#platonic fig x reader

[written-in-the-clouds]

i’m alive! and here with a fantasy high fic! platonic fig x bard!reader :) (takes place at some point mid-freshman year)

There's a new girl in your class.

You recognize her, you think — rumors about her party flutter around the school. Words you're not quite sure you believe, of defeating a monster made of creamed corn, or killing a tiefling on a motercycle. Still, they're infamous freshmen nonetheless.

And now one is standing in your class, leaning against your desk.

She's the half-tiefling, her horns barely reaching the top of her head and red splotches coloring her tan skin. She doesn't seem to notice she's blocking your desk, laughing at a joke another student tells. It's fine, ultimately. Dance Battles 101 isn't a class that requires much sitting. You just need to set your bag down, but you don't want to interrupt.

You settle for hovering awkwardly, hoping she'll just move, eventually, and then she glances over to you. She beckons you over and you exhale, then walk over.

"Clay—" she gestures to the earth genasi— "said that this was your desk. I didn't mean to block it, sorry!" She finally shifts to the side, and you set your bag down, but she still stands near you. "I'm Fig."

"[Name]," you reply. "I don't think I've seen you here before."

"Well, I thought this was a fighter class. But hey, I'll take it."

"Oh, you're a fighter?"

"No, actually, I'm a bard. But I like to keep my options open, you know."

You snort, and Fig grins. The teacher calls for the class to settle and you slide into your seat. Fig sits on the floor beside you and you frown in confusion. She gestures to the rest of the desks, full, and you shrug. The teacher spares one glance and apparently decides that it isn't her problem. She reviews the moves from last class and then lets you begin to spar.

The music is upbeat and bouncy, and you rock on your heels, scanning for an opponent. Fig climbs to her feet and grins at you.

"C'mon," she says, gesturing to the open floor. You walk over, the class spreading out, and you face her, feet sliding into position, breathing steady. Fig is looser, not used to this style, but that's an advantage. You're prepared to fight against other dance fighters, not beginners like her. Still, you have the practice. "You know, my party once—"

The music swells, and you swing and kick, twirl and leap, the music filling your bones. Fig keeps up, for the most part, though she doesn't know how to counter the more complex moves. She catches you off guard with a few tactics that you aren't prepared for. While the battle leans towards you having the upper hand, she's doing well for someone who has quite literally never taken this class before.

You can't help but smile. Dance fighting is one of your favorite styles, and while it's just as fun to spar against your other classmates, there's something different with Fig. She has a natural flow to it. The music is as much a part of her as it is a part of you.

The music ends with a triumphant note and you pin Fig to the ground.

She laughs brightly. "Wow, you're good."

You step back, helping her up. "So are you," you say.

The teacher calls, "Switch!" and you turn to your next opponent. It's only five more rounds before you're up against Fig again, her expression now confident despite you having seen her get knocked on her ass twice already. You pull on your headphones. While the teacher plays music, she does allow you to bring your own as well, and using your own music only aids your magic. You hit play, and strike.

By the end of class, Fig is improving. She even knocks you off your feet, once, beaming as she helps you up. The teacher offers a few tips, but seems approving.

After the final spar, you head back to your desk to grab your bag. She leans on your desk. "Good fighting," she says. "I might bring a few of my party next—anyway," she says, interrupting herself, "I wanted to ask if uh, you wanted to get ice cream or something? You seem cool, and whatever."

You blink and frown slightly. "Like, on a date..?"

"Oh!" Fig flushes. "No. Just like. As a friend, yeah."

"Oh," you say. You shoulder your bag. "Sure," you say. "Yeah. After school?"

"Yeah!" she grins. "See you at Basrar's."

[sylvia-plaths-fig-pie]

The night we met ♡ Sam Winchester

As a young girl it was drilled into you to never be alone in the woods.

As a woman the same sentiment was echoed.

But as a hunter, you found that that warning couldn't be one that you listened to. For the sole reason of what if there was a young girl or a woman in the woods at the mercy of the very things that you were trained to hunt. Trained to kill.

You'd been a hunter for as long as you could remember, grew up on the road with your mother. Never went to a real school or met anyone your age. It was just the two of you.

Untill it wasn't.

One particularly bad hunt with a nest of vamps left you to mourn the loss of your mother, and you were alone.

And that's how you stayed.

That's how you liked it.

Sure you came into contact with men, it was always men, who thought they knew more or were better than you. But you were still standing, and they, well they were not.

Life expectancy wasn't particularly high in your line of work, it would be a miracle of you made it to your 30th birthday. It seemed that hunters either died young or seemed to live forever. You didn't know what was worse.

That being said, the earlier option seemed very likely right about now.

You were alone in the woods, in a deep fog, after killing three vamps.

It was dark and there was probably other creatures lurking in the shadows, knowing your luck there would be a vamp nest right around the corner.

What made matters worse is that the exit wasn't exactly clear. You'd lost your map, couldn't hear a road, and (rather inconveniently) there was no sighn posts anywhere.

All you could do is walk in a straight line and hope that you were going in the right direction.

Hope.

You knew the irony.

Hope wasn't worth much. Hope was a damn sure way to get yourself killed. Hope was for young girls who wished on stars, but after learning the myths behind them you had lost faith even in the night sky.

Hope wasn't somthing you would bet your life on, yet you had no choice. It was better than a prayer you supposed.

Suddenly you became aware that your footsteps weren't the only noise in the darkness. There were voices.

Two distinct low voices. Voices of men. Why was it always men?

Familiar warnings rang through your head. You knew it wasn't just monesters you were to be afraid of, sometimes there are more sinister things that lurked in the darkness. Sometimes death wasn't the worst fait to face.

Your hand griped tighter around your knife, your free hand rested on top of your gun.

The voices stopped after a rush of feverish whispers.

You were going to do something stupid.

