads as you announce that unfortunately, tonight's dishes won’t even be fully round, never mind dinosaur-shaped.

By the time you’ve rolled out the dough and just about to begin spreading tomato sauce, Luca decides that there needs to be more dinos on the table. Freeing Frankie from sitting at the table and allowing him to join you.

“Chef Rainy, would you like some help with the toppings?"

“Only because you’re nice to look at,” you say, watching him roll up his sleeves as he moves to stand beside you.

You hand him a spatula for the sauce while you sprinkle cheese. Frankie insists on creating a ‘masterpiece’ with a mix of all the toppings, while you opt for a simpler choice, sprinkling it with fresh basil and tomatoes.

“By the way, Luca’s is store-bought. Thought poisoning your child would be hard for me to live down.”

Together, you lean against the counter as Luca runs back in, little feet slapping against the tiles as more dinosaurs begin filling up the table. Frankie goes into dad mode as he asks if he’s washed his hands before he’s running off again.

It’s barely a few minutes, but the timer goes off. Springing into action, removing Luca’s pizza from the oven—seeing the cheese golden, bubbling, filling the kitchen with a rich, cheesy aroma before you place it down and throw both yours and Frankie’s in.

You call out to Luca, who’s been eagerly waiting in the living room. “Luca-saurus! Your pizza’s ready!”

Luca comes running in, eyes wide with excitement as he climbs onto his chair at the table and you slice it up into smaller pieces and place it down.

“Mmm, this is so good!” he exclaims, his cheeks puffed out like a little chipmunk.

As Luca continues to enjoy his pizza, you and Frankie take a moment to savour the anticipation of your own creations baking in the oven. The timer goes off again, and you carefully remove the pizzas, setting them down on the counter.

“They look amazing,” Frankie says, admiring the crispy edges and perfectly melted cheese.

Taking your first bite, you’re hit with a burst of flavour, the freshness of the basil and the tang of the tomato sauce mingling perfectly with the gooey mozzarella. You share a look with Frankie, who gives you a thumbs-up, his mouth too full to speak.

“How did you like your homemade pizza?” you ask Luca, smiling at his enthusiastic nodding.

“It’s the best pizza ever!” he declares, reaching for another slice.

Frankie leans over, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he says softly.

You squeeze his hand, before moving to the sink to begin soaking them—just as Luca drags Frankie to pick the second part of the evening.

By the time you’re joining them, finding your saved spot in between them both, the movie is ready to begin, the opening credits starting before you’ve even got under the blanket. It’s minutes before you feel Frankie’s fingers sliding up and down your shoulder, your head turning, smiling as Luca sighs loudly next to you, eyes still closed, sinking deeper into a heavier sleep.

“You had a nice evening, Butterscotch?”

“Was perfect.”

“Thank you. For letting me do this—let us do this for you.” Shrugging, his free hand stroking over his face. “I’m proud of you. Six years is… monstrous.”

Snorting, resting his head on the back of the sofa, he grins a little wider. “Can tell the pair of you have had the afternoon together—monstrous.”

“He says it better.”

Nodding, Frankie shifts in his place, hand pausing on your shoulder, before squeezing it. “T-thank you. For tonight. For making a big deal but… not making a big deal.”

“Big deal not big deals are kind of my forte.”

Laughing, his thumb and index tracing over his lower lip, as you flick your eyes back to the brightness on the television—the high-pitched voices of the characters making you giggle, as the cartoon scene plays out.

“Wish we could do this all the time,” you whisper, fingers stroking along Luca’s hair—feeling him nuzzle further in the space between your calves and bent knees.

Frankie doesn’t move, or shift, but rather drags his fingers up and draws a different shape on your neck, forcing your eyes to move from the screen to his. And you see it, nestled there—a question, one his mouth opens to speak.

“What?” you ask.

“We could… do this all the time.”

Brows raising, you smile. “Oh? How would we do that?”

“Rainy.”

“Francisco.”

Snorting, continuing his drawing on your arm, he lets out a weighted exhale. “We could… maybe live in one place?”

“Oh?”

His hand slides over your shoulder, squeezing it as your heart races as he takes a breath, as more of his words hang in the air. It isn’t that you haven’t thought about it—that it hasn’t come up casually, a promise of asking you properly previously teased—but now it’s here, there, present.

Things crash into you as you run through the list. The image of waking up with him every morning, is slighted by the worries that he’d grow sick of you if you didn’t have your separate spaces. Would you disappoint him? Would he like the version of you he sees all the time—and not just part of it—

But, even still, the answer is so clearly there, sitting, teetering on the tip of your tongue as you begin to grin, smile. Almost about to answer when Luca mumbles in his sleep beside you, something incoherent before his eyes flip open and he makes a funny noise.

Frankie shifts, hand dropping from you as he calls out his name.

“I… Daddy, I don’t feel very well.”

“Shit,” you whisper as you throw your legs down from the sofa as Frankie moves to kneel at the same time as he whispers, “Mierda.”

The back of his hand presses to the boy’s forehead as Luca begins rubbing his stomach. “You feel sick?”

Luca nods, rubbing his eyes as Frankie helps lift him from his place between the sofa and your legs and makes him stand up.

“You think Daddy was right about all those sprinkles?”

Nodding again, Luca buries his head into Frankie’s neck and chest, little hands sliding around as Frankie looks at you and smiles, reassuringly. “He’ll be fine. But, I’m gonna put him in bed—do not press play without me, Rainy.”

Grinning, your lashes flutter as he lifts his son and stands. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Morales.”

“And, maybe we can finish the conversation too.”

Okay, you whisper—fingers pinching at the skin on the back of your arms as your brain begins to tally, to list, to think.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: have you seen the bonus graphics on the masterlist? if you have any moments you'd love to see from the series till now, let me know and i'll make them for after the epilogue (chapter 20)

[cryptidghostgirl]

CHUBBY! READER X ALASTOR

I'm soooo sorry that I'm requesting something else this just came to me and I needed your storytelling expertise to bring it to life 😢

ALSO ALSO ALSO this one has a trigger warning so please read with the thought that YOURE PERFECT!!!😤(if you write it)

OTAY OTAY soooooooooooo reader has been apart of the hotel for awhile and has developed a crush on Alastor from afar and the small instances they do cross paths but hesitates to approach him on her own because well we're shy and HES THE RADIO DEMON anyway reader doesn't have to worry about distance between them because Alastor is AVOIDING HER ALL ON HIS OWN 😯 AND somehow reader gathers the courage to approach Alastor but sees his relationship with Rosie (they're besties, platonic soulmates definitely) and thinks 'wow, she's so beautiful and...thin' and proceeds to lock herself away from everyone (SOLITUDE) and skips meals (starving herself), Alastor is the first to notice shes missin and pulling away but doesn't know how to approach her without stumbling over his words (i like to think that hes a heartbreaker to other women like his fans but with someone that he likes with real feelings hes fumbling in the dark because he could get rejected instead, i will die on the hill) so so so he hesitates to ask reader whats wrong till he hears her throwing up or she says something awful about herself and Alastor gets angry on her behalf and reader goes silent, only for Alastor to take a breath and tell her that 'shes hurting herself, for a shallow reason such as looks', and reader goes 'i thought you liked to watch others downfalls' and then hes like 'not your downfall, never you' 😔 reader starts to cry and shouts "im not Rosie', confused Alastor finally starts putting the pieces together and grabs reader hands and sincerely says "good, i wouldn't rosie anyhow, or anyone else for that matter', reader continuing to cry tells him to stop lying that this joke isn't funny and Alastor kissies her hand as says "whos joking? I only want you, your perfect" then then then slowly Alastor starts to help reader look at themselves in a more positive light [[fit this in somewhere???????Alastor tells reader why hes so close to rosie (he's clueless about reciprocated love so he goes to Rosie because canon that she knows matters of the heart...right?)]]

A/N as always i am obsessed with your request. Also I 100% agree with the assessment of Alastor's ability to talk to people he actually likes. I am literally so obsessed with this request. Also I am assuming from your previous comments you wanted the same bunny demon character?? Please forgive me if I am wrong but I did it for her (because I love her dearly and she is based of meeeee and I'm egotisticalllllll). Kisses bestie <3 <3

Downfall (Alastor x Chubby!Bunny Demon!Reader)

Paring: Alastor x Reader

Word Count: 4,076 (I got a little carried away)

Warnings: BODY IMAGE ISSUES!!! EDS!!!! I think that's it but they're in all caps for a reason so if you have ED issues maybe don't read this one??? It is hurt//comfort tho so maybe do???? Idk. If you get triggered by ed descriptions, don't. If having a fictional character tell you you're perfect the way you are and beg you to stop destroying yourself because they can't bear to watch would help you, do.

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

It had taken months. Months of wondering what he was like, of stolen glances, of furtive daydreams. Months of building up courage, of backing down, months of hoping and dreaming. It had taken endless encouragement from Angel, countless pages in her diary. It had taken a million deep breaths, ten thousand trembles of her hands. Months, it had taken months.

It wasn't like Y/n had never spoken to the man before. That wasn't really the issue. She wasn't scared of him, just scared. The simple idea of being alone with him was an intoxicating mixture of terror and utter bliss. Y/n didn't know how to handle it, she didn't know how to handle him.

Alastor was untouchable, nearly semi-divine in her eyes. Sure, he was fucked up, but they all were. At the end of the day, his facade was as easy to see through as a cheap paper crown from a Christmas cracker. Beneath the wide smile, the sharp teeth, the stories, Alastor was just a man. He cared deeply for the world around him, for the people around him and those in his life. No matter how hard he tried to disguise it, it always shone through to Y/n.

It wasn't like she had never spoken to Alastor before, she had just never spoken to him alone before. Every interaction they had ever had was as a part of the larger group of Hotel residents and staff. On the rare occasion they ran into one another in the hallway or happened to each be in the kitchen at the same time, Y/n froze up. Words turned to stones in her stomach and all she could ever seem to manage was a gentle nod, a shaky smile. It frustrated her to no end.

Finally, she had worked up the courage to talk to him. It was all Angel's idea really, she would never have had the thought to do such a thing on her own but his pushing had been relentless and at last, Y/n had agreed.

And it had taken months, months! This was her third attempt to go up to him. They had even lowered the stakes, Angel saying all she had to do was have a single normal conversation with the man and he would let her off the hook, stop his pestering and teasing. It was just her luck, really just her god damn luck.

Sir Pentious had informed Y/n that Alastor had left the hotel to see a friend, Charlie had given her the address of the cafe he had said he would be at should they need him. Everyone was all smiles, all encouragement. Y/n reminded herself to yell at Angel later for spilling her secret although, she guessed she shouldn't have expected anything else from the hotel's biggest gossip.

Putting on her favorite outfit, her hair all done up and makeup perfect, Y/n had slicked her ears flat against her head in determination and stepped out onto the streets of Pentagram City. It didn't take long for her to find the place, a sweet little cafe on the outskirts of Cannibal Town with white wrought iron chairs and a cheerful pink and purple sign. It hadn't taken her long to spot the bright red of Alastor's suit through the window either, standing out against all the muted purples and dark blacks of the other cannibals enjoying their meals within.

"It's fine. It's totally not weird that you're going up to him in a cafe he's having lunch in with a friend, that you.... oh my god Y/n!! He's gonna think you were stalking him! You should just go back and- no! You promised. Y/n, you can do this."

She took a deep breath, centering herself in that little core, that rod of who she was, that shot down the center of her being. Raising a closed fist to her chest, she shut her eyes.

"You can do this, Bunny." she reaffirmed, "You can do this."

Opening her eyes, she crossed the street. Her hand was inches away from the door's handle, her heart racing but set on what she was about to do, when Y/n noticed exactly who Alastor's 'friend' was.

Across the table from him, sipping delicately on a cup of tea, was the most beautiful demon Y/n thought she had ever laid eyes on. She had long, dainty fingers, thin and spidery, and the most perfectly proportioned body. She was tall, long legs sheltered by her skirt and a tiny waist that threw her hips and chest into contrast. The woman's hair was neat, tucked up beneath a wide brimmed hat. Her clothes were classy, her smile was bright and charming, the black holes of her eyes were... were... were everything. She was everything, everything Y/n wasn't.

Suddenly, the weight of her own body against her bones became all too real. She felt the urge to never be touched again, the same strange sickness of her youth sinking its teeth into the softness of her stomach, her thighs, her arms, all of her. Her hand lowered from the handle, Alastor laughing at something the woman had said to him. He seemed relaxed, more at peace than Y/n had ever seen the man before. If that wasn't love, she didn't know what was.

It took a second for the other residents of the Hazbin Hotel to realize the change. Y/n was good at this, she'd had practice. For years, she had worked to move past it all but the threat of a relapse had always hung over her head. It was her sword of Damocles, her fated demise.

Y/n retreated in to herself, she couldn't get the image of that woman out of her head. Poised, statuesque, thin. God, Y/n had never wanted anything more than she wanted to be thin. She wanted to rip fistfuls of flesh from her body, she wanted to wither away so only something beautiful remained.

Alastor was the first to notice. He had a soft spot for the rabbit demon who always seemed to be full of that soft, discrete joy and unending kindness. She was a more toned down version of Charlie. She was genuine and completely herself, no holds bared. She had such a hope, she had such a goodness, it made him wonder why she hadn't ended up in Heaven instead.

The truth was, behind the bravado and the grin, Alastor was scared of Y/n. He was scared he would touch her and she would rot away or worse, that she would run. She was just so good, so intrinsically wondrous, and he was the opposite. She was a fresh rose and he was the person coming haplessly along with a pair of gardening shears. She was radiant, she was carved fresh from marble, he was down bad.

Women had never been a priority or a problem for Alastor. Living and dead, they flocked to him. He knew his reputation was to blame, not to mention his looks. They could be fun for a while. Alastor saw charming them as a game, a good way to pass the time. This was different, Y/n was different. Alastor didn't know what to do so, he did nothing. He avoided her like the plague and when he couldn't, he practically ignored her, barley spared her a word.

Alastor was untethered, completely in the dark and so, he did what everyone does when they feel like that: he went to talk to his best friend. When he had gotten back to the hotel after his rather illuminating little chat with Rosie, Charlie had asked him if he had seen Y/n. It felt like divine chance, a cruel joke of fate, that the demon Princess would bring up the very source of his problems so soon after having at last pushed past his pride to ask for help.

When he had revealed the truth to the gang, that no, he had not in fact seen Y/n, they seemed deflated. There had been some sighs, some shrugs, shared glances he didn't understand and then everything had gone back to normal except, it wasn't quite normal.

Where Y/n could normally be found causing trouble, making mischief with the people who had so quickly become her friends since she had started her stay at the hotel out in the open, there was now a distinct lack of her jovial presence. She began taking her plates to her room at meals, showing up to group activities less and less, claiming she was tired or had a stomach ache. Alastor noticed every time he did manage to catch a glimpse of the marvelous and strange creature who had captured his affections so, she seemed utterly exhausted. Y/n was always bundled up, even on the warmest of days.

He wanted to go talk to her, wanted to ask her if she was okay. Alastor was worried -- genuinely worried -- about her. The only thing that stopped him from knocking every time he passed her perpetually closed door, was that he knew himself too well. He knew that the minute he entered, he'd lose his courage, that the words would become mush in his mouth.

It was pure chance, right place wrong time, that he heard it. Alastor had been following his normal routine, heading up to his radio tower for a broadcast after a group activity. Today had been Operation Navigation! As Charlie had dubbed it. She and Vaggie had built an obstacle course and everyone had a partner who was blindfolded and had to be guided through. When they got to the other end, the pairs had switched. Miraculously, Y/n had shown up to this event.

Alastor had watched her carefully, noting her sluggish movements and the way it took her a second to fully register what anyone was saying in a given moment. It was out of the ordinary and his worry only grew. He knew he was going to have to do something about it eventually but just didn't know how. Maybe it would require another visit to Rosie.

As he walked past the lobby bathroom, Alastor was pulled from his thoughts. The door was slightly ajar, sending shards of light out into the darkened hallway.

"Why isn't it working!"