"Who's there?" You shouted, trying to sound as stoic as possible. If they didn't know you were there they sure did now, along with anything else lurking in the shadows. It really was a stupid decision, but making stupid decisions was part of the job description and it had gotten you this far, or at least you were still alive to tell the tale.

"I'm armed and you've lost the element of surprise so why don't you do us both a favour and stop hiding!" You shouted once more, slightly more urgently this time, even you could hear the slight panic in your own voice.

A tall figure emerged from the shadowy fog, arms raised in surrender. He was tall, almost abnormally so. 'Go for the legs if necessary' you mentally told yourself, just incase he want so friendly. He took slow, purposeful steps towards you in an attempt not to frighten you, you appreciated the gesture but it did nothing to settle your concern.

As he drew closer you could look him in the eyes. And that's exactly what you did. His eyes were Hazel, almost green with a touch of gold with a sense of softness and sensitivity about them. It felt like you were reading a book, being continually drawn in till you don't even rember who you were before you picked it up. Looking at him gave you a sense of comfort you hadn't expericed before on the road. It was nice. It was terrifying.

You cursed yourself for staring too long.

"Who are you?" You questioned, bringing the tip of your knife to rest against the base of his neck, the blood from the vamps, which still coated the blade, sticking slightly to his neck. He stopped in his tracks, his arms still up in surrender.

He looked unfazed, he looked as though he understood.

"My name is Sam winchester and I'm a-" he began but you cut him off, realisation hitting you.

"Winchester? Where's your brother?" You asked lowering your knife. You knew they hunted together, and you didn't want to be ambushed unwittingly my the other.

"Hi sweetheart." Another figure said as he sauntered out of the thick trees.

You rolled your eyes at his remark, making a menal note to stay clear of him if your able to.

You could tell that the one that approached you was the younger of the two, Sam as he introduced himself, the boy with deamon blood, or at least he was.

Meaning that the older of the two, and shorter, was Dean who, unsurprisingly, greeted you slightly condescendingly.

You turned your attention back to the brunette just as he began to speak.

"Wait how do you-?" He asked suddenly, slightly confused but also a hit of relief in his voice.

"Bobby is aways talking about you boys, I mean every hunter knows about you and your serious fuck ups, but Bobby keeps saying I should catch you boys and work with you or whatever but-" you rambled on before the younger winchester cut you off.

"You know Bobby?"

"Everyone knows Bobby."

"Wait so you must be-"

He was about to say your name before, who you assumed to be Dean, cut him off.

"Yes yes nice to meet you and whatever but Sammy and I have more pressing issues to attend to." He said with a wave of his hand ushering his brother over. Only Sam didn't move. His eyes were still fixed on yours. Your eyes still on him.

"I killed the three vamps if that's what you're doing out here." You commented, directing your answer to Sam.

He furrowed his brown in confusion.

"Three?" He asked, slightly taken aback.

"Yeah?" You responded, worry consuming you. You didn't miss one did you? You didn't make a mistake, did you? Everything was so matriciously planned out surely you couldn't have-

"We thought it was just a brother and a sister." Sam interrupted your thoughts, placing a strong hand on your shoulder. He clearly read the panic on your face, it was like he'd known you your whole life. His hand on you seemed to ground you, help you think, but it made you feel almost dizzy. It was an unfamiliar feeling, a feeling you weren't sure if you liked it or not. Regardless of the fact you relished in his touch as you composed yourself enough to explain what you knew.

"No they were hunting with their father, it seemed like this town was their first solo hunts, but it all lead back to him."

Sam finally turned away, his hand falling from your shoulder to look at Dean, in response he simply nodded his head to the side. There was some sort of unspoken communication between the two.

You felt left out. You longed to know what they were thinking. You specifically longed to know what the taller of the two was thinking.

"You're sure there's no more?" Sam asked as he turned to face you once more.

"I know that there are no more that are killing people in this area, that's good enough for me."

He just nodded in response.

"Well I guess that means we're done here," Dean commented clapping his hands together, "you crazy kids what to get out of here, maybe get some pie-"

"Shut up." You cut him off. It wasn't beacsue you were opposed to getting out of the woods, quite the opposite. But you heard something or at least thought you did.

"Sweetheart, I can tell you like my brother here more than me but there is no need to be-"

"Be quiet." You cut Dean off once more as you strained your ears again, you heard another rustling sound coming from near by. You gripped your knife tighter, your thumb drawing small circles on the hilt.

Turning in the spot to get a better gauge of your surroundings you clocked both of the winchesters expressions, they heard it aswell.

"You said it was a father and his two kids right?" Sam asked poised, now holding a large knife of his own.

"Yeah," you responded in a hushed whisper.

"Any sign of a mother?" He asked hurriedly, voicing the one thing you hoped not to be true.

Shit.

You hoped you would stumble onto another hunter, but you knew this time you wouldn't be so lucky. It had to be the mother and you cursed yourself for mot even considering her.

"Sam-" you began but were quickly cut off by a figure charging from the shadows.

She was fast, but worst of all she was smart. Thats probably why none of you picked up on her.

She launched herself at you first, the well known glint of vengeance alight in her eyes. "You killed them you bitch, you killed them all!" She sceamed in your face as you tried to bring your knife up to decapitate her.

But she was fast and her clawed hand dug into the wrist where your knife was Sam and Dean rushed to your side but they were quickly pushed away, falling on the ground too far away to reach you.

"Was this the blade that killed them?" She asked as you struggled against her, "didn't even have the decency to kill me aswell?"

Blood was gushing from your wrist from her claws as she twisted your own blade towards your chest.

From the corner of your eye you could see Sam pushing himself off the floor, disappearing into the fog.

Logically he was leaving you. He didn't know you. It was in his best intrest to get his brother and go, regroup and hunt tomorrow. You know logically that's what he was doing.