Came the hushed yell of defeat. It was Y/n's voice, he'd know it anywhere. Alastor stopped walking.

"Why do I have to be..."

There was a sniff, the sound of something hitting the wall. Alastor realized it had been Y/n at the sound of fabric against the wallpaper. He could see her in his minds eye as she slid down the wall, pulling her knees into her chest.

"Why can't I just be skinny."

Y/n's words were muffled, soft and shaky.

"Why can't I just be pretty. Why do I have to be... to be..." her words were briefly broken by a sob, "why can't I just be good. I can't even fucking starve myself right. I wish..."

Alastor's body reacted before his mind could catch up, he knocked gently on the door. There was a little yelp of surprise from within, a few sniffs and some rustling fabric.

"Yeah?"

Y/n's voice trembled as she tried to keep the tears at bay.

"May I come in?"

Alastor heard the sharp intake of breath. It was too late to back down now. The silence was thick between them, it felt eternal.

"Okay." Y/n agreed at last, her voice small, and Alastor stepped into the room.

It was exactly how he had imagined it. Y/n was huddled on the floor next to the door, her knees tucked up under her chin and her arms holding her shins tightly. Alastor noticed that the thick, woolen sweater she had been wearing earlier had been tossed to the side, laying haphazardly beside the sink. Y/n sniffed again, trying to smile.

"Everything okay?" she asked and Alastor fixed his eyes back on her.

Y/n's eyes were rimmed with red. Her ears lay limply around her face which was stained with tears. Her skin was covered in goosebumps, she shivered.

"No. It's not."

She seemed a bit taken aback by his answer, not having grasped the reality of the cracked door earlier.

"I don't... what's wrong?"

"You are starving yourself." Alastor replied in a matter-of-fact voice.

Y/n's eyes went wide.

"Fuck... I... fuck!" she buried her face in her knees, "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"Are you trying to die!?" Alastor asked,

He didn't mean to yell, he didn't mean to be this angry. Everything he said seemed to send shockwaves of regret through his body. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Are you... I just... are you stupid?!"

Y/n looked up at him again, her eyes wet with fresh tears.

"I-"

"You what." Alastor scoffed, "You want to be pretty?"

"I..."

"You want to be pretty so you lock yourself away? You make your friends watch as you... as you what, as you get thin? As you destroy yourself?"

She was crying now, truly crying. Alastor looked away, a hand to his head. He took a deep breath, everything was going wrong. When he looked at her again, her cheeks were flushed from a mixture of shame and hurt.

"I just..." he took another deep breath, sinking to his knees before her, "Why would you hurt yourself so badly for something as.. as shallow as your looks?"

Y/n sniffled, frantically trying to wipe away her tears.

"What, I thought you liked to watch other people's downfalls." she tried to shoot back at him but her words came out stuttering and broken through the thickly falling tears.

Y/n refused to meet Alastor's gaze. Everything was going wrong. She was horribly embarrassed, she felt like a butterfly and Alastor was the terror who had opened her chrysalis too soon. He wasn't supposed to see her like this, he wasn't supposed to see her now. He was only supposed to get the after. It was all for him, after all, wasn't it?

Except, Y/n knew the truth of the matter. Alastor had been the trigger but, these behaviors were too well engrained. She might not have known it then, but she'd been looking for an excuse all along. It was all for her, every inch of agony.

His heart dropped at her words. Was that what Y/n truly thought of him? It would make sense, it was the face he presented to the world after all. He had just thought... he had hoped... Rosie had said....

Rosie. That was the answer. She had told him to be honest, to be vulnerable no matter how terrifying such a prospect could be. She had said it was the only way they ever had the slightest chance.

Alastor reached a hand out gently, turning Y/n to look at him. Her skin was soft to the touch, the beating of her blood thrumming against his fingertips. With the utmost care he could muster in his clawed and rotten hands, Alastor wiped her tears away. He couldn't meet Y/n's eyes but heard her sniffle, watched as the flow of sorrow slowed.

"Not your downfall." he said, his words like quiet feathers falling through the air, "Never your downfall."

At last he met her trembling gaze, fear coursing hotly through him, mingling with his blood. She took a few short, stuttering breaths before bursting into tears once again. Alastor flinched slightly as her head fell forward onto his shoulder.

"But I'm not that woman!"

"Woman... what woman?"

"The one you were with at the cafe!"

"The one... Rosie?"

Y/n nodded, sniffiling slightly as she tried to calm herself down.

"You saw me with Rosie? How?"

"I went... I'd been working up all this courage and... I just wanted to talk to you and Charlie and Pen said you'd be there and... and... and I'm not Rosie!"

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. He had been right all along, Rosie was the answer. With the air of someone who hadn't had much physical affection given to them in their life, or received any for that matter, Alastor slowly wrapped his hands around Y/n's shaking back.

"Good."

"What do you mean 'good'? She's so beautiful and she made you laugh and she's just... she's so beautiful and thin!"

"She is beautiful, and a lovely woman but, I don't want Rosie. Or anyone else for that matter."

Y/n's sobs redoubled, she began to struggle against his grip.

"Let me go! Stop lying, Alastor."

Alastor released Y/n from his grasp and she pushed herself back against the wall, utterly mortified and unable to stop. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking away.

"Stop joking, it's... it's not funny."

"Who is joking? I..." Alastor took a deep breath.

Rosie had been right, it was terrifying. He hope she was right on the second part too, that it would be worth it.

"Y/n, have you seen yourself?"

"Yes! Why the fuck do you think I want to be anything else?!"

Alastor got to his feet, holding a hand out to Y/n.

"Come with me."

"No." she mumbled, scooting further away from him if it was possible.

Under another circumstance, he would have chuckled lightly, he would have found her reaction adorable. This was neither the time nor the place and so, summoning his shadows, he transported them both into the darkness of his room.

Y/n looked around, pulling herself to her feet.

"Where... where are we?"

"My room." Alastor sat down on the edge of his bed, "Come here."

Hesitantly, Y/n took a few steps forwards. Once she was in reach, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his lap. The feeling sent sparks through his body, Alastor tried his best to ignore it. There were more important things than the pleasure of the moment. Y/n struggled against his grasp, the tips of her ears dragging slightly across his arms.

"Alastor! Let me go! I'm too heavy!"

"No, you're quite perfect actually."

"I don't want to be touched! I don't want you to... you're making me want to tear my skin off, please."

"No." his voice was firm.

"Please, just please let go of my waist at least."

To this, he relented, one of his arms falling loosely onto her lap as he held the other up, snapping his fingers. Shadow's flooded into the room, bringing with them a full length mirror. He felt Y/n tense in his grasp.

They came to a stop, setting the mirror on the ground before them. Y/n turned her head away, her eyes shut tight.

"Please stop, Alastor. This really isn't funny."

"Y/n."

"No."

"Y/n."

"No!"

Y/n, please."

She had never heard him say the word before. Slowly, she opened her eyes, craning her neck to look up at Alastor.

"I want you to see what I see when I look at you."

"You promise you wont be mean?" Y/n asked suspiciously after a moment.

"I pinky promise."

He had seen her do this before, with other residents of the hotel. A simple locking of pinky's was all it ever took to make a promise, to assuage her doubts, to show she cared. Y/n's eyes widened slightly. Slowly, she reached her hand out, locking her pinky with his. They shook their hands once, the way Alastor had seen her do it a thousand times before.

"Wait." Y/n said as he made to move his hand away, looking away bashfully, her cheeks a bright pink and her voice quiet, "Don't let go."

"Okay."

Taking a deep breath, she turned to the mirror. It was terrible, she felt bile rise in her throat.

"Y/n, you are so... every inch of you is perfect." Alastor took a deep breath, the way his voice trembled not escaping Y/n's notice, "You have... amazing legs. I know everyone's all obsessed with Angel's but, he has nothing on you walking around on those sticks. You're... you're all soft curves and lace. If you were made of anything, you would be satin. You are a nymph rising from the lakes, a wild maenad in the woods. Your eyes shine like true stars, not what we have here. Did you know rabbits were always my favorite animal?"

Y/n giggled slightly, her tearstained cheeks flushed pink.

"Well they were. They still are. Your ears are just to die for, dearest."

He felt her ears twitch slightly against his back at the comment and Y/n watched through the mirror as his smile softened at it's harsh edges.

"Your grace is what the Greeks wrote about. You... Y/n, the first time I set eyes on you, I felt like I was drowning." Alastor looked away, unable to meet her eyes even through the glass, "Like you were a siren and I was nothing more than a hapless sailor at your mercy."

"But you never talk to me."

"You never talk to me!"

Y/n laughed again, smiling a gummy smile.

"I don't have to talk to you to see who you are, Y/n." Alastor continued, his hand that was in her lap turning so his palm rested gently on her thigh, "You light up any room you're in. You are charming and clever and constantly on the look out for places you can instill your special breed of controlled chaos."

Trembling, he shifted his hand in Y/n's so he held hers, raising it to his mouth. The heat of his breath on her skin drove Y/n wild, her breath hitched.

"I am glad you're not Rosie, I don't want Rosie. I don't want anyone else except for you."

Alastor planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand and Y/n's smile only grew, her tears long forgotten now as she watched Alastor's reflection.

"You are perfect. Please, don't change yourself, don't hurt yourself, trying to be something else. I'd miss you."

Slowly, he let their still clasped hands fall into Y/n's lap.

"Do you see now?"

Y/n turned back to the mirror, her head tilted slightly to one side as she hummed in consideration.

"No." she admitted, "But I think I might be able to start."

"One step at a time." Alastor rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand in comforting circles, "I'll be with you the whole way, if you'll have me."

He held his breath, waiting for her reply. Y/n met his eyes through the mirror, her brow furrowed.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Who is Rosie?"

Alastor could have laughed, he nearly did.

"She is a very old and dear friend. I was going to her for advice, that day."

"You? Needing advice?" Y/n paused before shaking her head, "Nah, I don't see it."

She laughed lightly at her own joke and Alastor smiled softly back at her.

"It was advice about you, actually."

Y/n turned herself in his lap, looking up at him with her legs on either side of his own.

"About me?"

"Y-yes."

He cursed himself internally. Alastor hadn't meant to stutter, she just looked too lovely sitting there and looking up at him with her pretty pink lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed.

"Well?" she asked expectantly.

"I..." Alastor felt the heat rising in his own cheeks and looked away, "well, I didn't know how to approach you."

"Wait, you were avoiding me this whole time?" Y/n laughed and Alastor nodded, "I thought I was avoiding you!"

"Wait, you were avoiding me?"

His gaze snapped back to hers and she laughed again.

"Yes! I was terrified to speak to you! You're so cool and hot and just... I'm not good at things like this!"

"You think I'm hot?"

"Is that all you got out of what I said?"

"Maybe."

They both laughed this time. Alastor's chest felt lighter than it hand in years.

"So," he began once they had both calmed down, "is that a yes?"

"To what?"

"To letting me... be... with you."

Y/n smiled, reaching a hand up to his cheek.

"That's a 'will you be with me?' I think actually."

----

Tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0@kahlan170

A/N Y'all, there were one or two times I almost wrote my name while doing this one. I've been writing x reader fics for eight years, this never happens to me anymore. I think I related a little too hard. I am x reader fic writing too close to the sun.

[highladyandromeda]

The Stolen Pen

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel inadvertently steals a pen from Y/n, his crush. His covert operations to rectify the situation spirals into a comedy of errors…will Azriel be able to return the pen and admit his feelings, or will he forever be labeled as a thief? 

Warnings: None, just fluff with stupid decisions, a sprinkle of jealousy, silly mistakes, and perhaps too many details about pens. 

A/N: So I was supposed to be writing my other fic, but I was a bit stumped on where to take that…So I started this with the intention of it being a cute, short, one-shot or blurb…but here we are…7k words later….this is a fluffy mess. 

“Ohhh there come the lover boy”, Cassian whisper-yells, as Azriel silently slides into the chair next to Nesta in their shared criminal justice elective. His attempt at stealth, however, is foiled by that not-so-subtle announcement. With a scowl aimed at Cassian, Azriel attempts to shrink further into his chair, hoping that their professor remains engrossed in her lecture and oblivious to his tardiness.

“Shhhhhh” Nesta whispered, smacking the back of Cass’s head, giving Azriel some support before she smirked, “He’s not lover boy yet. Have you even been able to say something beyond hello and goodbye?

The question hits Azriel with the force of a freight train, his cheeks burning with a flush that he prays is hidden by the shadow of his hoodie. He's saved from having to voice his defeat by the TA, who chooses that moment to distribute study guides for their impending exam. Grateful for the distraction, Azriel takes out his pen, only to catch the curious—and amused—gazes of Nesta and Cassian directed not at him, but at his hand.

Always self-conscious about his scars, he hunches further into his hoodie, but as he follows their stares back to his paper, Azriel's heart sinks. In his hand lies a distinctly feminine, pink pen adorned with a star or flower emblem at its tip, an object so glaringly out of place in his grip that it screams for attention. The realization hits him like a wave, leaving him momentarily speechless. Oh. Oh. 

“Please tell me that's whose I think it is," Nesta teases, barely containing her laughter as she observes Azriel's stunned silence.

At Azriel’s complete silence, Nesta waved a hand in front of his face, glancing at Cassian and mouthing did he stop functioning? To which she got a shoulder shrug in response.

Her attempts to elicit a response from him were futile; Azriel was lost in a haze of embarrassment, fixated on the damning piece of evidence in his hand. Nesta's playful pokes did nothing to snap him out of his daze, and in a moment of sheer mortification, Azriel let his forehead meet the desk with a thud loud enough to turn heads. If he thought he was invisible before, he's anything but now.

Azriel was mortified.

He was utterly and completely mortified. Azriel felt like he was living in a nightmare, one where embarrassment was the main theme, and there was no waking up. He wished for anything—a magic trapdoor beneath his feet, or maybe a sudden, convenient superpower to teleport himself out of this situation. But no, the reality was far less accommodating, especially since he was holding onto something that wasn't his. A pen. Not just any pen, but one that belonged to you, given in a moment of desperation.

Azriel let out a groan, which Cassian tried to cover with a cough that was more like a shout, and Nesta with the dramatic slam of her books. Their attempts were valiant but futile against the tidal wave of Azriel's mortification.

He thought back to earlier in the day, in the calculus class he shared with you, the one in which he always sat in the back corner and one day you came in late, and sat next to him. Somehow, since then, you kept coming back to that spot, and though he replied each time to your good mornings and goodbyes, he wanted to speak up. Maybe ask if you were new because he would've noticed you in the previous math classes. Or maybe inquire if you had transferred, under the guise of offering a tour of the campus. Yet, whenever he caught sight of your ebony hair and the spark in your eyes, words fled from him, leaving silence in their wake.

Just like today, where for once he was there after you…he had made it a bit of a habit to be early to that one class, mainly because it was a class that was important to his major. Of course, he couldn’t finish his computer science degree if he failed multivariable calculus, and the…added benefit of watching you walk into the building from the windows and then up the stairs, always giving him a smile before sitting down, was just that…a benefit. 

But yes, today he slept through his alarm, got trapped in a conversation with his elderly neighbor, the one he didn’t know how to escape without Cass or Rhys, was almost run over twice on his motorcycle, and arrived as a verifiable mess to class. After jumping into his seat, he patted himself down so rigorously and nearly up-ended his entire bag trying to find a pen, needing to copy down the partial derivatives he knew the professor would showcase on their next exam. 

His frantic search for a writing instrument ended when you noticed his plight and offered yours with a simple, "Do you need a pen?" Frozen, Azriel could only nod, accepting the lifeline you offered but cursing his inability to say anything more–Oh, caldron boil and fry me…

“You stole her pen?” 

“I–I didn’t steal her pen, Nesta”

“You stole her pen.”

“Her mount blank pen”, added Cassian, smiling cheekily behind his phone.

“Whose what–Cass, don’t smile at me with fries sticking out of your mouth.” Feyre joins them in their usual diner, sliding into the booth next to Az. 

“He stole his crush’s pen,” Cass continues, swallowing his food this time, after Nesta pinched his thigh.

“I didn’t steal her pen!”

“You stole someone’s pen?” Rhys joins, sliding next to Feyre and setting down a tray of milkshakes. 

Azriel's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, if that was even possible, under the relentless teasing of his friends. "I didn't steal it. She lent it to me," he mumbled, his voice barely rising over the din of the diner.

"Ah, but you've yet to return it," Rhys pointed out, a mischievous glint in his eye as he took a sip of his milkshake. "Sounds like a classic case of pen-napping to me."

"It's not like that," Azriel protested, but the laughter from his friends suggested they weren't buying his defense. He glanced down at the pen in question, its sleek design and the way it perfectly balanced in his hand making it all the more precious now that it was a symbol of his hapless affection.

Feyre, having quietly observed the exchange with a gentle smile, finally chimed in. "Maybe it's fate, Azriel. That pen could be your excuse to finally talk to her."

Azriel's heart skipped a beat at the thought. Talk to you. Use words this time instead of just nodding like a lovestruck fool. It sounded so simple when Feyre said it, but the mere idea sent his pulse racing.

His thoughts were interrupted by Feyre's voice again, pulling him back to the present. "Wait, Az, can I see it?" Her curiosity piqued, she leaned sideways, her gaze fixed on the pen he held so carefully.

With a hesitant motion, Azriel passed the pen to her, but before she could comment, Rhys's whistle sliced through the din of the diner.

"I take that back, this is definitely a case of pen thieving," he declared, an unusual seriousness lacing his tone that drew the eyes of the entire table.

Rhys sighed, muttering under his breath about uncultured friends, a comment cut short by Nesta's sharp look. "Azriel, that’s a Mont Blanc Pen."

"That’s what I said! A mount blank pen!" Cassian echoed, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and amusement.

Sitting up straight, a sense of urgency overtaking him, Azriel looked from one friend to another, their faces a blend of jest and genuine surprise. Rhys continued, "What that means is it’s quite an expensive pen, Az...I’m sure whoever you borrowed it from will want it back."

The words hit Azriel like a cold wave, his anxiety spiking anew. The fear that you might see him as a thief, as someone who took advantage of a moment of kindness, gnawed at him. 

Azriel's mind went back to this morning, the moment of leaving the classroom flashed vividly before his eyes—your parting words, something about the pen, but all he had managed in response was a series of nods, mesmerized by your smile. The possibility that you might have asked for it back, only for him to unwittingly refuse, twisted in his gut. Did your smile mask pity, or was it simply to avoid the brief intimacy of touch?

"Oh, cauldron, I am a thief. I did steal her pen," he muttered, the realization settling in with a weight that was hard to bear. The joke had turned into a confession, the humor of the situation evaporating as the reality of his inadvertent theft dawned on him. He had to make it right, to return the pen and clear the air, hoping beyond hope that you wouldn’t think less of him for this misunderstanding.

“Oh Az, I’m sure it’s not that bad” Feyre hands it back to him, trying to provide words of comfort. “It’ll be fine as long as you see her again.” 

This must have been the sixth stare Azriel received, as he shuffled in front of the large windows in the building’s hallway. He supposed he cut quite a figure, dressed entirely in black, complete with a mask and his hoodie covering his entire head. But he was here on a mission, no matter the next group of students he saw from the corner of his eye, whispering and pointing at him. He needed to keep watch and see when you would be walking up to the building. He could only think about your pen for the past 2 days, cursing whatever entity who’d assigned this calculus class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He needed to give it to you today because he wasn’t sure if he could handle the anxiety all weekend. 

At first, he just wanted to leave it on your regular seat and skip class today. Maybe leaving behind a cute note with the pen, asking to treat you to coffee in return for his unintentional theft. But, then he spiraled, what if you no longer went to the seat next to him, thinking of him as some ungrateful and lying douchebag. He couldn’t just leave it there for someone else to pick up, especially after Rhys mentioned its exclusivity. He didn’t want to accidentally lose your pen and ruin all chances of ever getting to talk to you. 

But as the minutes ticked by, the usual stream of students thinned…and the bell that marked the start of class echoed hollowly in the emptying hallway. You didn't appear. Confusion, then concern, wound its way through Azriel's thoughts. You didn’t appear. Confusion, then concern wound its way through Azriel’s thoughts. Had something happened? Or had you simply decided to skip class? The latter was a possibility that he simply hadn’t considered, having seen you in every class since the start of the semester last month. 

With a heavy heart, Azriel made his way to class, the pen still in his possession. The seat next to him, your seat, remained empty, a silent testament to the day's ruined intentions. As the lecture on derivatives and integrals droned on, Azriel couldn't help but feel the gap next to him acutely, an empty space filled with missed connections and unspoken words.

The clatter and chatter of the diner wrapped around Azriel like a familiar blanket as he sank further into the booth, an attempt to escape the scrutiny he knew was coming. The weekly Saturday breakfast with Rhys and Cassian was usually a highlight, a chance to decompress and share laughs over greasy food. Today, however, Azriel felt the weight of his unresolved dilemma like a lead apron around his chest.

Rhys slid into the booth, arching an eyebrow as he took in Azriel's disheveled appearance. "Looks like someone hasn't slept in days," he commented, his voice laced with concern and a hint of amusement.

Azriel could only groan in response, the word "sleep" feeling foreign and elusive. Cassian's next words did nothing to improve his mood. "He's still a thief," he joked, nudging Azriel with his elbow.

Rhys's surprise was evident. "You still haven't returned the pen?" He shook his head, disbelief and curiosity mingling in his expression.

Cassian leaned back, sipping his coffee. "He hasn’t been able to find her. She skipped class."

The conversation paused as a waiter delivered their usual array of milkshakes and waffles, a temporary distraction from the topic at hand. Rhys, ever the problem solver, wasted no time in offering a solution. "I can see if I can pull some strings, and find her contact information. Or at least her email."

Silence descended upon the table, thick and heavy. Both Cassian and Rhys turned to Azriel, expecting confirmation or at least a nod of approval. Instead, they were met with a profound silence that spoke volumes. The shock on their faces was almost comical.

Rhys was the first to break the silence, disbelief coloring his tone. "Don’t tell me…"

Cassian's eyes widened. "You don’t know her name??"

"Not even her first name???" Rhys added, his voice an octave higher in astonishment.

Azriel felt a flush creep up his neck, coloring his cheeks a deep shade of red. The truth of the matter, laid bare amidst the remnants of breakfast, felt absurd even to him. He had spent the week agonizing over a pen, over missed opportunities and unspoken words, without ever knowing your name.

“But you said she’s in your compsci class?” Rhys continued

Azriel shook his head, “No, we're in multivariable calculus together. But she’s definitely new.” 

At Cassian and Rhys's blank stares, Azriel elaborated, “It’s one the hardest math classes, I would have noticed her in the previous levels.”

“Wait Az, pull out the pen again.” Rhys reached his hand over. 

His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, flicking between Azriel and the pen before he floated an invitation his way. "Why don't you take and break and join Feyre and me tonight? We're catching up with my childhood friend—the one who introduced me to Feyre. Actually, Cass, join us and bring Nesta along. We’re meeting at Rita’s as usual so Mor will be there too. 

Azriel, however, wasn't so sure. "I don’t know…" he mumbled, lost in his whirlwind of thoughts, missing the significant glances Rhys shot towards Cassian.

As if on cue, Cassian's boisterous encouragement broke through his reverie. "Oh, come on, Az. It's not like the pen's going to grow legs and run off!"

 And with Rhys adding, "Give us some company, won't you, Azriel? My dear friend will feel left out among the couples." 

With a mix of encouragement and playful ribbing, Azriel found himself agreeing if only to escape the orbit of his own overthinking for a while.

Thus, Azriel found himself stepping into Rita's coffee shop, transformed at night into a cozy jazz club, clad in his finest casual attire. Gone was the hoodie, replaced by a crisp black shirt, his best jeans, and the leather jacket that felt like a second skin. The pen, its significance magnified beyond reason, was securely tucked inside his jacket, close to his heart.

Entering the cafe with Nesta and Cassian, who both looked effortlessly chic, Azriel couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement beneath his apprehension. Rita’s transformed at night from a quaint coffee shop into a vibrant jazz club, complete with dance floors and hidden alcoves, a favorite haunt for their group.

Curiosity about this mysterious friend of Rhys and Feyre nibbled at the edges of his thoughts. Described by Rhys as a "childhood companion" and by Feyre with glowing terms of talent and kindness, she seemed almost too good to be true. Feyre’s stories painted her as a guardian angel of the arts, guiding Feyre through her first year with museum visits and personal tutorials in art history, a beacon of support that enabled Feyre to pursue her dreams in Fine Arts.

Azriel couldn't deny the intrigue, a part of him eager to meet the person who had inadvertently brought both his brothers' such happiness and given him such close friends. 

Rita's was a place of warmth and music, where coffee aromas mingled with the sultry notes of jazz, and where the dance floor beckoned the brave. It was here, amidst the casual elegance of his friends, that Azriel hoped to find some semblance of peace.

His heart was already racing from the anticipation of the night, but nothing could have prepared him for the moment he stepped into the semi-circle of his friends and saw her.

The back of a girl, her black tweed jacket adorned with intertwining threads of red and gold, caught his immediate attention. It was a unique piece, one he recognized because it hung over the chair next to him just days ago in calculus. As if on cue, Cassian nudged him forward, breaking his trance and thrusting him into the moment he had been both dreading and longing for.

Time seemed to stretch and bend, each step toward the table feeling like a journey in itself. Then, as Rhys and Feyre stood, pulling the girl up with them, the world snapped back to its rightful pace, but not for Azriel. For him, everything continued in slow motion, the ambient noise fading into a distant buzz, drowned out by the sudden pounding of his heart.

"This is my childhood friend," Rhys began, his voice cutting through the fog in Azriel's mind.

"And my first college friend, Y/n," Feyre added, her smile bright and welcoming. “She just came back from a year abroad, so everyone welcome her well!”

Rhys continued with the introductions, but Azriel heard none of it. His gaze locked with Y/n's, and in that moment, everything else fell away. Her eyes, a captivating mix of curiosity and warmth, seemed to hold him in place, rendering him utterly speechless.

"Oh hi, Azriel!" Y/n's voice, clear and cheerful, attempted to bridge the gap between them. But Azriel remained frozen, caught in the storm of his own emotions, unable to muster even the simplest of greetings.

Then, the silence was shattered by Cassian's laughter. "Sorry about that, Azriel is just too shy, isn't that right?" he joked, clapping Azriel on the back hard enough to jostle him from his stupor. With a friendly push, Cassian maneuvered him into the booth next to Y/n before sliding in next to Rhys and Nesta.

As Feyre drew Y/n back into the conversation, wanting to connect her with Nesta over their love for books, Azriel couldn't shake the feeling of the pen in his pocket. It was as if the object, a simple tool for writing, had become a symbol of all his unspoken words, his hidden desires, and his fear of reaching out. It burned against his thigh, a constant reminder of the words he had yet to say.

As the night wore on, and their friends' laughter filled the air, Azriel found his eyes constantly drifting to Y/n’s, wanting to capture every smile, every glance, every subtle expression that danced across her features. The ambient light of the club, dim and forgiving, cast a warm glow on her face, highlighting the contours and the genuine joy that seemed to radiate from her. 

When the girls got up to join the dance floor, a tidal wave of reality crashed over Azriel. Rhys and Cassian's sudden attention, their probing questions about his unusual quietness, felt like spotlights on a stage he wasn't prepared to stand on. "I'm just tired," he managed to say, the words feeling like sandpaper against his throat. "And a bit worried, you know." But his attempt to deflect only invited more scrutiny.

Rhys immediately saw through the facade. "She's the girl, isn't she? That's why she said your name before I introduced you." At Azriel's silence, Rhys elaborated further, “She’s also the one I assumed was the owner of that pen, Y/n has an entire collection of Mont Blanc, and she fits into your description, being technically new as she just returned from abroad. 

Azriel’s flush, heavy and telling, confirmed his friends' suspicions without a single word spoken.

“Then this the perfect moment!” Cassian continued. “When she comes back, give the pen and ask to buy her a drink as an apology for the delay”

Rhys perked up as well, hitting Azriel on the shoulder, “Cass is right! I know Y/n, and she’s not one to hold a grudge, especially if you apologize. In fact, get her a tequila daisy, she loves those.”

At his friend’s encouragement, Azriel felt his spirits being lifted. He could do this, he thought, the Mother blessing him with such good luck that he found the girl he was looking today. He should take this as a sign, telling him that this was his time to have courage. As Cass and Rhys shooed him up, spotting the girls returning, Azriel shot back his drink and stood up. With a slightly steadier step, he decided to take a little detour back to their table, positioning himself so he'd see Y/n first. It was a small thing, but it gave him a moment to steel himself, to prepare for her smile, her presence. "Alright, let's do this," he thought, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

As Azriel navigated his way back to the table, a sudden wave of nervousness washed over him. The confidence he had just moments ago seemed to evaporate with each step he took. By the time he was close, he found himself unable to meet the gaze of his friends or even Y/n, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, a beacon of his newfound apprehension.

He made a beeline for the chair adorned with the distinctive tweed jacket, so caught up in his thoughts that he completely missed Cassian's worried glance. With a heart racing and a mind swirling with rehearsed apologies, Azriel reached out to tap the shoulder of the person he assumed was Y/n, all the while starting his practiced spiel. "Hey, I just wanted to give you this, I--uh--I'm so sorry couldn't before--let me buy you a drink to make it up—"

His words faltered, dying in his throat as he finally mustered the courage to look up, only to find Elain's familiar face smiling back at him. The confusion was immediate, his brain struggling to catch up with the reality in front of him as Elain, seizing the pen from his grasp, chimed, "Oh, Az, my birthday's still a week away...but thank you so much!" The affectionate kiss she planted on his cheek was meant to be a sweet gesture, yet it only served to heighten Azriel's horror as he watched her examine the pen.

“Oh, that’s so preetty Elain! Mor stumbled by, the alcohol clearly catching up to her by now. “But, why do you have a pen right now? Don’t work, come dance with us! She said laughing, grabbing Cassian on her way back. 

Azriel, now left alone with a blushing Elain, had no idea how this happened. One moment he thought he’d finally get to confess to Y/n and the next moment, he’s given perhaps her prized possession, which she lent him, to another girl. It turned out that he was incorrect before, it's clear that the Mother brought up the worst luck he could have.  

He needed to fix this. 

Now. 

And tell Elain that he did have something for her birthday…just not that. Yes, it had to break it to her now. 

“I know you said you’d be busy and couldn’t make it to my birthday, but you didn’t have to get me something, Az! This is just my color though…”

Azriel stood there, his mind racing with a mix of panic and disbelief. How had he managed to entangle himself in such an awkward situation? The irony of it all was that he had known about Elain's soft spot for him, a sentiment that had grown perhaps from the time he had escorted her back from class to keep her away from her troublesome ex. 

He had considered the possibility of returning her feelings, had even tried to envision something more between them, but his heart never quite made the leap. Elain was wonderful, truly, but the spark he was supposed to feel just wasn't there. And deep down, he knew she deserved someone who could put her at the center of their world, something Azriel couldn't do.

Before he could get a word out, the din of laughter and chatter signaled the return of Rhys and Feyre, their expressions shifting from amusement to confusion as they noticed Elain holding the pen.

Azriel's eyes pleaded for help, a silent, desperate appeal that Feyre caught instantly. She stepped in, her words a flurry of explanations aimed at untangling the misunderstanding. But the situation took another turn with the arrival of Y/n and Nesta, their approach cutting Feyre's explanations short. In a panic, Feyre grabbed Elain's arm, insisting it was late and they needed to leave, effectively dodging the impending awkwardness but leaving the air charged with unsaid words.

Y/n and Nesta returned to find the table enveloped in an unexpected gloom, Rhys and Azriel's expressions painted with unmistakable dismay. The contrast to their earlier mirth sparked immediate curiosity.