But something inside you told you otherwise. Something in your head was telling you that he was coming for you. That he would save you. That you just needed to stay alive for a few more moments.

It was more than hope that you had. You knew Sam was still there. You knew he wouldn't leave you.

You could feel your knife pressing against your rib cage, you were no where near as strong as her, you tried pushing back with all your might but it was no use.

You felt the blade as it began to draw blood. You felt the pain of the rapidly growing wound. You felt yourself slowing begin to loose grip on the world around you.

"Oh I am going to enjoy watching you die." The vamp said, her words venomous against your ear.

"Not as much as I'll enjoy this." As voice said from behind the vamp.

It was Sam.

Her was there, knife above his head as he swung it round.

The vamp was quick, but she wasn't quick enough to avoid the blow of Sam's knife as he swung it and swiftly decapitated her.

Blood splattered on you as you let out a sigh of relief. Sam was here.

Sam saved you.

Sam winchester saved your life.

You wanted to run to him but the corners of your vision blured. You were dizzy. You couldn't see. You couldn't stand.

"Sam..." you managed to whisper as the world fell from beneath your feet.

You felt two strong hands wrap around you and lower you slowly to the floor. Your head rested against something sturdy, something warm.

"Hey look at me I'm here," a voice said, it was muffled, distant almost.

"You need to just hang on for me, keep your eyes open okay?" The voice asked of you and you nodded or it at least felt like you did. Your vision was blurry but your eyes were open.

"Dean hurry!" Sam shouted, panicked. Sam was holding you. Your head was against Sam's chest and you were resting in his arms.

You tried to sit up but a sharp pain shot throught you. "Shit." You mumbled, you looked down and saw the knife still in you. It was deeper that what you first thought, but it can't have been that bad you could breathe fine, it missed your lung. You were fine, right?

"Sam?" It came out as more of a question, you didn't want to admit it but you were scared.

This is how your mother died in your arms, did she feel like this too? Was she scared? Did she know she was going to die, or did she foolishly think she would live?

"Hey, hey," Sam stroked your hair soothingly, "I'm right here love, I'm not going anywhere okay?" His touched seemed to ground you, soothe you.

"Dean is coming back with medical supply's, your going to be okay."

"Okay." You replied, all you could do was look at Sam. Even when he was blurry he was beautiful. Even when it felt like the world was going dark his eyes were bright as ever.

Thoes were the last things you rember seeing before the world went black, and you finally understood why so many people warned you not go out in the woods alone.

♡♡♡

Anybody want a part 2?

[thehomeofplatonicfics]

Hiya! I am soooo happy you opened your request box cause I've been loving all your fics so far <3 Can I request a hogwarts legacy mc reader fic talking to a portrait of professor fig after the events of the game? I always think they game never acknowledged how upset mc would really be losing fig, like their expression in the funeral was so blank it was painful!!

A/N: Oh my gosh, anon! Thank you so much for being the first person to send me a request! I 100% agree with you, like I was sobbing during that scene and MC just scrunches their nose?! I honestly think this is my best fic, so please if you like it do tell me! <3

I Miss You

MC!Reader x Professor Fig (platonic!)

It had only been two months since you became the hero of Hogwarts. Only two months since the only father figure you’d ever had died. The professors had quickly commissioned his portrait, and for over a week now he had hung proudly inside the office of his Magical Theory classroom. You had yet to visit the portrait of Professor Fig. The upcoming OWLs, only days away, were your main excuse. That you simply didn’t have time. In truth, you were scared to confront your loss head on… no one could make you admit how much Eleazar Fig’s passing had affected you.

As you left an early morning study session, you mused about how difficult it would be for Professor Fig’s successor. They would surely know that they had big shoes to fill. You imperceptibly shook your head to yourself, whoever they were… you almost felt sorry for them.

Heading down the corridor towards the Great Hall for a well-deserved breakfast, you walked past the classroom you’d come to know so well. Suddenly, you felt rooted to the spot. It was like you were hit with your grief all at once. You realised what you were truly afraid of… the future, one you had to face without your mentor.

You needed to see the office. You needed Professor Fig. Gliding towards the classroom, eyes searching the corridor for anyone watching you, you slipped through the classroom door. Passing through the empty classroom, you cautiously opened the office door that you once used to bolt through. The confidence was gone, maybe forever.

It was difficult to miss the large painting hanging behind the professor’s desk, and your eyes instantly locked with his familiar brown ones. He gave a smile of relief, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. “Ah, Y/N. I wondered when I’d be seeing you. What brings you here?” You felt yourself welling up, and you balled your hands into fists to try and maintain some composure. His voice was like a drop of rain in the midst of the hottest desert.

“I just… I just need some advice.” The words tumbled out of you before you could think about it as you slowly stepped closer and closer to the painting. “The Hero of Hogwarts needing my humble advice? Sounds serious.” He spoke with a bemused tone. You jumped up to sit on top of his desk, hunching over to make yourself as small as possible, hands clasped tightly. Anything to stop yourself from breaking down. “You are… were a hero too.” You muttered under your breath.

“What troubles you, my young friend?” He looked at you with furrowed brows and a concerned gaze. He had never seen you so downtrodden before.

“Well, I don’t know… I guess just - everyone else has had five years to prepare for the exams. And I, well, I’ve only had one.” You rolled your eyes at yourself, almost feeling silly for complaining about it. “And you’ve done exceptionally well, you’ve surpassed any expectations that anyone had of you. Including me, and my expectations of you were already very high.”

“What if I’ve not done enough?” You questioned, deliberately looking anywhere except at Fig’s painting. “What if I don’t get the grades I need?” The painting shook his head with a lopsided smile. After all you’d accomplished, you still couldn’t see your true worth. “I know you shall. I’ve seen you work, I’ve seen your abilities. There is no doubt in my mind you’ll get at least Exceeds Expectations in every class.” You shook your head slowly, wanting to believe it but feeling like something was blocking you. A few moments of silence passed, the professor patiently waiting for you to continue, knowing instinctively that something more was bothering you.

“What will my future be? What do I want to be?” You looked up, staring directly into his painted eyes, desperately trying to remember his real ones. How warm they had been, how you could see decades of wisdom and experience behind them. “I’ve known so little about this world, and now I have to decide my whole future in it.” Your voice cracked as you struggled to keep your emotions bottled in. Professor Fig nodded his head sagely, and you knew he understood what you needed in that moment.

“You’d like my help to decide?” It was more of a statement than a question. “Help me prioritise which subjects to focus on.” A hand ran through your hair, then over your face. “I’ll need the best grades in subjects I carry to NEWTs… and those exams determine my career, right?” The painting hesitated, clasping his hands in front of him before humming in agreement.

Silence again. This time it was charged, heavy with words unsaid. You wanted to break the silence but didn’t know what to say. Technically, the Professor Fig in front of you wasn’t really him and as you chewed on your lip staring at floor below the painting, you were painfully aware of it.

“I think you should consider taking Magical Theory as a NEWT.” Your head whipped up to meet Fig’s gaze, eyebrows raised. “No… No, I couldn’t.” He frowned, his head tilting slightly. “Why not? We spent the whole year researching your own magic, I think you could teach the class yourself now.” He chuckled to himself, but the eyes that once sparkled when he laughed remained the same dull brown. Another reminder that things would never be the same. “Because… it wouldn’t be you teaching me. I don’t think I could stand it. Someone else standing where you should be.”

You stared at each other for a few moments before you broke the eye contact, lowering your eyes into your lap, your hands almost bleeding from how deep you were digging your nails into your skin.

“Y/N, I may never have taught you officially in my class, but you’ll always be my proudest achievement. I hope you know that.” He always knew exactly what to say, even when you didn’t know what you needed to hear. The tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them, and soon the floodgates opened and all the bottled emotions came seeping out at once.

“I miss you so much. I don’t know how I’ll do this without you.” Loud sobs echoed across the office, and a hand lay on your chest as you tried to fight the intensity of what you were feeling. “You taught me everything, I wouldn’t even be here without you. And now I have to continue on without my… father.”

The painting of the Professor looked shocked for a moment before he melted into a warm smile. If he could have hugged you, he would have. “I’ll always be here, Y/N. I know it isn’t quite the same. But the advantage of being a painting is that you’ll always know where to find me. I won’t be off on a week-long research project… or sent off on one of the headmaster’s silly errands.”

A quiet giggle escaped you, soon developing into a real laugh. It was brief, but it was time you’d laughed since he died. Professor Fig smiled down at you, pleased to see a glimpse of your old self again. You wiped away your tears, summoning a parchment and quill. “Okay. Let’s get down to business, shall we?” You announced with a true smile, one that the painting returned with a fond nod. It wasn't quite the same, but the painting would help you through your grief. You'd always have a piece of your mentor in your heart.

[desiredcaramellatte]

What ab this song? It would lowkey be rly interesting to see my results for this. (Also yes this is the correct song)

Why is it so good for no reason

I match you with...

Schwarzwälder!

It's German I had to do it lol-

And

Fig Cookie!

[sempersirens]

the fig tree | rotten

pairing: therapist!joel x f!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. discussion of heavy and potentially triggering topics such as sa, self-harm, infertility, various mental illnesses, self-hatred and drug use. these topics are only mentioned and do not occur in real-time.

chapter summary: a twenty-something, seemingly lost cause, meets her match in the form of psychotherapist: dr. joel miller.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

updates: @sempersirenswrites

series masterlist

Maybe it was time to accept you were never as good as you'd always thought you'd been.

For four long years, you had spent most of your waking hours dissecting epic poetry and papyrology.

Still, the most your degree had done for you was rouse a satisfying disappointment from your mother’s side of the family when they realised you weren’t actually going to be that kind of doctor.

Not to say such in a self-deprecation; you hardly suffered from any semblance of an imposter syndrome. Your mother used to frequently remind you that you were far too vain to not believe in yourself.

It was more of a philosophical framework. Platonic realism. Knowing your muted beauty could earn you a free drink from below-average men who felt their trousers tighten when you addressed them through your eyelashes.

But it wasn't an obvious enough beauty for the attention of the men you imagined exchanging bodily fluids with between stops on the underground.

Besides, you had been a student of Classical Studies; a degree that doesn’t require the intellectual strain of learning Latin or Ancient Greek. The inclusive way for people like you, having attended a run-down state-funded school, to get a glimpse into the Bullingdon boys' and grammar schoolgirls’ fallback plans.

It wasn't even that you disliked Classics; you'd borderline gotten off on reading plays written by men about wicked women; but that was because the brilliant women were always the wicked ones.

You particularly enjoyed the assumptions men made about the female condition – how women were too wet, too porous; couldn’t keep their wombs from wandering. And assumptions they were. No Greek physician ever sliced a woman from chin to cunt to confirm their hypotheses. Although, ancient men hadn't been all too familiar with the insides of a woman anyway.

Sometimes, you thought you would quite simply die if you were reduced to only understanding people through your assumptions of them.

It was just that you could never stop thinking about what people thought. It was all you could ever think about. You wanted to peel people's skulls apart and scream at their horribly grey frontal lobe:

Are you ok? Have I done something to upset you? Do you still love me? Do I look like someone that has been raped? Do you think that girl we just walked past has a firmer ass than me? Do you like my new bangs?

For a short period of time, you'd been desperate to know how your therapist felt and thought of you. There is a sick irony in baring your bones to a stranger in the reclined chair opposite you who never even takes off their cardigan.

You needed to know if your traumas made him sad, or if he saw things that made him think of you outside of your sessions. You supposed he both pitied and admired you in a twisted, surrogate-daughter kind of way.