"Where did Feyre run off to?" Nesta inquired, her words slicing through the heavy air just as Y/n, with a mixture of concern and confusion, reached out to Rhys. Her fingers brushed his forehead gently, a silent question in her touch. "Are you sick, why do you look so pale?"

Azriel hated the jealousy that sprung up at her actions, especially after what he had done. He immediately chastised himself for the feeling, fully aware that the concern shown was purely platonic. Yet, he couldn't help but long for a similar connection, a moment of care directed towards him, especially from Y/n.

Nesta couldn't resist a teasing jab, her observation laced with humor yet not entirely devoid of truth. "Lovesick more like it," she scoffed, her comment hanging between them like a challenge, prompting a momentary flicker of amusement to dance across Rhys's otherwise somber features.

Nesta’s words, though teasing, unwittingly mirrored the turmoil swirling within Azriel, a turmoil stemming from his unvoiced feelings for Y/n.

Amid the group's subdued atmosphere, Y/n took the initiative, her concern for her friends sparking into action as she decided to fetch water and some food for the table. Once she was out of earshot, Rhys leaned in, his voice low, "Remember when I said she's very forgiving? Well, Y/n is a bit possessive over letting others use her things." Azriel paled considerably.

Upon returning, Y/n placed the food down with a gentle smile, announcing, "I'll find Mor to say goodbye before I have to leave."

Nesta's questioning gaze prompted Y/n to share a bit more about her plans, revealing her Sunday brunch with her father. It was a tradition, yet one that held mixed feelings for her. Rhys, catching the underlying sentiment, ventured cautiously, "First time since you're back...any welcome presents?"

Y/n's nod was accompanied by an eye roll, her voice tinged with a mix of amusement and resignation. "He'll probably gift me a pen, as always." Then, leaning closer to Rhys, she confided in a whisper, "He still thinks I don't know his assistant keeps buying them." Their shared laughter, though tinged with sadness, was a brief respite from the tension of the evening.

As Y/n waved goodbye and made her way through the diner, the weight of what had transpired settled heavily on Azriel's shoulders. Rhys’s earlier statement now mixed with what he had just heard father gets me a pen…hates sharing… 

The pen he had intended to return to Y/n, now in Elain's possession, wasn't just any pen; it was akin to a token of her father's affection…

He was so, so doomed. 

If Azriel thought he was mortified before, well, it couldn’t be compared to now. His current stakeout, crouched in the dense foliage outside Elain and Nesta’s apartment, felt like a scene straight out of a spy movie—only infinitely less glamorous and with higher stakes. 

After searching the entire night for the pen, he realized that you really were Rhys’s friend, the resell prices he found made him want to throw his computer out. But even if he could afford it or request Rhys for help, it seemed that the version you had was sold out. He didn’t even know they made limited-edition pens, let alone ones of this price, were they made of gold? he thought pulling up the product description….set with a pearl…Oh.

Well, that led to his current predicament, knee-deep in the bushes outside Elain and Nesta’s shared apartment. Given that he had borrowed Nesta’s key, which was carelessly strewn on the table of his and Cass’s apartment, he knew she wouldn’t be back for a while. The problem now was getting Elain and it seemed Feyre out…which was why he had texted Rhys an SOS. 

As he waited, hoping that no one noticed him acting like an absolute creep, he finally saw Feyre pulling Elain out, something about a project with Lucien? 

Whatever, that wasn’t important now. His phone buzzed in his pocket with an aggravated all-clear from Rhys. He knew he owed him and Feyre a lot…and technically Elain and Nesta too. The plan was simple: get in, find the pen, get out.

He had been to their apartment before, but always with the company of someone else, usually Cass when he went to pick up or drop off things for Nesta. It felt…eerie being here alone, and he tried to ignore how much of a creep he felt looking through their things. Yet, despite his efforts, the pen remained elusive, a realization that sent a wave of panic crashing over him.

Mother above, where would one keep a pen?? He checked the various surfaces in all the rooms, he checked Elain’s desk, her vanity, and even her bedside table….he looked at the bathroom counters and even scanned through Nesta’s room. As he debated how many more boundaries he’d cross by opening the drawers, his phone buzzed again, with a text from Rhys, feyre said it's with her *crying face emoji* *crying face emoji*...

It’s with her…it’s still with Elain?! The words echoed in his mind, a mantra of frustration and defeat.

Needing to escape the claustrophobia of his failure, Azriel abandoned his search, the apartment, and any pretense of dignity he had left. He found himself wandering aimlessly, feet leading him through the city's streets with no destination in mind. Hours passed, his thoughts a tangled mess, until the financial center's impersonal skyscrapers towered over him, indifferent to his turmoil.

It was there, amidst the steel and concrete, that a familiar voice pierced through his haze of self-reproach. "Azriel?" Y/n called out, her presence like a beacon in the dimming light. 

She emerged from a store, the elegance of her white lace blouse and black slacks contrasted sharply by the vivid red purse she carried. It was the bag she swung from behind, adorned with the same white flower symbol as the pen, that captured his attention, a silent testament to the reason for his current state.

Azriel was at a loss for words, his surprise at seeing her mirrored in the way she regarded him. “I’m surprised to see you here, what are you doing?”

Caught off guard and scrambling for an explanation, Azriel mumbled something about needing a walk, a half-hearted attempt to mask his real reasons for being there. 

Y/n's gaze held his, a hint of curiosity mixed with understanding flickering in her eyes. "A walk that led you all the way here?" she asked, her voice soft but pointed.

Azriel felt the inadequacy of his answer hang between them, an invisible barrier he wished he could dissolve. "Yeah, it's been one of those days," he admitted, his voice trailing off, the truth of his statement more profound than he cared to explore.

Y/n studied him for a moment, her intuitive eyes reading the layers of unsaid words. Then, breaking the tension with a smile that seemed to light up the dimming city around them, she said, "Well, in that case, I could use a bit of company. I was about to grab some coffee. Join me?"

Azriel hesitated, the weight of his earlier mission pressing down on him. Yet, there was something about Y/n's offer, an earnest simplicity, that cut through his reservations. "I...yeah, coffee sounds good," he finally said, not surprised at his own eagerness.

Seated in the cozy enclave of the coffee shop, with bookshelves brimming with tales and plants that whispered of care, Azriel found himself enveloped in a warmth that the stark lines of the financial district rarely offered. The glow of the setting sun, filtered through the tall windows, bathed Y/n in a soft light, casting her in an almost ethereal aura. Her laughter, light and easy, filled the space between them as she caught his look of pleasant surprise.

"This place isn't quite the corporate café you were expecting, is it?" Y/n teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Azriel chuckled, nodding. "I was expecting somewhere... more stiff. This is a nice surprise."

Leaning in, Y/n shared her secret with a whisper, "This café is my little escape. Not many know about it here. But trust me, the coffee’s unmatched, and you have to try the food."

As Azriel began to protest, not wanting her to treat him to even more, his stomach betrayed him with a timely growl. Y/n’s laughter rang out again, full and genuine, just as an older lady approached with their order. "Here you go, dear," she said to Y/n, then turned to Azriel with a warm smile. "First time I've seen her bring someone. You take good care of her, okay?"

Y/n’s protest that they were just friends, and really just classmates, did little to deter the lady's knowing look, leaving her a flustered shade of pink as the lady departed. Y/n then explained to a bewildered Azriel about the café's significance to her, a place discovered during times she'd rather forget waiting in her father's stark office, with the building being down the street. 

As they shared the meal—Y/n insisting Azriel try her favorite sandwich and a tart chosen especially for him—Azriel marveled at her attention to detail, at the fact that she'd noticed his fondness for blueberries. "How did you know?" he asked, his heart aflutter at the realization that she paid him such mind.

With a shy glance away and then back, Y/n admitted, "I noticed you always carrying around blueberry bars. It's the little things, you know?"

Azriel, moved by her attentiveness and kindness, found himself unworthy of her attention. How could he let her remain ignorant about his transgressions, and watch her smile and laugh with him? But he also couldn’t bear to let her go, not when she made him feel things he thought he’d never be able to. Azriel decided then and there that he would admit his faults and then he would beg, he would plead for her to forgive him, or at least continue to talk to him, after he returned the pen from Elain. And if she refused, then he would accept it, but he would grovel as much as she allowed, if only to not lose the smiles that she sent his way. 

"I... I don't deserve your kindness," he confessed, his voice a whisper of turmoil. "Because I'm a thief."

Y/n's eyes widened, confusion and concern mingling in her gaze, "A thief?" she echoed, her head tilting slightly, inviting him to explain.

Azriel's words tumbled out in a frantic cascade, a confession spilling forth about the pen, his failed attempts to return it, not knowing her name and the catastrophic mix-up at Rita's that saw Elain inadvertently receiving what he thought was Y/n's treasured possession. "I know it was a gift from your father... I'll get it back," he assured her, his heart sinking as he prepared for her to walk away, to maybe throw the coffee in his face, for the soft warmth of her smiles to vanish.

But instead of anger or disappointment, laughter bubbled up from Y/n, rich and unrestrained. Azriel lifted his gaze, bewildered, only to find her smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine amusement. It was a moment Azriel wished he could freeze and live in forever, were it not for the fear of her next words.

From that dreaded black bag, she produced a sleek box, emblazoned with Mont Blanc, and Azriel's heart sank. This was it, the moment of reckoning. He half-expected her to reveal a price tag that would make his eyes water, a reminder of his foolishness. Instead, Y/n unveiled a pen, its body a dance of blue and white lacquer, sparkling with what he could only guess were jewels.

Y/n shared a piece of her past with him then, her voice soft and nostalgic. She spoke of her younger self, who found more joy in the worlds of books and art than in the dry texts of study. 

"I used to collect colored pens, fancy ones that made writing notes less of a chore," she explained, gentle laughter threading through her words. She revealed how her love for calligraphy had blossomed from there, a passion she had hoped would catch her parents' attention.

The story took a turn Azriel hadn't expected. "For every achievement, every missed event, every return home, I got a pen. I thought it was my father remembering my words, but," she chuckled, shaking the elegant pen in her hand, "it turns out it was his assistant who remembered. My father doesn't even use fountain pens."

She waved the decorative pen with a flourish, proclaiming it beautiful but utterly impractical. "They're more for show than anything else, the nibs aren’t even correct for the type of stylized calligraphy I enjoy. I still keep them, just locked in a drawer at my apartment. But for everyday use, I stick to the rollerballs from Mont Blanc. They're just easier."

Y/n paused, eyeing him with a playful curiosity. "The pen was pink, wasn't it?" At Azriel's nod, she continued, "I swapped that one with a friend. Not really my color, but she wanted to exchange it for a white version that wasn’t available abroad.” 

Azriel nods, still caught in the whirlwind of his own confessions and fears. 

She shrugs lightly, her gaze drifting down to the black box, "Mont Blanc treats me too well and sends me many extras because I’m on their VIP list due to my father’s assistant. I don’t mind, though. It’s nice to know they’re going to someone who appreciates them."

Azriel's mind races as he tries to process this. The pen, the source of so much turmoil, was just one of many to Y/n, an item of little consequence. Yet, feeling a sense of responsibility, he insists, "I’ll get it back for you. It was yours, after all."

Y/n's response is a gentle wave of dismissal. "You don’t need to worry about it, Azriel. You didn’t steal it. I told you to return it whenever you wanted. I just...hoped it would make you think of me." Her voice fades, a note of melancholy creeping in as she turns her face away slightly, hiding the vulnerability in her eyes. "I guess you didn’t, though. Do I bother you, sitting next to you in class?"

The earnestness in her question, the raw hint of insecurity, pierces through Azriel's defenses. He reacts instinctively, his words tumbling out in a rush to bridge the gap his silence had created.

"Bother me? Y/n, you’ve been...I’ve been trying to find the words to talk to you since you first sat next to me. You don’t bother me; you distract me because...because I think you’re beautiful."

The confession hangs in the air between them, a fragile truth that sends a blush creeping up Y/n's cheeks. Azriel's heart pounds in his chest, his earnest declaration laying bare his feelings.

"So, friends?" Y/n ventures after a moment, her voice steady but her eyes searching his for an answer.

"Friends," Azriel agrees quickly, too quickly, perhaps, because what he really wants to say is so much more. "But, I'm hoping for more than that," he added under his breath, a vow to himself as much as to her.

Y/n's smile in response is shy but hopeful, a silent agreement to the unspoken question hanging between them. In the quiet of the café, amidst the scattered pens and the remnants of their past misunderstandings, they find a new beginning.

A/N: The pen Y/n received above! So, I have no idea where this story was meant to go. I just had the idea to write about Azriel doing something silly because he was so distracted by a crush, which became him unintentionally stealing a pen. After all, I have an obsession with pens due to the same reason Y/n said...And then this spiraled a little too much into my own uhh grievances with pens, calligraphy…and uhh parents. ANYWAYS, I hope this made you all laugh and fyi Mont Blanc does make great pens, I highly recommend their roller balls and fountain pens, though some are so extravagant I can’t imagine ever using them. 

[funnyexel]

Hiii! You’re an amazing writer! That thing that you wrote with the stalker? *chef kiss* Perfect!

I can’t stop thinking about him entering Y/N’s house when she’s at work or something? And taking something with him before he leaves (maybe some panties or a bra) and jerking off with it

missing items

okay. maybe you're clumsy or outright forgetful with your belongings but this time you can't just be imaging things. You swore you left your work bra on your dresser and now it's nowhere to be found.

instead of stressing about the piece of clothing, you wear a different bra and head to work. you already felt like this day wasn't going your way, so when your boss said you have to do inventory, you wholeheartedly wanted to throw yourself out the window. but nonetheless you go to the back and begin unpacking and organizing new merchandise.

you were scanning tags and going through boxes when your scanner sent a red notification.

'missing'

'notify available management'

'missing items'

he felt like a pervert. for once in his stupid life. he felt like a freaking pervert.

every time he looked into your panty drawer he huffs with a shake of his head—like it was his underwear that was actively being stolen—but that's not the case. he simply filled with dread upon looking at the drawer because his favorite thing to borrow is becoming scarce. like damn, he'd thought you'd at least go buy some new underwear by now.

pacing around your room, he's careful not to shift anything around. your aroma is all over the room and he's getting frustrated quite fast. its like the room is spinning as he says 'fuck it' and rummages through your nightstand. he's seen you dig in here countless times, there has to be something he wants in here.

one hand roughly opening and closing drawers while his other is squeezing his dick disgustingly tight in through his pants. he can't physically handle this irritation, the vexation of it all.

he's ready to simply unbuckle his pants and throw them to the side, all the while jumping into your sheets as he jerks himself off to the scent of your pillow but he stops.

both hands hold onto the sides of this specific drawer, shakily reaching into the drawer and finding a black lace panty. bringing the fabric to his nose, he took a huge inhale and immediately realized. its not the usual smell of detergent and perfume but, the smell of you. you and your ethereal juices that come from that sweet pussy.

he closed his eyes and took another deep inhale.

it was his lucky day. you hid it away from him. probably embarrassed from how you fingered yourself silly in the lingerie.

but your embarrassment was the last thing on his mind as breathy moans leave his quivering lips, his slender fingers griping his thigh and his palm holding your panty against his cock. holding it in a warm embrace as he, practically, gives himself rug burn from how fast he's rubbing the fabric on him.

what's worse? worse than his dumb whimpering and quivering lips? worse than his purposeful infliction of pain on his dick? what's worse is that he's crying, full on tears running down his cheeks, from the thought of you catching him like this.

legs spread wide on your bedroom floor, back against your dresser and head banging back against the top drawer as he cries out your name from the twisted and masochistic pleasure.

safe to say, he left with yet another one of your underwear and a mind-scrambling orgasm. he even felt generous enough to leave you something. something small, a surprise, on that sex toy of yours.

what?

you thought he didn't see it?

silly girl.

more of my writing

a/n: thanks for the compliment! I'm enjoying expanding on this little topic—if I can even call it that—and I'm getting so carried away with this

[bokettochild]

Hello! Invitation to rant about Legend since I love hearing what you have to say about him ❤️

*cracks knuckles like popcorn*

Settle back, luv! You've unlocked a ramble!