Then again, he probably wouldn’t have been a very good therapist did he not pity his clients.

At one point you thought you might be in love with him.

You'd met weekly in his high-ceiling office on a busy street. It was a romantic setting to unload twenty-four years of trauma to a kind man wearing a knitted cardigan. The sun would peak through clouds and shine onto the both of you through two large windows, between which sat a Japanese peace lily.

You soon realised he was just the first man to let you speak uninterrupted.

You spoke at him mostly, finishing observations that had been years in the making with “Does that make sense?” Even though you knew it made sense. You were certain, actually, that everything you had articulated came from somewhere deeper inside of you than any man could reach. You just couldn't leave it hanging there like an exposed nerve.

Maybe it was because he didn't speak much that you liked him. Sometimes he would offer anecdotes or remedies for PTSD-induced panic attacks that you both knew you would never use.

In most sessions, you had simply basked in the divinity of being listened to. You wondered if this was how devout Catholics like your grandmother felt at confession, or perhaps it was how all of your ex-boyfriends had felt.

You weren't even particularly attracted to him. He had been ten years older than you, and when your sessions first began, you'd been casually fucking someone a year older than him – but he didn't need to know that.

There were a lot of things you'd decided he didn't need to know. Like the fact you snorted cocaine until your nose bled, sliced into your thighs a couple of evenings a week, and let men use your body to masturbate as a feeble attempt to reclaim your sexuality - as if it had ever been anyone's for the taking.

Had he known the dirtier parts of your life, you feared he would have crossed out the word victim in his black Moleskin notebook and replaced it with bystander.

Maybe he would think you were a pathological liar and diagnose you with a personality disorder. This was something you'd been warned about by the first friend you had made at university.

“My mother is a therapist, you know. Don’t tell them you cut yourself or that you’ve told anyone you cut yourself – they’ll diagnose you with BPD.”

“But I’ve told you.”

“Trust me. They’ll put you on an SSRI and you’ll never be able to orgasm again.”

You were freshly eighteen and had never had a real orgasm anyway, but this terrified you enough to reel in your catalogue of symptoms for the GP appointment you had scheduled later that day.

In the end, you'd buckled and sobbed as the doctor sat adjacent to you. You didn’t mention the self-harming or the suicidal thoughts, but did tell her that you didn’t know where to go from here.

She'd slid a leaflet from the university's self-help website across the table before pushing her chair back and motioning toward the door.

“Call 999 if things get worse," she had said. "But let’s just hope it doesn’t get to that point. A&E is very overwhelmed at the moment.”

So you got on with it. Boats against the current, or whatever. You made the hurt so small and buried it so deep within you and swore you'd never let anyone get close enough to pick at the stray thread to your undoing.

And for a little while it worked. You became what you knew you should be; you presented your face for fucking and never let the door slam on your way out.

These days, you'd felt as though you were slowly becoming rotten.

It started on the surface; a bizarre case of adult acne that no dermatologist could diagnose for love nor money. Blood tests, topical steroids, antibiotics, potentially-baby-deforming drugs. You tried them all to little avail. In the end, it was simply the passing of time that had rid you of the rot.

Next, it had been your womb. Decomposing from the inside out. Your body had made the decision for you that goodness couldn't form in your guts.

The final straw had, embarrassingly, been your heart.

You hated to say it aloud. So much so that you hadn't. But it had been a quiet promise of yours; one you'd kept quietly close to your chest - that your suffering would never turn you ugly.

But here you were, alone and swearing at the wind, the rage beneath your skin growing like a tumour.

You hated it.

You hated yourself.

You hated that you were angry but had never been taught how to be angry, because anger wasn't a pretty emotion; it was one that should be starved and kept in the corner of your wardrobe to rot like black mould.

So here you stood: before a Victorian townhouse with your scarf furiously fighting the wind, droplets of rain threatening your freshly straightened hair, scanning various names scrawled on the building's buzzer.

S. PHYSIOTHERAPY

A & R SOLICITORS

J. MILLER PSYCHOTHERAPY

You bit the inside of your cheek and ducked further into the doorway, pressing the buzzer for the last option.

A voice had answered quicker than you'd anticipated, soon followed by a harsh buzz of the intercom.

"Come on up."

Dr. Miller's office was on the third floor.

You huffed, struggling with the combination of the stairs and attempting to wrangle your wet coat from your back. Amidst your struggle, you hear a door open somewhere above you, followed by a couple of soft and slow footsteps.

Your chin instinctively lifted toward the source of the noise, feet carrying you round and round the spiral staircase.

Light poured around his silhouette from the window behind him. It was ridiculous, actually. The sight was almost holy.

Neither of you spoke as you made your way up toward him. You felt as though you were on your knees beneath him, transfixed in supplication.

The sleeves of his blue cotton shirt were haphazardly pushed up just before his elbows, arms outstretched and fingers wrapped around the wooden bannister.

You were supposed to be actually trying with this one, not fantasising about the ways the veins in his arms probably bulged with his hand around your throat.

After being politely let go by your previous therapist, you'd promised yourself that the colleague he'd recommended to you, Dr. Miller, would be the one to fix you for good.

"Hello." He nodded, not quite managing a smile.

He reached a hand toward you, which you shook with the little strength left in your body.

"Hello." You tried your best to imitate his stoic cadence, your hand still tightly in his.

You let him break the handshake first, playing a petulant, one-sided game to see how quick he would be to scare.

"After you." He gestured to the room behind him. "Take a seat wherever you feel most comfortable."

"If there is any cowboy paraphernalia in that room I am not paying for this session."

"Excuse me?" His eyebrows knitted together, no sign of humour registering on his face.

"Your accent - it was a joke. I mean, I paid already anyway." You fumbled your words awkwardly. "Jokes are always much funnier when you explain them."

He cocked his head slightly. Hesitant to embarrass yourself further, you saw yourself into his office.

The room was dim for a space endowed with Victorian-style floor-to-ceiling windows. It felt like you could get lost in it, hide away, tuck yourself into a corner and be lost for days.

"I have your notes from Dr. Hughes." He said.

"Anything juicy?" You asked, still surveying the room.

You couldn't put your finger on the specifics of his scent, but it was familiar; like passing a man in the street wearing the same aftershave as your father, or a boyfriend you hadn't seen for years.

"I'd like to figure that out myself."

You'd eventually settled on the armchair positioned opposite his own.

You had briefly wondered if this was a test, that he would be psychoanalysing whether you chose the armchair or the adjacent sofa.

Maybe you'd failed already.

For the majority of the session, you'd gone through the necessary motions of admin, confidentiality, and what you eventually wanted to get out of therapy.

"I don't have the ability to fix you, y'know that right?" His question had caught you off guard.

"I know that." You'd replied meekly.

"It's just, I don't know what kind of promises Dr. Hughes made you. We trained together, you see. He had always been more, how do I put this, hopeful than I am."

"Oh wow. Forty minutes into our first session and you're already hopeless?" You were only partly joking.

"I'm a big believer in transparency, and I can see you were meeting on and off for a few years. I'm just intrigued as to what your end goal here is."

You bit down on your cheek, swallowing the ember of rage that was burning in your throat.

"Do you think I do this for fun? Carve out an hour a week to relive my deepest, darkest traumas?"

"Not at all. I just find it interesting that after almost three years of therapy, you still can't use the word rape. You've referred to it as the thing that happened four times already."

The rot crept up your throat, threatening to pour out of your mouth and fill the room with the ugliness that grew inside of you.

"What is this, some kind of tough love therapy?" You scoffed. Was he trying to get a rise out of you?

"It can be whatever you want it to be."

He was kind of annoying, actually.

The two of you sat in silence, defiantly holding eye contact with one another to see who would be the first to break. And when he finally spoke, it was more of a statement than a question.

"That's time. I'll see you at the same time next week."

"How are you so sure I'll come back?"

He smiled for the first time that afternoon.

"I'm not."

[tr4gictea]

OMG HIIII

its so hard finding writers that do xchild!reader or teen!reader

.·´¯`(>▂<)´¯`·.

Can i request a sagau where the creator is a teenager?

How do you think the difference genshin characters would treatg them ?

Love yaaaa!

❥Masterlist

Summary: You land in Teyvat after trying to play your favorite game. After trying to keep your age a secret the dendritic archon somit he’s on you.

Tags: Mostly fluff, teen!reader, platonic

A/n: Thank you for the suggestion 0rah-s! :D This is kinda short but there will most likely be a part 2. There are definitely spelling mistakes in here, please let me know how i can improve pls. Love u all <3

Part 2

After a long day of school,  (y/n) relaxed in their chair and powered up their PC to play their favorite game: Genshin Impact. But as they clicked on the icon of the cute mascot the icon’s color inverted. You only brushed off the glitch as a weird bug. When the window popped up it looked different then usual with the sky behind the floating pillars a scarlet red. 

“Wtf… is my game glitching?” (y/n) thought to themself as they tried click the x in the corner of their window to close the screen. Key word ‘tried’. The window refused to close while the game started to build the door into teyvat. (Y/n) watched the screen as a blinding white light surrounded their vision until there was nothing.

………..

When you landed in Teyvat you none questioned you appearing as a teenager because it’s quite rude to ask someone their age. They will treat you as if you are an adult. But the truth will eventually come out but it wasn’t how you expected. 

“Your grace, are you sure you can sign contracts?” Nahida asked as you while you were meeting with the Acting Grand Sage, Alhaitham and the Dendro Archon, Lesser lord Kussinal. 

Shit. Nahida knew that you were 14. She looked in Irmensal the moment you arrived. “Yes I should be.” You said looking at her with eyes that said PLEASE DON’T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT MY AGE PLEASE PLEASE.

But apparently she didn’t get the message “Well I only ask this because of your age.” 

Alhaithem’s eyes shifted towards you and raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t mind me asking your Grace but how old are you exatctly?”

“...”

“...”

“No comment.”

“There Grace is 14!”

“Nahida!” 

Alhaitham stair went blank and was most likely was forming a million questions in his head when he asked “Who else knows?”

“Just Nahida and now you too.” You gestured to the small archon than Alhaithem. 

“Hm, I will inform the other leaders of this and Lesser Lord Kussinal will you please inform the other Archons of this matter.” 

“Wait- What?!” 

……………..

Day passed and you left Sumeru to visit people in Monstat. You were greeted with a parade of people waving and throwing gifts at you. After a little while the crowd dispersed and you saw a familiar green bard sitting on a statue of Barbatos. 

“Ah! Your Grace!” Venti said as he got up from his spot sitting on the statue’s hands. He used his anemo abilities to float himself without hurting himself. “Or should I say my young Grace?” He said smirking 

“What?”

“I take that back, it sounded cooler in my head.” Venti said as he slung his arm over your shoulder as you chuckled. “But, back on topic! YOUR 14?” Shouting the least part a little too loud catching the attention of a few bystanders.

“VENTI SHUT THE FUCK UP!” You whisper yelled at him as he chuckled. “And yes I am 14.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” the bard asked with sincerity in his tone.

“I don’t know, I just thought it would be a little awkward and I didn’t know what would be the right time to do so.”

“Understandable, we all thought you were older than at least 30 from the way you act, but what about your family?”

“What do you mean? They’re probably back at my home living their life.”

“Not on your planet but here on teyvat, from what I can tell you have no single person to have as a parental fig-” You shove a hand in Venti’s face before he finish, knowing what he was going to say. 