The thing I love most about Legend is honestly what a sweet person he is, like, genuinely.

He set out on his first journey because he had a dream about someone needing help and determined he would be the one to help her. And ever since then, no matter what, when people are in trouble, he helps. Like, he had nothing to gain, and in the grande scheme of things, most of his adventures? He had nothing to lose either. Nothing he had't already experienced similar at any rate. But he still goes, he still helps, and no matter how tired, or weary, or lonesome, or painful it is, he always picks up his sword and helps because it's the right thing to do.

And like, I know he's not the only one, Hyrule had no stakes either, no reason, but that in no ways makes Legend's sacrifices at smaller.

Like, Legend literally sacrificed everything. He gave up his childhood, his family, his happiness, his piece of mind, any future he had and risked or lost so, so may relationships and friends.

Like, why do we never see his uncle again after the first game if he's cannonically the same Link across his first four adventures? Why is he living alone is most of his adventures? Like, most Links have something, and those that do live alone are mostly adults, but he is most definitely still a kid. Where did Uncle Aflon go?

My personal headcannon is that he struggled so much with losing the innocent baby he raised and finding a terrified nine-year-old hero instead, that he sort of just... handed little Ledge along to the next relative and quietly disappeared. Not for lack of love, but more because he felt the boy he loved was gone forever and replaced. Maybe he believed that, like the old stories warn, his baby was stolen by the kolkiri and replaced with a high-strung changeling child while he was gone.

I like to think Uncle Aflon is out there somewhere, settled down and trying to live a normal life, maybe with a child of his onw by ow, but he can't erase the kid he raised from his mind and it haunts him all the time that he didn't stay, but maybe he's too scared to go back, to answer for it.

And you know that hurt Legend. You know he's totally got some form of abandonment issues from not only losing his parents when he was small, not eer getting to know them because literally all the rest of his family save his grandparents and Uncle were slaughtered due to some stupid prophecy Ganon wanted to present coming true. Like, it's not even just from not knowing his parents; there's a whole culture and lifestyle that the Knights of Hylia likely would have had that he will never fully know because they were all killed in an effort by Ganon to stop his being born.

Legend will never grow up with the kind of family others had because he was forged, from birth, to be a hero. He ever grew up with a full family either, but that meant that he probably has a different sort instead. I like to think the reason that, in all his games, he's so close with the village folk, or why so many people know him, is because there's this sense of longing he's got for a connection to a culture and family he had stolen from him, so he embraces that of those around him and they in turn have always embraced him back. He's a sponge for any sort of semblance of warmth he's lost, but as his adventures went on and he was betrayed more or his need for safety, or trust was used against him to hurt him, he's hardened.

There's a warrant on his head, and in game we see people I the village he probably grew up in (it's right next to his house pities sakes!) reporting him to the guards. There's no doubt in my mind that some were less direct about it, pretending to offer him a place to hide or even a meal, a meal for a kid who's too small to cook for himself and doesn't know yet how to forage, only to try and trap him or poison him when his guard was lowered.

We talk about warriors being betrayed by soldiers as a grown man, but Legend was turned on by the pillage people that watched him grow up, and that does far more damage; he probably never trusts fully. never trusts that others won't him someway, either by causing physical harm or leaving him alone.

Alone like everyone else has.

And like, he really is alone. he's got so many friends in the games, so many allies, but they're all people spread hither and yon, some dead, some ever real in the first place, and others, well... like with his uncle, they struggle with seeing him so changed after every adventure, and while not all leave, it's harder to reconnect with someone who's almost like a stranger a second time, but always so busy you hardly have time to talk.

Yet, despite all this, despite a lack of trust and the fact that anyone could hurt him, might hurt him, might outgrow him, or he them, he still helps whenever he's asked, he still does what is needed. he still gives and gives, and even if he doesn't do it with a smile anymore, even if he helps you up with a hand on his sword-hilt, he's still willing to take that risk because he genuinely wants to help other people.

Like, there is no low you could find he hasn't known. All heroes have probably starved at one point or another, and in other countries he was always as good as homeless, sometimes penniless. He's been there, and he doesn't want that for anyone else. So even though there's always a risk, he'd rather face it to help a person in need than leave them on the wayside like so many did for him.

Forgive my imagery, but Legend's the epitome of "become the good you want to see the world", even if that good comes with a shield raised and expectant at all times of evil around them.

He's a good kid. A scared kid, but a good one all the same.

He's known as "the greatest of all the heroes of Hyrule" by the goddesses themselves, and they've told him as much. He's the one who saves that which people worship. Like, no disrespect to the other heroes, but only Sky has also rescued a goddess, but Legend's rescued two, and a god besides (the Windfish), as well as the goddess incarnates of both Hyrule and Lorule.

His job is literally to protect the people responsible for keeping the world running, the people who are supposed to be able to fix anything and protect all mortal life.

He's not just the hero chosen by the gods, he is the Hero of the gods themselves.

And he still tells peop he's just an average nobody. he still lives in a cramped little house that his uncle left behind, clinging to the only semblance he's got left of a time before he was a hero, of a time where he had a family and never had to be afraid and when he used to be protected by someone.

Just.... as a kid who grew up as the protector, the safe one, and the helper, Legend is my hero, because he is those things as well. Because he somehow remains strong enough for not just Hyrule, not just the gods, but the whole world around him, and eve when he breaks, he only comes back stronger, more determined, and now even Ganon groans and huffs out "you again?" when he sees him.

Legend has seen the most hell, known the most loss, sacrificed every part of himself and what he wants or needs for the sake of those around him, and yet he's still somehow not just standing, but fighting, and not just fighting, but winning.

You just know, the day he eventually does lay that sword down, he's probably going to freaking break. But, I like to think, with all the good he's done, it will eventually come back to him, and the people he's helped will finally start helping him in return when it's hi who needs it most.

And just... yeah. Legend's sharp tongued and wary and he's got these high walls up, but at his core, he's literally running purely on love for those around him, on the hope that they're worth the trouble and that he's not leaving anyone who needs it on their own; he's so full of heart! He's got a heart so pure even Fi is startled by it, that the triforce entrusts itself to him, that even the most annoying assholes eventually become fond of him (looking at you here, Ralph!)

So yeah, I'm a sucker for that heart behind a wall of thorns kinda character, but Legend took that to the max and I thoroughly adore him for it <3

[mogitz]

Don't think about Lucien Vanserra witnessing the unspeakable: his world crumbling as the love of his life is ripped away from him and murdered right before his eyes. Don't picture his brothers holding him back, making him watch it all - every excruciating detail - as he's powerless to stop it.

Forget the image of him, broken and bleeding, dragging himself to the sanctuary of the Spring Court boundary, barely making it over the line before his knees give out beneath him. Don’t think about the emptiness that surely follows, nor the weight of his grief so heavy it's a wonder he could even stand to make it to safety in the first place. Don’t think about all the times on his journey he just wanted to give up altogether, but pushed on so that Jesminda’s death was not in vain.

Don't think about him having to turn against two of his own brothers, killing them in a twisted act of vengeance that feels nothing like the justice he sought. Resist the thought of him taking weeks, months, (years??) to mourn in solitude because Tamlin, though knowing loss to this magnitude as well, could not possibly navigate the depths of Lucien's grief. Thus, Lucien was left to weather his storm of sorrow and loss the same way Tamlin had weathered his own - alone - hiding away from a world that had taken everything from him

Don’t picture him upon the dawn-kissed roof of the Spring manor, where the dance of pinks and oranges and blues in the sky only seems to deepen his yearning for an Autumn forever lost to him. And don’t think about how in the Spring Court he has found some kind of solace... but never peace. How despite finding a home there, his soul remains restless, wandering, always running from the shadows of his past. Running from his future. Running from himself.

And please don’t think about how Lucien's gratefulness to Tamlin for giving him something close to a family results in a loyalty so profound that he'd walk into hell for him. Which he does - right into Amarantha’s clutches - only to come back less than whole, another piece of him stolen away.

That beauty he was known for? Gone.

Just like everything else.

Don’t imagine Lucien slowly piecing himself back together - inch by painstaking inch. Forget about the way he masters the art of sarcasm and humor, how he wields his wit like a shield to keep others at bay, to convince them, and maybe himself, that he's not hurting as much as he is. That beneath the quips and the easy smiles lies a well of pain and self-doubt so deep it's become part of who he is. That this levity he brings into every room is, in truth, the heaviest thing he carries.

And hey. Don't think about Lucien giving up any hope of being wanted, of being loved again. That his chance at having a mate, a true partner, was as dead as his former lover.

Or how, in a twist that must have amused fate itself, the Cauldron surprises him with a mate in Elain Archeron: his undeniable yet unwilling counterpart. How from nowhere, a bond snaps into place, redefining his destiny and sealing a connection that he'd long since given up on.

And don't think about how when Lucien's eyes meet Elain’s, somewhere beneath all the layers of loss and hurt and betrayal….  a spark of hope dares to ignite once more.

And then absolutely don't let your thoughts wander to his heart being trampled on, again, when he realizes that Elain - like everyone else - doesn’t want him. But at this point he’s not even surprised. It’s just another sharp sting in a lifetime's collection of disappointments and cruel irony. Don't dwell on how he's gotten so used to the taste of rejection and the feeling of being unworthy that he doesn't even think about trying to change her mind about him. Because, what's the point, right? Why bother when history has shown him, time and time again, that even just hoping seems to lead him to more pain?

Don’t think about how despite this, he still seeks her out just enough to show he’s willing to give it a shot if she is. How against his every instinct to protect himself, he keeps himself open to the slightest possibility of her, knowing it just leaves the door open to be hurt. And don't think about how every time Elain shies away from him, every time she looks through him or chooses to keep her distance, it just reinforces  his walls, makes him retreat a little more behind his carefully constructed façade. Because facing that rejection head-on, acknowledging it, would mean admitting to himself that he's still holding onto a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, she could see past the surface. That she could want him, not despite of all he's been through, but because of it. That she could be the one to see him, really see him, and not turn away.

So, yeah, don’t go there. It's easier to laugh it off, to pretend it doesn't matter, than to face the possibility of another door closing in his face. Easier to keep up the act, to be the Lucien everyone expects - charming, sarcastic, unbothered - than to risk showing just how much Elain's avoidance cuts him to the core.

But don’t think about it. 

Because acknowledging that Lucien's humor and charm are just his way of coping? That means seeing the depth of his loneliness, the real Lucien who's been hiding in plain sight, waiting for someone to care enough to look closer. And understanding that? It's realizing that beneath the façade, Lucien's just waiting for someone to prove him wrong, to show him he's worth the risk, worth the love he's convinced himself he doesn't deserve.

And Elain, with her quiet strength and her own hidden depths, might just be the one to see the real Lucien. To challenge the walls he's built around himself, if only he could believe, one more time, that he's worthy of being chosen, of being loved.

But perhaps Mor is right - they aren’t ready. And Lucien’s not sure he’s ready to gamble his heart on hope again. Not yet, anyway.

So, really, don’t think about it—unless you’re ready to root for them, to believe in the kind of love that could be their light at the end of a very dark tunnel. Because Lucien and Elain? They could be something epic, a testament to the power of second chances and the strength of a love that comes when you least expect it but most need it. That their path isn’t just about two people finding love in an unfair world that has taken the things they both hold dear; it’s a journey of coming back to life after being lost in the dark for far too long.

So yeah, just don’t. It’s a lot.

[justporo]

Date night with Astarion and Tav

I just had an idea. Astarion and Tav go on a night out... But it's a game they play: make it as bougie and flamboyant as possible - without spending a single piece of gold.

You start by stealing each other outfits - or maybe convincing the store clerk that you paid for it already; maybe even returning it after date night to get "your" gold back

You go to one of those restaurants that only do reservations months in advance, convincing the waiter that "of course we have a reservation, do you not know who we are??", then striding in as if you owned the place after you've caused a colossal scene, all heads already turning to you

Ordering the most expensive bottle of wine off the menu and the most expensive dish (although of course Astarion doesn't take one bite) then putting it on the tab of someone whose name you just picked up somewhere or just making a one up on the spot that sounds so important and complicated that no one dares to deny you - or just pretending you don't speak the language and are foreign nobility

You'll have to make run though before you're being found out; surely you're not creating a distraction by knocking over this priceless vase, are you? Or by throwing Astarion's untouched steak to the spoilt lap dogs over at another table causing absolute chaos?

You run or sneak out of there: but not without stealing another bottle of that fine wine (or two)

Bonus points if Astarion has lightened someone's load of jewellery at some point and presents you with a nice gift while running off; "Now's not the time, Astarion!" "That's so bland of you, darling, there's always time for presents!"

Astarion taking you somewhere else after making it out of there "because the night is still young, my heart, we're both beautiful and not at all drunk yet"

He takes you to an art museum and without any real effort picks the lock and you stroll through the empty tall halls looking at the artworks while taking swigs of wine from the stolen bottle

Astarion cannot stop infodumping on you about the paintings and statues; you don't understand a single thing but think it's adorable and you do actually learn a lot

Since no one is there to stop you, you dodge under the ropes, look at the paintings up close, make a game of imitating the faces and postures until you both die laughing

Astarion making you stand on a pedestal where a statue is currently missing from display, then looking at you as if he was taking in an renowned artwork: "Ah yes, my favourite piece of art, so exquisite!"

In turn you make him pose next to one of those noble portrait paintings and call him "the most beautiful thing ever created"; he grins and makes a stupid joke but you're pretty sure you see the pointy tips of his ears turn a little pink

You end the night by climbing onto the roofs of the city somewhere, sit there with what's left of the stolen wine, maybe play a drinking game, sitting there in your fine stolen clothes and watch the night slowly become less dark while your hearts are filled with light

I -uh- *puts it on the pile of fics I have to write* *sighs* This was mean to become like a headcanon post - it became the outline of a fic somehow, oop

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

*feral noises* /I love new ari verse/. I hope the house renovations are going well :) (this is not a request but you can treat it like one if youd like)

"Why am I here, Charles?" Erik sighed, adjusting his cuffs as he looked up at the grey walls of the juvenile facility.

"A mission of mercy," Charles said mildly. "There's a young mutant here, and if she comes with us, she won't need to stay here."

Erik made a thoughtful noise, "Crimes?"

"Petty things... mostly."

"Mostly?" Erik asked archly.

"She might have stolen an impressive amount of money. And a car," Charles chuckled. "Though I do wonder how she thought she'd get away with it-"

"Maybe she wasn't trying to get away. Maybe she was trying to get away from something worse," Erik mused.

"It's possible," Charles hummed, getting them through the gates. "I suppose we won't know until we ask."

_____________

You exhale slowly and close your eyes, pushing the energy of the things you're touching out of the way and focus instead on the pieces of your bike.

Today is hell.

Everything has a story to tell.

Everyone has a story to tell.

And just once, you'd like to be able to have just you story in your head. It's like living with ghosts. Pictures flitting through your head all day long. Every pen, spoon, chair, table... it never ends.

Somedays, you can find solace and quiet. But other days, even after all these years, it's like walking through a tunnel. Living in three different worlds- past, present, and future.

"Wreck or a tune up?" Scott asked, leaning on the wall of the garage.

"Tune up," you answer, refocusing in on the present to look up at him. "Felt like a good day for it."

"You can do mine next if you're in a mood," he teased.

"Can't manage on your own Scottie?" you pout, "That's sad-"

"I can manage just fine," he snorted. I just know you can do it in about 20 minutes."

"Not quite that fast," you tell him, "Your clunker would probably need longer."

"Hey!"

You grin at him and wave at Jean over his shoulder, "Wanna get our grading done?" she asked. "I hate getting behind."

"Mine's done," Scott said.

"I'm already behind," you snort. "I can't find a pen that isn't fucking chatty."

Jean winced sympathetically, "Ugh. I can't even imagine-"

"Jean," you laugh, "yeah you can. You've been in my head."

"But all the time?" She shook her head and watched you start working on your bike.

"Usually it's not-" You break off, your hand closing around a wrench. Not your wrench. And it's like you were being shocked. This wasn't the same scenes- because it wasn't YOUR wrench. You got tossed backwards into a different time. Blood and gore everywhere. And you're blood-spattered. You've been shot. And your chest is on fire.