“No, absolutely not, I don’t need a ‘parental figure’ in my life telling me what to do.” You said putting air quotes up for parental figure. “And like you said I act older than I am.” 

“That doesn't mean your still not a kid.”

“Doesn’t matter, point is that I don't need someone looking after me.” 

……………..

Once (Y/n)’s finished their business in Mondstat she left for Liyue since the Lanturen Rite festival was about to take place. Little did they know that they would be met with the Liyue Qucixe. 

Ganyu, Keqing, and Nigguang were standing right on the entrance of the harbor, when you came into view Ganyu was the first to run toward you. She grabbed your cheeks in her hands with a worried expression on her face. 

“YOUR GRACE YOU’RE 14?!” She said slightly shaking you “WITH THE AMOUNT OF WORK YOU’VE BEEN DOING IT ISN’T GOOD FOR A CHILD!”

“Ganyu calm down, and let them go.”The bold voice of Ningguan said from behind Ganyu. She then turned to face you “Your Grace, it’s lovely to see you again.” She said with a smile on her face.

“It’s great to see you again too.”

“If you would like to come with me I have reserved a spot at the Liuli Pavillion if you would like to join me for lunch.”

“Of Course, I would love to join you.” 

Time skip d:

After a bit of talking and eating Ningguan cleared her throat and asked if she could have a serious talk with you about something.

“I have a feeling this is about my age.” You said while cleaning sauce off your mouth with a napkin. 

“Yes your Grace,” Ningguan said “I’m afraid that’s the problem.

Part 2?

[thornnii]

⎯ ☆ culture shocks

genre: platonic, fluff wordcount: 2.6k pairing: platonic!pogues x gn!reader tags: british!reader, exchange student!reader, reader is staying with the heywards, you/yours pronouns / 2nd person pov, underage drinking & smoking, swearing, does not stick to canon/pre-canon summary: a collection of moments where reader experiences some sort of culture shock while in america notes: it was weirdly harder than I expected it to be to come up with ideas. may end up doing a part two at some point

↳ return to masterlist

being a part of an extra-curricular exchange student program wasn’t something you’d always planned on doing, but with your english language a-level it was too good an opportunity to pass up. the only thing that put a damper on your excitement was the fact that you’d be going alone. it’s not that no one else in your class was taking part in the exchange student program, it was just unfortunate that you were the only one being sent to a small island called kildare on the east coast of the usa; it was quote-unquote “paradise on earth”. you were going to be staying with the heyward family. from what you were able to gather from the internet the outer banks was a string of barrier islands off the coast of north carolina and south-eastern virginia, a popular tourist destination, and seeing the differences in how the locals interacted with each other, along with how they interacted with tourists would be interesting and beneficial to your studies.

you finished packing up your suitcases, sitting on them as you zipped them up to try and squeeze in as much of your belongings as possible for this trip. the school only permitted two large suitcases and a carry-on bag for the trip, so it was vital to you that you packed everything you deemed essential for this trip to america; a brimming pencil case, at least two notebooks, your laptop, tablet, headphones, two different books, your journal, and anything else you could think of to keep you entertained during the 11+ hour fight. everything else that you wanted to take with you, such as half your wardrobe, your skincare and makeup supplies, and a plentiful supply of snacks, was distributed between your two suitcases.

at 8am the next morning, all students from your year were stood out at the front of school, waiting for the coach that would come and take you to the airport for your 10am flight. you hoped that there would be no delays. the coach ride was long and bumpy but being with your friends and classmates made it more bearable. you all went your separate ways at the airport, saying goodbye to each other and your teachers that had chaperoned the ride for the next few months.

your flight landed at 9:27pm at norfolk international airport and you were greeted outside the terminal by pope, who you’d started a penpal correspondship with as a part of the exchange student program, and an older man who you assumed to be his father. pope held up a large cardboard sign with your name painted, somewhat neatly, in bright colours. despite the slight feeling of embarrassment that swept through you, you couldn’t help the smile that appeared on your face. you walked over and greeted the pair, mr heyward offering to help you pick up your suitcases and load them into his truck.

the ferry ride from the mainland to the island didn’t take that long in comparison to your flight, but the jet lag seemed to make time feel as if it were crawling by instead. when you reached the heyward’s house, pope helped you to carry your luggage to the guest room that had been tidied up for your stay. unpacking took the better part of an hour with the occasional need for some rearranging, but finally all your belongings were safely stored.

pope introduced you to his group of friends the next day. there was jj maybank; a loud and boisterous blond, john b routledge; an easygoing brunette, and finally kiara carrera; a strong-minded beach lover even if she was technically from the rich side of the island, ‘figure eight’.

almost as soon as you’d opened your mouth to greet them, they’d begun asking about your accent. you explained about where you were from and therefore your accent which was followed by the dreaded “is that near london?” question, which you answered reluctantly. then jj was asking you about pronunciation, or rather he was asking you to say the ’stereotypically british’ phrases that floated around on the internet, such as ‘it’s tuesday, innit?’ and ‘a bottle of water.’. you had no idea if how you’d answered had been what he’d expected, but he seemed happy enough with your response.

something that seemed to surprise the pogues was the language that you used. obviously, the pogues were no strangers to swearing in conversation, but sometimes they seemed caught off guard by just how much you swore and the explicit words you used. more than once you’d have to explain to them how a lot of british language was based upon sarcasm and insults, even if they were meant in an affectionate or playful way.

such a moment was illustrated when you were on a call with one of your friends from england. it was noon back home so early in the morning in the obx; thankfully it was the weekend so you didn’t have to worry about any school related obligations. your friend was catching you up on events that had transpired since your departure, mainly gossip, and the pogues were curiously watching how you reacted to the news you were receiving. after one bit of slightly incredulous news you couldn’t help the retort of “that fat cunt!” slipping out. they all looked over at you shocked, but you hadn’t even noticed the looks your language had caused.

your call was over shortly after that, both you and your friend having other things that needed your attention. as you hung up the call, you finally noticed the expressions of your state-side friends. 