It's hard to breathe. And above you you can see Jean, smacking the side of your face gently. And you can feel someone- probably Scott trying to pull the wrench out of your hand.

"Fuck- I can't-"

"Let go," Scott said, trying to break your grip, "Shit! I'm gonna break her fingers if-"

"Focus," Jean soothed, stroking your hair and rubbing your knuckles. She can feel the anxiety and the pain- the struggle for you to get back into this time. To let go of the item you're holding. To stop jumping from scene to scene.

And when you finally did let go, all you can do is lay there and shiver. "Fuck!" you pant. "Why the fuck-" You give the wrench a dirty look and Scott picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

"This is Logan's," he frowned, "but why was it in your box?"

"I didn't put it-"

"Probably one of the kids," Jean shrugged.

"Fucking rude."

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Hi, I just recently came across your blog and I really liked your stories "human pet" and "baby".

You've done a great job, keep it up.

And I have a request: Could you, when you have the opportunity, write about the Bully x fem!nerd! reader?

(He hurts her cuz he likes her stereotype imaged above)

Yandere!Bully x Fem!Reader

Very small drabble CW: Bullying

He just wanted to get her attention.

At first, anyway.

Simon wasn't always a bully. As a younger child his anxiety was so bad that he distanced himself from his peers, unintentionally ostracizing himself. The less interaction he had with others his age, the worse he became at communication. When he did try to talk to his classmates, his words always came out wrong, or were misinterpreted, which caused him to feel flustered and get angry.

So, in order to save himself the embarrassment, he stopped trying. And he was perfectly fine being alone; without friends or enemies.

Until one day, he saw (Reader) for the first time.

The single most beautiful person he'd ever seen. Her laughter ripped through his chest, and the scent of her body wash made his head feel fuzzy.

(Reader) never saw him. Simon had succeeded in making himself invisible, so much so that even if he stood right in (Reader's) path on the sidewalk, she would side step around him.

One day, she did just that, casually maneuvering around Simon without so much as making eye contact.

Simon didn't mean to hurt her.

His hand reached out before the thought fully formed in his head. He just wanted her to look at him, so maybe he was just reaching out to grab her shoulder? It happened so quickly, that Simon didn't comprehend what he was doing until (Reader) was knocked over, hitting the asphalt.

But it worked.

(Reader) rolled over, startled, staring at Simon with doe like eyes, shaking a little from the sudden impact of her fall. And any sympathy he had for accidentally hurting her immediately flew out the window when he realized that, for once, she was looking at him and only him.

"Next time, don't ignore me." Simon hadn't intended on sounding so threatening, it just came out that way.

She nodded before scrambling to her feet, grabbing her belongings and dashing away.

Having (Reader) look at him was.. exhilarating. It was so intoxicating that when she turned away and robbed Simon of her sight, it felt like a piece of him was stolen away.

He needed to have that again. He didn't feel bad about what he did because he had been rewarded with (Reader's) undivided attention, but planned an apology for when he would later see her at lunch, to mend the misunderstanding and, eventually, form a beautiful relationship with her. However, when lunch came around, and he was excitedly rehearsing his faux apology, Simon saw (Reader) from across the courtyard; he watched her notice him, then speed off in the opposite direction.

Simon forgot the apology. She saw him. She looked at him. And she had the audacity to run away?

The lanky young man chased her down, finding her quickly and cornering her behind the gymnasium.

"I thought I said to not ignore me?" Simon said with a tight smile.

"Please don't-"

"You really hurt my feelings, (Reader)." Simon interrupted, shocking the young woman. For the life of her, she couldn't recall who this person was, and Simon could see that on her face.

"I'm sorry.."

"You're sorry?" He didn't know why he was being so mean, but the words just kept tumbling out of his mouth at a speed he couldn't control. It was empowering having (Reader) acknowledge his existence, even if it was by cowering in fear. "That's not good enough."

He grabbed (Reader's) face with one hand, squishing her cheeks together, distorting her shocked gasp.

"You're never going to ignore me again, you hear me?"

"Yed." (Yes)

Simon gripped her jaw tighter, making her wince. "I think you and I are going to be best friends.. isn't that right, (Reader)?"

When she refused to answer Simon forcibly made her nod her head with his hand.

All he could think about was kissing her soft looking lips puckered up between his thumb and pointer finger. But that would have to wait. She shook in his hand, and was clearly sniffling back tears. But Simon still didn't feel any guilt.

He didn't mind becoming (Reader's) bully, as long as it meant that she continued paying attention to him and only him.

A/N: I'm sorry it took so long! And I'm sorry that it ended up a short drabble ☹️ sometimes, inspiration robs me of my sleep, other times out pumps out onr sentence and thinks it's done lol

[lucienarcheron]

This Time, I'm Ready [ Elucien ]

Inspired by Long Story Short by TS. I was listening to it randomly and a scene of Elain started playing out in my head. Recommend listening to it while reading :)

Shout out to @ruhnnlidias for always being my beta reader ♥️

Rating: SFW Genre: Little angst/fluff

Tagging: @helion-ism | @zenkindoflove | @crazy-ache | @danaanruhn | @eudaimonia83 | @vanserrass | @elizascarlets | @climb-the-mountian

As she stood in the woods and took in her surroundings, Elain realized she had made a tragic mistake leaving the Spring Court alone.

Darkness was setting and she had no idea where she was or how she’d even be found. 

All she knew was that she had needed out of the Night Court. She had needed to get away. Even at the risk of her own safety. 

Because she was sick of it. Sick of doing nothing. Sick of being nothing.

Sick of the coddling. Coddling she had played a huge part in allowing. 

Because comfort had always been more important than worrying. Comfort had been more important than facing everything that had been taken from her. But at what cost? 

At what cost?

Elain whirled around at the sounds of twigs snapping behind her and that familiar sense of self-loathing she had developed in the last two years threatened to explode in her chest. 

She was an idiot. An absolute imbecile for thinking she could do this on her own.

But it was too late to change courses now.

Elain’s bottom lip trembled as her eyes darted around her. The fae eyesight she’d resented for so long didn’t fail her now as she took in the details of the tall trees. Her vision — that stupid vision was what had spurred her to make this move. A vision that promised the sun and flowers blooming, coming from a manor she had once planned to call home before it was ripped away from her and her dreams became shrouded in darkness.

And Elain had been desperate for the sun for two years. 

So she had fortified her mind, blocked it the way she knew how so they wouldn’t sense her lie, and had convinced Rhys that she needed to go to the Spring Court. She had nearly begged, demanding they respect her vision and though Feyre had been hesitant, her sister knew she couldn't stop her. 

And Mor had winnowed her in, waiting patiently with her as she explored, as they avoided the beast that still roamed while she tried to piece things together. Her vision was important, they had to inspect what it meant…even if she hadn’t told them what her vision had been about.

Or rather, who.

But the person she had been looking for hadn’t been there as she had predicted. Mor had only given her a sympathetic look that had Elain clenching her jaw and said, “We’ll wait until morning to see if anything else can be found.” 

Elain didn’t want to wait until morning and Mor hadn’t noticed the satchel she had hidden beneath her cloak. Though she wasn’t too surprised. No one really noticed anything about her. People only saw what they wanted to see when it came to her. 

And maybe Elain should feel guilty about the panic she would likely cause Mor, even with the note she left behind, but she knew she needed to find him alone. Elain needed to make sure he was alright and for once, didn’t want an audience.

Because telling them what she saw meant they’d get involved. And for once, Elain needed them all to mind their business. 

Her hand tightened around the hilt of the dagger she’d stolen from the ridiculous amount stashed in her sister’s home and Elain hated the feeling of it, hated having to hold it, and hated the idea of having to potentially use it. 

Stabbing one person had been enough for her in this lifetime.

Turning her body, she tried to gauge where exactly she was. She had been careful to ask careless questions, to pretend to stare at the map of the location with as much boredom as she could muster all those times they'd bothered to include her in things. Which wasn’t often, but Elain had tried.

And now, she was trying to find… Lucien. 

A shudder went through her body at the thought of his name. The mate she had been ignoring.

The sun she was seeking, that she had blatantly pretended wasn’t there. Because he could be hurt and the thought of not hearing his heartbeat made her sick. 

She hadn’t been ready before. 

This time, she was.

Ready to run certainly, at the sound of another twig snapping. If only there weren’t predators that were ecstatic at the opportunity to chase their prey — and Elain had forgotten just how many predators were out there. How easy prey she was at the moment. 

Alone. Vulnerable. Breathing so loudly she was positive they could hear her back in Velaris. 

Elain took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled it quietly. Licking her lips, she did the one thing she hadn’t expected herself to do. She called out to her mate.

Lucien?

She called out silently, licking her lips as she tested the waters of the mating bond she’d been shackled with. A mating bond that, try as she might, was never as dormant as she let the others believe. She heard his heartbeat all the time. Felt emotions flicker from him. Saw hazy memories. 

Elain bit her lip, and slowly as she moved forward, the panic began tingling through her body. Why would he be listening? It wasn’t like she’d called out to him before. It wasn’t like she had ever been particularly kind to him. 

Elain, who was kind to everyone. She was nice. Took out all her rage at the one person who didn’t really deserve it. But gods, being nice was exhausting when she hated everything about herself. He sensed how she felt. He saw too much. Just as she saw and felt too much of him. 

In that stupid vision, she saw him coming for her. And he was whole and healthy. She had felt relieved at the sight of him. 

She only left to find that relief. 

But all she was finding was panic.

“Lucien?” she whispered and then shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. She was so stupid. How would he even hear her out here? Elain had no idea where she was or if she was on the right path.

All she had ever been useful for was being beautiful and nice. Maybe her mother had been right all along; she didn’t need to know how to use her brain when she had that face. Thinking she’d be good enough to try and venture out on her own had been so foolish of her.

No wonder no one included her in anything. She wasn’t smart. She wasn’t brave. She wasn’t useful. Elain was just there, a mistake, a sad sight no one even saw or paid attention to. 

Her hand flew to her mouth to hold in the sob threatening to escape. She had been so stupid to come out here. 

Another branch cracked and she whirled again at the sound, scanning the area around her. She couldn’t have ventured too far from the Spring Court. She had to still be close, right? 

But as she took a step, Elain felt a chill run down her spine that had her freezing in place.

She swallowed and then whispered into the trees, “Lucien?”

Elain was afraid to close her eyes to seek him out, to travel without moving as she had done once before. She bit her trembling lip and looked for that thread that he had tested out with her so long ago. She looked for that thread around her ribs and tugged. 

He had to find her. 

He had to be listening. Or at least she hoped. 

Her face fell as the feeling of unease flooded her senses. Why would he be listening? He certainly wasn’t obligated to give her any of his time. Just like she hadn’t been obligated to give him anything.

Except for a conversation. Maybe they could’ve been friends. Maybe more. Maybe less. 

Taking a shaky breath, Elain shook her head. She needed to focus. She needed to find him. Closing her eyes and letting her senses take over, letting that power she kept to herself surface as she looked for him. She traveled while standing, searching, rooting for him. She looked and tugged at that bond, she searched with a desperation she’d never, in all her years felt.

He needed to find her. He needed to be okay. 

And she needed to get out of this quickly darkening forest. 

There.

She saw him, seated at a desk alongside the Mad General she had only met once long ago, and felt herself tremble at the sight of him. She watched him suddenly straighten as if sensing her.

“Lucien.” she whispered and Elain wasn’t sure if she was saying it in her mind or out in the open air but he seemed to hear her. 

For Lucien shot out of his seat and Elain watched his eyes widen, scanning the room. “Elain?” 

“I’m in the forest outside of the Spring Court. I came looking for you but you weren’t there. I’m lost and I want you to find me.” she blurted quickly, fighting back a sob. “Please find me.”

“Elain —” was all she heard from him, his voice echoing the panic that was close to seizing her and before she could say anything else, she was ripped out of her connection.

Elain stumbled forward and whirled around quickly to find a creature of nightmares snarling a few feet away from her. 

The creature stood alone, covered in dark scales with powerful arms that ended in claws she knew would slice anyone into ribbons.

Elain could only stand in horror, staring at the creature that gave her a bone-chilling smile. 

She hadn’t seen this in her vision. 

“Pretty, pretty pet.” it rasped, its claws clicking together as it stalked towards her. “You smell so divine. I’m going to eat you right up.”

“N-no, thank you,” she whispered and the creature blinked at her and then chuckled in a way that made the hair on her arms raise.

“Ah, well. That’s not what I want to hear.”

And the air between them stilled. The predator and prey as Elain stared down the creature. She had come seeking her mate and instead, found herself alone and vulnerable, about to be eaten alive.

Is this what she would amount to? She had stabbed the King of Hybern once long ago. She could not die here, without facing her demons. She had seen what her life could look like and Elain had finally decided to do something about it. Her grip tightened on her blade and she swallowed hard as the creature tilted its head mockingly at her. 

Elain let herself take a deep calming breath then without warning, broke out into a run. Birds fluttered from the trees above her as she ran back, not away to – from – from the Spring Court? She wasn’t sure and the panic she had been trying to suppress bubbled back up to the surface as the sound of the creature stalking her followed.

“Find me. Find me. Find me.” she chanted desperately, a sob slipping from her lips as she rounded a corner, following a light that had to be the earlier path she had followed. The light had to lead back to safety.

But as she ran, her cloak caught on a branch and with a yelp, she fell. Quickly rolling over, she swallowed a scream as the creature hovered over her, closer than she had expected and nearly gagged at its foul breath. Grabbing her by the ankle, it dragged Elain closer and she could only stare in horror, frozen in place.

“I’m going to pick you apart piece by pretty piece.” it hissed.

With a desperate scream, she finally kicked it with her free leg and scrambled away but it grabbed her again and Elain fell once more, the dagger slipping from her hand.

“Let - go - of - me!” she shriek-sobbed, her hand desperately seeking the hilt of that dagger.

“Pretty pet has some claws.” The creature rasped once more as it yanked Elain forward, leaning over her and Elain tried not to gag again at its foul breath, her hand still seeking the dagger. “Lost little lamb with no one here to save her. Left to be gobbled up.” 

Her hand faltered for a breath. 

No one here to save her.

Would she always be this way? Always waiting to be saved? Always the victim? Never knowing how to defend herself? 

She had no desire to be a warrior but Elain was sick of being the prey. 

Anger she hadn’t felt in a long while flared in her chest as her fingers finally wrapped around the hilt of the dagger and with a cry, she forced himself forward and shoved the dagger into the creature’s throat and held. She let out a scream of rage, fighting the urge to vomit when it’s black blood sprayed across her face. But Elain held and held tight, even as her hands shook until the gurgling sounds stopped and the creature slumped over her.

Elain let herself lay there, breathing heavily as her body started to shake. She was okay. She was fine. She had been attacked by a horrible creature and had survived. She was alive. 

She would be —

The sound of running had the breath choked out of her. She couldn’t do this again — she couldn’t take another one. 

But Elain couldn’t move. Her body wouldn’t budge and as tears started to spill, she bit back another sob, trying with all her might to move the dead weight off her. Never mind, its blood was on her hands and dress and face – never mind that she was likely to be crushed beneath its weight if she didn’t move.

Panic seized her fully as she tried to scramble up, the footsteps coming closer. She could pretend to be dead. She could —

A violent snarl echoed through the forest as the dead creature was ripped off her and Elain nearly shrieked once more until she saw who stood above her.

“Elain.”

Elain’s eyes widened as Lucien fell to his knees next to her, breathing as hard as she was. He started at her and the sheer amount of relief that washed over her made her lips start to tremble. 

“Lucien.”

She watched as a slight shudder went through him at the sound of his name from her lips and her body trembled as she stared and stared and stared. He had come.

“Elain. Thank fuck, you’re – you’re alright,” he asked and his hands hovered over her for a moment, as if forgetting that they hadn’t touched casually before – as if remembering then, it would be the first time in over two years. She watched as he swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling before slowly, Lucien held out a hand to help her sit up and Elain dropped her gaze to his open palm. “Are you hurt? Can you sit up?”

She blinked, hoping the tremors coursing through her body would stop as she stared back up at him. 

“You — you came.” was all she could think to say, staring at him as she slid her shaky hands in his and slowly sat up, her eyes never leaving him, devouring the sight of him. 

“Of course, I came,” he said quietly. “You – you called.”

Tears welled up in her eyes at the words but she blinked them back and swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to say. He had come. He had listened.

“You found me,” she whispered, squeezing his hands and Lucien’s gaze softened. 

He swallowed before carefully answering, “As long as you want me to find you...the bond will remain a thread between us.” he said quietly and squeezed her hands in return. “I’ll always find you.”

Her raging heart seemed to beat faster and Elain finally took a moment to run her gaze over his body. He was still in the tunic and trousers she had seen him in except now a sword was strapped to his back – a sword he hadn’t even bothered to use when he pulled the creature off her.

Her mate had used his bare hands to save her. And he was safe and whole, not a scratch to be found on him. 

Elain met his gaze, finding him patiently watching her, his brows furrowed in concern, and suddenly remembered how she was covered in filth and flushed deeply, pulling her hands back to her lap.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he glanced down at his now empty palms and let them fall to his sides. “You want to tell me how you got here?”

“I – I had a vision.”

“Ah.”

“It was about you,” she whispered and his expression turned curious. “Something bad happened to you.”

Lucien seemed to be fighting to keep his expression carefully clear. “And that…worried you?”

Elain’s flush deepened and she swallowed before whispering, “Yes.”

The air between them seemed to go taut but Elain refused to break his gaze as a slight color bloomed on Lucien’s face.

This energy between them wasn’t like what Feyre and Rhys had. Or even what Nesta and Cassian had. This…this felt different. 

The bond between them seemed to hold its breath until Lucien cleared his throat and finally said, so softly, in the way he always seemed to speak to her, “I’m sorry to have caused you all this trouble.” 

Elain blinked and couldn’t help the huff of a small laugh that slipped from her lips, fisting her hands in her lap. “If anything, I’m the one to apologize for causing you trouble,” she said and bit her lip. “I dragged you all the way out here.”

Lucien chuckled and Elain felt it skate across her filthy skin. “You did give me quite the heart attack,” he said and the corner of his mouth curled up at her flush. “I thought I was hallucinating for a minute.” 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and couldn’t look away from him, trying to blink back the embarrassed tears welling in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to – I just – “

Lucien shook his head then gently and so carefully, reached for her hand. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said and offered her a small smile. “I’m thankful you did. I’m glad you did.” 

And Elain felt her heart swell. This man – male who owed her nothing was glad she had called on him in her time of trouble.

“Even after all this time? We’ve barely spoken.”

“I know.” he only said and Elain felt her bottom lip tremble as she squeezed his hand in hers.

“Why?”

And Lucien couldn’t seem to help the tilt of his head as he gave her a look that was too knowing. “Because you never fully closed that door between us,” he said and Elain swallowed. “I know you’re well aware of how a mating bond works. You could reject it – reject me and no one would bat an eyelash.” He glanced at their hands and turned her palm over, his thumb daring to rub soothingly. “With the nature of the mating bond, a rejection would’ve been hard for me but I would’ve made peace with whatever decision was made.” Lucien met her gaze again. “I am not a male who forces himself to be where he is not wanted, especially with females. But…you kept the door open.”

“I’m not – I wasn’t —” Elain began then forced herself to swallow hard again. “I wasn’t ready.”

“I know,” he said again and gave her a small, slightly sad smile and Elain couldn’t stop herself from tightening the grip of her hand in his again. 

She met his gaze and knew he could feel every jumbled emotion she felt, every complicated thought that flickered across her face. But he waited. Patiently. Kindly.  And it was like he sensed exactly how hard it was for her to say more, to express her desires. 

The corner of his mouth curled up. “I will say…it has been very bold of you to assume I would be obsessed with you,” he added and Elain flushed. “If anything, this situation goes to show you’re the one who can’t stop thinking about me. Getting all worried and running around in the woods alone.” He ended the statement with a tsk and Elain blinked.

Before she could stop herself, a snort slipped from her at his statement and the snort turned into a raspy laugh and before Elain could stop herself, she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. 

She was sitting on the ground of an unknown forest, still covered in the blood of a creature she had killed and Elain couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed this hard. 

And he sat with her as she laughed, watching her with amusement until the last giggle left her mouth, and Lucien couldn’t help but answer with a chuckle of his own. 

She had found the sun. And it was smiling right back at her. 

When she finally let out a sigh, marking the end of her slight loss of sanity a moment ago, Elain felt a sense of calm wash over her as he watched her and it took a few heartbeats of silence before Lucien broke the quiet. 

“I take it you’re ready to move now?” he asked and Elain nodded as he looked around the woods. “How did you even manage to get here?”

He stood slowly and as Lucien pulled her up, Elain didn’t let go, staring up at him as she stood flush against his chest. She’d worry about how dirty she was later. “I sneaked away.” 

Lucien’s brows lifted and the color on Elain’s cheeks deepened at his smirk. “Sneaked away, did you?”

“Oh yes,” she confirmed and Elain wondered if she’d ever realized how delicious he smelled. “Mor winnowed me in and I - um, waited until she was distracted and sneaked away.” Elain licked her lips. “But then I um, got lost.” 

“Poor Elain, getting lost in the woods all alone,” he said in a tone with a teasing edge to it and Elain found her heart beating faster, forcing herself not to think about the tenor of his voice when he said her name, flushing lightly again. 

But then color flushed on his cheeks and the silence between them seemed to soften; Elain couldn’t quite read the expression on his face but he seemed to struggle to say his next words. 

“All this to find…me.” he said so very quietly and Elain seemed to hear the question without him asking it – that of all people, she had ventured out into the unknown for him? As if in disbelief that he would be worth the effort.

Then again, she hadn’t helped much in her avoidance of him. 

“Y-yes.”

Once more, that thread at her ribcage went taut as they shared a glance and Elain wondered what it would be like if she just kissed him. Judging by the way his eyes watched her, she wouldn’t be too surprised if he could see it written all over her face, especially when he licked his lips.

“At least I’m not the only person you tried to give a heart attack to today,” he said with that teasing tone again and Elain’s lips twitched. 

“Oh, Mor is definitely going to kill me.” she joked and her heart stuttered when his grip tightened on her slightly, watching him blink back a look of rage at the idea that someone might think to hurt her. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I found you first then,” he said casually and cleared his throat. “Lest you get into any more trouble.” 

“I think I’ve had enough trouble for one day,” Elain said and her eyes finally snagged on the creature, lying in a heap across the grounds. Her hands unintentionally tightened on Lucien as she eyed the dagger still stuck in the creature’s throat and once again, she couldn’t believe she had done it. 

Lucien’s gaze followed hers and she felt his own hand tighten on her before he went back to scanning her face. “It seems a stab in the neck is to become your signature move.” he said lightly and Elain’s face heated. 

“Twice is not enough to make it a signature move.”

“For someone who doesn’t fight often, twice is more than enough to become a signature move,” he said with a snort. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Considering you saved me today, I think you’re safe for now,” she said softly and Lucien seemed unable to help his chuckle. 

“I hardly did any saving, my lady,” he said with a small smile, his tone as soft as hers. “You did that all on your own.” 

And as Elain flushed deeply, she realized how long they’d been standing there, chest to chest just holding each other. The last time she had been held by him was that wretched day in Hybern and despite all the time and distance that had been between them, Elain seemed to feel nothing but ease to be held by him.

They stood for a few more heartbeats of silence, content to be just like this and Elain wondered if this was what the mating bond was always supposed to feel like. If she had been denying herself of this feeling she had always been craving.

She could hear the steady beat of his heart and while she was used to it being the lullaby that usually put her to sleep, Elain knew that wouldn’t be enough anymore. 

“Let’s get you out of here and get cleaned up.” Lucien finally said gently and Elain nodded, knowing she should pull away but found herself hesitating to do so. He seemed to feel the same way as his hand casually tightened. “We wouldn’t want anyone to worry about you.” 

At this moment, Elain didn’t really care who worried about her. Goodness knows how long had passed before they noticed she’d gone missing anyway. 

But he noticed her. He seemed to always notice her. 

So she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Will you…stay with me?” 

Lucien tried to mask the hope that flashed across his face by clearing his throat but Elain saw it – felt it and knew she asked the right question. “If that’s what you’d like me to do,” he said.

“It is,” she replied, her voice more sure than she’d ever been. “I would like that very much.”

His answering smile had warmth spread through her chest. “Then I am happy to oblige,” he said. “I am at your service, my lady.” 

[romancingdaffodils]

Something.

He say, “I know you, you know me”

Remus Lupin x gn!reader

warnings: umm, nothing yet really. Reader wears a dress and there's cigarettes smoking. Is set in 70s UK! (Biblically accurate collars and there will be talk about the riots back then )

Hey! Have you missed me? I bet you didn't expect my return with a 5k word long fic about our lovely Remus. There's more chapters to come, I just wanted to lay the foundations for something new. The titles have been stolen from: Something - The Beatles and Come Together - The Beatles

I can't really explain the plot as it doesn't actually exist yet, but for this chapter: Black family ball - reader makes her formal society debut: joins forces with the other teens there. Its a bit crappy really, but it will get better I promise. I'm just a little rusty. Just know they are magical but aren't yet back at Hogwarts.

Debutant. You were a debutant at a Black ball. You were making your debut in front of the entire Black family, and every other powerful wizarding family. To phrase it as simply as possible: you were bricking it. Your dress was widely uncomfortable and you hardly moved for fear of the corset breaking and tearing you to shreds. Every piece of jewellery that hung upon your body made you feel as though you were a Christmas tree. You’d been primped and preened like a tree - styled to the taste of your homeowner. You were merely being placed on display to impress other families, like a tree. 

1977.

Your hands were shaking as you sat in the car beside your stepfather - whose name was William. The man who had turned you from the daughter of the best dragonologist the wizarding world had seen to a Christmas tree. You were his very own all-year-long Christmas tree. 

A small sigh left your lips as the car stopped outside of the Black mansion. Then, a larger sigh followed. You screwed your eyes shut before reminding yourself it was one night and then you were safe for a few weeks. Safe from the sheer embarrassment of debuting. You knew no ‘respectable’ wizarding family would see you as legitimate due to your lineage. The only reason your stepfather had enforced your debut was to protect his own image. He had been from a respectable family but had failed to realise marrying a woman far poorer and smarter than him would damage his reputation. He simply wanted you to have the best of both worlds. Even if that meant being a year-long Christmas tree. You understood that, to an extent. However, you couldn’t understand why he had insisted you debuted at a Black ball - especially as it was just before school restarted. You knew the Blacks from Hogwarts. Each and every one of them were popular in their own regard. Sirius Black was actually popular. The rest were just feared. However, if you embarrassed yourself at this ball you knew none of them would ever let you live it down. With Sirius being part of the infamous ‘marauders’, the teasing would be relentless. Nobody wanted to make an enemy out of them. Fortunately, you were almost completely certain not one of the group knew your name. You were rather good at blending into the background despite sharing many classes with them. You had sat next to James in potions during your fifth year. However, Lily Evans had sat on the table beside yours so he never really paid attention to you. It had stung a little at the time - to be ignored by someone so influential. But, part of you had learned to love not being seen by them because you were certain you couldn’t handle the fate of Severus Snape or Lily Evans. You had your own small group of friends; you were happy. Invisible, but happy. 

Alas, you cannot stay simply content forever. And, something was telling you that tonight would change the course of your future forever. Perhaps it was your hormonal teenage brain being over dramatic. Or maybe, just maybe, you could change your path in life after today.

Your stepfather helped you out of the car. The house was huge. You would describe it as a mansion. It was made from a stunning grey stone. Each window was perfectly carved out with swirls and edges. Pillars crawled across the front of the house, holding up the foyer. It clearly had ancient Roman and Greek influences alongside being an English gothic manor. As you moved closer towards the home you made it your mission to absorb each detail. There were gargoyles where the foyer met the wall. They looked down at you with contorted faces. One side of the house had a small sprig of ivy crawling up its walls. You had no doubt that would be quickly dealt with. You were then greeted by the doormen who led the two of you through a back entrance up to the second floor. Apparently, it was a Black tradition to have any debutants walk down the grand staircase as their entrance - you know, just to really display the Christmas tree. Your stepfather squeezed your interlocked arms. It didn’t really help your nerves. You and large staircases had never particularly agreed. In fact, anyone who knew you would probably campaign to keep you as far away from staircases as possible. This was due to a rather embarrassing fall down the stairs during your first year at Hogwarts. You were extraordinarily fortunate in that only your friends had seen it. It was now a longstanding inside joke. Your legs felt like jelly with each step you took towards the grand staircase. The doormen stood beside the grand doors. The doors had gold painted around the edges and were clearly a very expensive dark oak. It all made you feel very poor. It had engravings that looked like branches reaching out towards you. You turned your head to your stepfather, who nodded at you. Neither of you had spoken a word to each other after the car left your home driveway. Your name was announced by one of the house elves downstairs. You couldn’t quite believe it was 1977 and they had actual doormen - you were trying to rationalise this by assuming it was a tradition for balls. 

The doors swung open. The pair of you walked towards the stairs. You inhaled, and then exhaled. Each shaky step was a step towards finding the buffet table and filling yourself up on expensive chocolates or so you told yourself. You descended the stairs and your eyes scanned the room. Your dress dragged along behind you. Everyone was dressed similarly. Classy ball gowns, expensive silk gloves and tuxedos tailored to a t were all you could see. Then, your eyes landed on a rather odd-looking bunch of people. One was wearing a leather jacket, one a proper tuxedo, one was wearing a tux that was slightly too short and the other seemed to have lost his suit jacket and waistcoat. Suddenly, it dawned on you. It was the marauders. All four were here. And, all four were staring directly at you. Everyone was staring at you. You were clinging onto your stepfather for dear life by this moment. You continued to force a grin as your eyes surveyed the room once again. You locked eyes with a girl in a blue dress. Your own thoughts thanked Merlin as you looked down at her. An ally. Alice Fortescue. Never before had such a great sigh of relief left your lips. You were now able to admire the attire of the room. Brightly coloured tuxedos and oversized collars made you feel at home - it felt like being back in muggle England. The comfort of knowing you weren’t alone allowed you to make it down the stairs without falling. You were then led towards Orion Black, the one hosting the ball. You nodded your head respectfully as William thanked him. You thanked him also, attempting to appear as polite as possible. William kept your arms interlinked as he whisked you around the room to ‘mingle’. You met and thanked countless Black family members for their ‘most gracious invite’ that you were supposedly ‘honoured to have been given’. It became repetitive and slightly exhausting after the fifth person. William then introduced you to the Potters. And, Merlin, they simply exuded rich. Fleamont was kind and jolly: clearly coming from old money. His tux was not at all in the 70s style, but was much rather timeless and extremely classy. Euphemia wore delicate jewellery and a simple dress that screamed and shouted the word elegance. She had complimented your dress. You felt like a fool standing beside her. She was absolutely breathtaking in both appearance and character. Euphemia had also asked if you knew James. You replied with ‘kind of’. She said he probably wasn’t your type of person; he was too much of a troublemaker. You laughed politely.

Then, once you deemed it appropriate and William had found some old friends to converse with - you escaped. Weaving through the crowd, you moved towards the spot where you had spotted Alice. 

“Alice! Oh thank Merlin you are h--“ you cut yourself off. Yes, Alice was standing there looking overjoyed at your presence. However, she had company. Her boyfriend - Frank, who you didn’t mind, had his arm wrapped around her waist. And, yes, Frank was okay but, he played quidditch. Gryffindor quidditch meant he brought along the very people you were set on avoiding. Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin. They were all smiling at you. Remus tilted his head down at you - he was standing the closest to you.

“Oh! Don’t you just look stunning. I thought I was going to have to spend the night with these idiots. I am SO glad you’re here! I can’t even believe my family got an invite. Panda is here somewhere too—“ Alice said, all very excitedly. She was then cut off.

“We haven’t met before, I’m Sirius Black,” Sirius said, offering out his hand. You assumed (quite correctly) that he was attempting to flirt with you. Naturally, your instinct was to shut him down.

“I know. I’ve been in your classes for the past 6 years. Actually, I sat in front of you in transfiguration last year.” you stated, deadpanning at him. Everyone in your little group froze, not quite sure how to react to that. Apart from one. Remus Lupin - who laughed. He laughed quite heavily.

“Nice one, Pads,” he stated, rolling his eyes. You often forgot Remus was Welsh. You wished he spoke more often - he was the only tolerable one of the group. You wondered why he had just called Sirius ‘Pads’, but decided to keep questions to yourself. “Well don’t act like you know who she is!” Sirius spat back, like a true diva. Remus shook his head and opened his mouth to answer. He was interrupted by the ever-booming voice of James Potter.

“Oh, Merlin! I know who you are! I sat next to you in fifth year- potions, right?! I remember because you told me that if I wanted Lily to talk to me I should get her to tutor me. Smartest idea ever.”

“Sounds like it was just an excuse to get you to shut up in lesson.” Peter said, shrugging his shoulders. This earned him a jab in the arm from James, who rolled his eyes.

“Do any of you actually know my name?” you replied, sarcastically. You didn’t expect much. Clearly, neither did Alice as she had already interlocked arms with you; she was ready to make an escape.

Remus said it. Very softly. It was so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “One of us has to pay attention to the rest of the world.” he added, a little bit louder. You raised your eyebrow at him, but Alice had already started to drag you away. You looked back at him, feeling extremely confused alongside conflicted. Why did he know your name? Part of you said it was just someone actually acknowledging your existence, but you really couldn’t believe it. So, once again you asked yourself ‘why the fuck does he know me?’.

You smiled as Panda told a story - it was something about her summer adventures. You’d been a little too distracted with the expensive chocolates to listen fully but, you were sure it was extremely entertaining. You liked Pandora. She was a little whimsical, but extremely smart. She was not one to be messed with and seemed to have rather unlimited confidence. It was infectious. Alice had also offered up a catchup of her own summer. As expected, she had spent many a day with Frank. You thought the pair were adorable. You were certain they’d remain together no matter what. She had retold a story about visiting Cornwall with Frank’s family. To be completely honest, you were jealous. One, of the fact they had managed to have good weather and two, of how truly sweet their relationship was. You didn’t think it was possible for two people so you to be so in love. It was impressive.“Why don’t we go into the gardens? Or do you need to mingle more?’ Panda asked, looking at you. You smiled and shook your head. It appeared William was doing all the mingling for you and you’d much rather avoid the potential for any embarrassment in front of such a crowd. You had a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. 

“Let's go, get me out of here! I don’t know if I can stand this company any longer.” Alice joked, you smiled and followed behind the two of them as they walked. 

The gardens were beautiful. All kinds of flowers sprouted from the plant pots. Rose bushes lined the outside. You wondered what spell they had used to keep the flowers in bloom. You had no doubt it was at a large inconvenience to the house elves. Your hands gently dragged over the petals of one of the roses. It was a gorgeous deep red colour. It reminded you of the flowers from fairytales. Alice and Luna were sat on a bench, still chatting. You had found yourself with no choice but to admire the stunning plants. There were archways coated in ivy. Orange trees, with flowers that smelt simply divine. And, your own favourite, daffodils. They were tucked away in the corner, but had still made it into the garden alongside a mix of wildflowers. 

A rustling came from one of the archways, and yet again - the marauders popped out. However, this time they had increased in numbers. With the addition of Lily Evans, Mary MacDonald, Marlene McKinnon and Dorcas Meadows they were now ten times more intimidating. They had also gained the stowaway of Frank, who had clearly just been on the lookout for Alice. You looked over, examining each one of them. You then decided that to be their friend you had to be a supermodel. You just couldn’t believe that a group of teenage friends were so absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous. And, yet, here they were.

And then, they all started talking. So easily. Conversation flowed, cigarettes were passed out and drinks were shared. James and Peter sat on the floor; Sirius leaned against the wall and the rest sat across the two benches. You stayed in the corner, admiring the plants. That was until you received a tap on the shoulder. You turned your head. Stood behind you was Remus Lupin, holding out a cig and lighter. 

“Oh, thank you,” you said, smiling softly as you placed the cigarette between your lips. You cupped the lighter with your hand as you lit it and then passed his lighter back to him.

“Not a fan of Sirius, then?” he asked, letting out a puff of smoke. He then turned to look at you. He had moved to stand next to you as he placed the lighter back into his trouser pocket. He must’ve discarded his blazer some point after your arrival because he was now left in just his shirt (which actually fit) and trousers. His trousers were a little bit too short but, you could only see it because of Williams's expert lessons in proper tailoring. 

“I think his head is a little bit too far up his own arse is all. I don’t dislike him.” you responded. Remus laughed a little, shaking his head. You blew out some smoke. You hadn’t managed to get your hands on a cigarette since before summer. Merlin, this was nice.

“I don’t think you’re the only one who thinks that. He’s alright - most of the time.” he replied, looking over at you once again. You had only just realised who you were talking to - his best friend. He didn’t really seem to mind. You decided to just play it off and hope for the best.

“We’ve never spoken before.” you said, so much for playing it off.

“No, we haven’t.”

“How do you know my name?”

“One of the Hufflepuff parties - I was sat with Alice. I was trying to help sober her up. You came over to take her to bed. I think I said she was fine - you said ‘And how would you know that? You don’t even know our names’. That was in 4th year.” he replied, letting out another cloudy exhale. You nodded, the memories coming flooding back to you. You laughed: a little embarrassed at your rudeness and a little impressed by how brash you had been.

“Yeah, I’m not the best when I’m tired. Sorry about that.” 

“No need to apologise - you were right. So, I made sure I knew your names after that. Plus, you always sat on the table across from us at lunch.”

“Oh. Hey - that’s my thing. I watch the other tables.” you replied, jokingly.

Remus chuckled lightly, nodding his head. “I’m sure you do.” he said, tilting his head.

“No, really. It’s how we found out Frank liked Alice, because he was always staring at her.” 

“That’s actually quite impressive.”

“North or South Wales?”

“What?” “Where are you from, north or south?” you asked, looking up at him. You took a small drag from the cigarette.

“North.”

“That’s where my grandma used to live! Sorry, I knew I recognised the northern accent.”

“Take it you’re from Northern England, then?”

“Northwest. Best place to be.”

“Home of the Beatles.”

You nodded and then smiled. “Who is your favourite?”

“George Harrison.” Remus replied, lifting an eyebrow at him. You’d placed such an emphasis on the question - which made it appear make or break for your conversation.

“Good choice, mines Ringo. Do you like music, then?”

“Can’t keep away from it.”

“Bowie?” “The best of the best.”

“HE IS! Hunky Dory is my favourite.” you exclaimed, a little over excitedly. Remus seemed genuinely interested in your music talk. Only one of your friends shared this interest; it was nice to have someone else to talk to about it.

“Ziggy Stardust for me. Hunk Dory is exceptional though.”

“You seem like the Ziggy Stardust type.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you like the Sex Pistols? Ooh, have you ever heard of Squeeze? Do you like the Clash? Blondie? The Jam? The Who?”

“Yes. No, but I’d be happy to listen. Yes, yes, yes and yes.”

You were resisting the temptation to scream. You looked up at him, jaw slack. Your eyes were quite literally sparkling. “Where have you been all this time?”

“At the table across from you.” he said, raising his eyebrows at you. You snorted and shook your head.

“I collect records. You’re more than welcome to borrow some.”

“I’m honoured. Would it be possible for me to listen to some with you?” he asked. His voice was soft and smooth. Your eyebrows furrowed. You couldn’t tell if he was flirting with you or if he was being serious. 

“Depends on the album.” you said, deciding that was the best response. If he really was flirting with you - which you refused to believe he was - you had to tread carefully. You refused to let yourself forget he was a marauder. He was from the group who had terrorised teachers and students alike for the past 6 years going on 7. You looked up at him, nervously tapping your cigarette.

“Every album in your collection?” he asked, with a resided eyebrow. He now looked down at you. You were facing him with every part of yourself except your body. 

“I could make that happen. It might take months though.”

“Happily spent with you.”

“You don’t even know me, I could be secretly evil and that’s why I have a small group of friends.” you said, not being entirely serious. Remus laughed a little.

“Alice likes you.”

“Alice likes everyone.”

“And, I do know you.”

“How would that come to be?”

“Professor McGonagall. She’s making us work together on coursework this year. In her words ‘to bring that lovely little girl out of her shell. She’s so lovely but just too quiet! Especially when she’s in classes with your lot.’” he said, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stamping on it. “Oh, and I saw you taking the piss out of James in transfiguration before summer. That was funny.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“I thought I was invisible to your lot.”

“You were to them. Not to me. I had a little competition going on with you in transfiguration and potions.”

“You always beat me in tests by a mark! It’s so annoying.”

“You noticed?”

“I was starting to think you did it on purpose.”

Remus laughed and shook his head. He dipped into his pocket again. You had just dropped your cigarette. You put it out with your foot. “You look really nice tonight, is what Sirius wanted to tell you before you called his bluff.” he said, finding his lighter and the pack of cigs.

“I don’t need to hear it from him. He’s far too short to give his opinion on my appearance.” you said, joking. Mostly. This sent Remus into a fit of hysterical giggles - interrupted by the occasional cough. You laughed a little at him. 

“I can cheers to that.” he said.

“How would all your girls compliment you then?”

“Oooh, low blow.”

“Alright, Casanova.” 

“I left that lifestyle behind in 5th year.”

“It was short-lived. May you rest in peace: Remus Lupin the Slag.” 

“You will not be missed.” Remus joked, shaking his head. He then moved to light another cigarette. He held it between his lips: inhale, exhale.

“It must’ve been fun though. And, you always have people being madly in love with you. I’m quite jealous really.”

“I’m sure more people take notice of you than you realise.”

“It's taken 6 years for most people to actually learn my name - I doubt it.”

“You’re very harsh on yourself.”

You shrugged, going slightly quiet. Remus felt a discomfort in the situation and knew the feeling well. He decided to change the subject.

“How has your summer been?” he asked, sounding genuine with interest. During your conversation with Remus, you noticed he was extremely genuine. Everything about him felt real. He truly seemed interested. It sent you into a spiral of disbelief; why did he care?

“Good, actually. Thank you for asking. I got to see a load of new bands because we went and stayed in Liverpool for a few days. It was mint. And, even better, I got to go visit the house where John Lennon used to stay with his Grandma in Blackpool. It was super cool. It did mean staying at my dad's though, which sucked a little - but you know, sacrifices.”

“Sounds, wonderful. I spent most of my summer staying with James.”

“Oh, really? Was it good? I met his mother and father - they were absolutely lovely. I wonder how they produced such a loud creature.” 

Remus laughed at your calling James a ‘creature’. In fact to Remus it appeared rather ironic that you were talking to him and referring to James as a ‘creature’. Remus was well aware that his scarred face and at times withered appearance were blatantly obvious. However, you didn’t seem to mind at all. “It was good.” he replied, smiling down at you. The memories of this summer truly did make Remus happy. Especially because all four had been practically attached at the hip all summer. The only reason they were at this ball was because Sirius’ parents wanted to appear kind and carling; like they hadn’t miscommunicated their own son. Sirius had only agreed to go if he could bring his friends.

“Wait, sorry, can we back track a little bit. McGonagall said we are going to be working on coursework together? Like for the N.E.W.Ts?” you asked, looking wildly confused.

“Yeah - she said we both had skills we could offer each other in our studying. It also meant I could stop Sirius and Pete from trying to copy my work.” he replied, nodding his head.

“Wow, that’s so random. I wonder why she put us two together?” “I have no idea,” Remus replied, letting go another inhale of smoke. You looked up at him. Silently, he held the cigarette out towards you. You smiled and whispered a small thank you. After two quick drags, you handed it back to Remus - who did the same. The pattern continued as your conversation progressed. 

The pair of you continued to discuss music and school. The conversation had then shifted to books and film. Both of you had a shared love for muggle classic literature and Star Wars - both of you couldn’t wait for the second film. Remus said his favourite was The Picture of Dorian Gray. You had agreed it was a good book, but your favourite remained as Pride and Prejudice. As your conversation changed, so did the two of you. You had moved to be sat on the floor, facing the daffodils. This left you with your back to the rest of the group. It all felt very refreshing. Soon, it dawned on you that Remus Lupin was by far one of the biggest nerds you had ever encountered. He was so popular and well loved, but so unbelievably uncool. It made you laugh a little bit. He was just like you. He passed the cigarette back to you, smiling over at you. “So, what else?” Remus asked.

Confused, you tilted your head. “What else?” you repeated back to him.

“What else have I missed about you?”

“I don’t know, 17 years is a lot to cover. What have I missed about you?”

He laughed a little, understanding it was a slightly stupid question. See, Remus never thought he’d have the opportunity to get to know you, let alone actually get along with you. You’d always appeared very closed off and shy - when you weren’t with your friends. It felt good to hear you speak at a normal volume. And, to making you smile felt the best (according to Remus that is). “What do you enjoy doing?” he asked, deciding this was a better way into getting to know you better.

“Reading, writing, going to gigs, listening to music.”

“You like to write?”

“Love it. Fiction and non-fiction. I love to write my own romance fiction. It makes me feel better about the absence of it in my own life,” you joked, rolling your eyes. You didn’t mean to appear pathetic, but it was hard to not be a little self deprecating at times. It kept you humble.

“Id love to read it some time. I quite like writing too.”

“You do?” “Yeah.”

You smiled, offering back the cigarette. He gladly took it. You took a moment to just look at him. His face, his eyes, his hair and his scars. You’d never really paid enough attention to them before. They looked sore. A part of you wondered what the cause was, and another part of you told you it was not your business. You knew Remus had been in one or two fights during his time at Hogwarts. However, it had never been anything serious enough to sustain injuries like those. You tried to push it to the back of your mind but, the curiosity continued to creep up. You drew your eyes away from his scars and instead to his eyes. You’d never seen anything like his. They were brown, but almost looked like honey. You were sure you could study them for years. If you were any good at art, Remus would definitely be your muse. His hair was a sandy brown too. Everything about him appeared to be soft apart from the harsh cuts over his body. He’d rolled up the long sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. You’d found yourself wanting to stare at his forearms. Albeit embarrassing, it was the first time you’d properly liked someone your own age. You’d only ever liked people who were in the years above. Something about this felt a little different: it wasn’t purely physical attraction. He was lovely to talk to, and he saw you. He saw you. That was rare. Looking over at you, Remus lifted an eyebrow.

“Where’d you just go?” he asked, turning to face you. He stretched out his legs and groaned a little, rubbing his knees. “Oh, just thinking. Are your knees okay? You sound like my mum after doing the gardening,” you hummed, laughing a little at your own joke. Remus shook his head, laughing a little too.

“You’re cruel. I just ache sometimes.” “It’s the lankiness. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“Probably.”

“Unless you have a secret double life.”

Remus thanked Merlin he didn’t have to answer that because James had pointed out the two of you being sat together. Everyone was now making kissing noises. You turned to him and rolled your eyes - he just laughed. It was nothing he wasn’t used to; his friends had always been like this. They continued their teasing until a noise came from the doors. Suddenly, all cigs were dropped and they pretended to be partaking in polite conversation. Much to your surprise, it was William calling your name. Remus stood up, standing on his cigarette. He offered his hand out to help you stand up. You took his offer, being particularly careful not to damage your dress. You smiled up at the tall boy. He smiled back. “I’ll see you soon, I hope.”

“I hope so too. You’ve got a lot of records to listen to” you replied, smiling wildly now. It all felt too good to be true. You turned and waved goodbye to everyone else before rushing off to find William.

You really did hope you would see him soon. He’d allowed you to forget where you were for the moment. He let you forget who you were. You felt important.