“what?” you breathed out in a sort of nervous-confusion.

“you just called someone a ‘fat cunt’.” Kiara said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“ah, right. okay.” you realised what she meant. “I didn’t mean that in the way you think. like she is a cunt but she’s not fat. I meant ‘fat’ as in how much of a cunt she is, is fat.” you explained. you had no idea if they understood your explanation but you hoped they did, otherwise you were going to seem like a massive cow.

“gonna be honest, I always thought that calling someone a ‘cunt’ was more of an australian thing.” jj interrupted your thoughts. his words made you shrug, “the british too, i guess. especially if you live up north.”

a week passed. you were beginning to feel settled in at the local high school you went to with Pope, who had introduced you to the rest of his friends. pope had talked about some sort of bonfire party that would be held on the beach. it was gathering that all on the island were welcome to, ‘kooks’, ‘pogues’ and ‘tourons’ alike. picking up the colloquial language and customs were easy with how much the division of the upper and lower class penetrated the island, you already had nearly half a notebook full of annotations about the different language use. this congregation of everyone on the island was an academic opportunity too good to give up. though you’d probably just have to try and recall things from memory, taking a notebook wouldn’t really be fit for a party.

the bonfire was in full swing when you and the others pulled up to the beach in john b’s old vw camper van, lovingly referred to as the ‘twinkie’. there were a few kegs of beer strewn around the beach and a few dozen cigarettes were lighting up the still dark of the night sky like fireflies. music was playing from a pair of large bluetooth speakers, some random, probably pre-made, spotify playlist so loud that the bass pushed the thoughts out of your head. a group of people had created a dance area by the speakers, so close that it was almost impossible to hear the person next to you over the throbbing of the music. many were singing along to the music as they danced.

the dancing didn’t interest you to begin with, opting instead to grab one of the infamous plastic red cups, so often seen in movies, filled with a cheap beer. as you took a sip you felt an arm wrapped around your shoulders. in your peripheral you saw the blond mop of hair that belonged jj, the arm around you holding a burning joint whilst the other held a beer of his own. he noticed the scrunch of your nose as you sipped you drink, pulling the red cup away from your lips as though it had offended you, and laughed at the expression.

“what’s the matter? beer too cheap for you?” he asked.

“nah, it’s not that. beer’s weak is all.” you replied.

“weak?” he pulled back slightly as he asked, looking at you directly.

“yeah. what percentage is it? like a 2%?”

“dunno. probably something like that.”

“drunk stronger.” you shrugged and took another sip.

jj just watched with an impressed smirk. the two of you remained in a comfortable silence for a few minutes longer, sipping your respective beers and sharing the burning weed. you’d seen kie drag pope and john b to the dance area a few songs ago, but were now unable to identify them amongst the ever growing mass of dancers that had concentrated over by the speakers. just then you heard an all too familiar song intro. it had you straightening up, blocking out whatever jj was saying to focus on the song. you were half certain you had misheard, but no, without a doubt, ‘mr brightside’ by the killers was playing.

“holy shit, it’s mr brightside!” you all but squealed.

“mr what? what- where are you going?” jj yelled as you took off across the beach towards the music.

it had caught you completely off guard that mr brightside had started playing, despite the fact that you knew the killers were from la, mr brightside was such a classic british song, you’d hear at the pub, every school disco, year 11 prom, sixth form prom and any other opportunity where music could be played. you were yelling the lyrics from the top of your lungs by the time you’d reached the crowd. since the song wasn’t as popular in america as it was in england part of the crowd had dispersed and it was thanks to this that you were able to locate kiara, pope and john b so quickly. kie began singing and swaying with you to the music, behind her jj was running up and weaving through the remaining throng of people. the pogues smiled at your display of excitement, it showed how comfortable you’d become in the short time you’d been in the states.

you and the rest of the pogues were having dinner over at john b’s house, ‘the chateau’. everyone had agreed to chip in to help in one way or another; pope was providing the food in the first place from his dad’s store, kie was going to bring over her family’s slow cooker for the vegetables, jj was going to barbecue roast the lamb chops, and you were going to cook the potatoes. since it was a sunday and the rest of the ingredients were there, apart from gravy but you refused to go near american gravy, you decided to do roast potatoes. a make-shift sunday roast if you will. kiara didn’t take long with the veg, just under 20 minutes and you were only 5 minutes behind her with the potatoes. you and kie dished up the food you two had respectively prepared just as jj called through that the lamb was done. you and the others took your plates out to him to get dished up, kie taking her own plate as well as jj's.

you’d all decided to eat outside, and all though the others were used to the coastal humidity it still got to you during the evening where there was nothing to do, nothing to keep your mind off the blazing heat. basic conversation was flowing through the group as you ate your food until jj called out to you glanced in jj's direction and saw him practically inhaling his meal.

“christ jj, you don’t need to scoff your food that fast. it ain’t going anywhere.” you commented with a raised brow.

“I’m whatting my food?” jj asked, mouth full.

“first of all, swallow.” you waited until he complied before continuing, “second of all, I said that you were scoffing your food. when someone is trying to inhale their food, like eating without chewing.” you explained before your attention was taken away by something else you hated about the island’s warm climate; the inescapable onslaught of mosquitos.

“fucking midges.” you muttered, squashing the one approaching your food between your hands.

“what’s that?” kiara asked.

“hmm, oh it’s nothing, just complaining to myself about the midges, the mosquitos.” you clarified.

the conversation petered off into small nothings again until everyone was finished. you and pope were taking the plates inside as kiara cleaned up the slow cooker as best she could before having to return home with it. john b and jj followed the three of you in, john b saying to the room at large: “you three did a great job with the food.” jj clapped him on the back while you and kie gave your thanks over your shoulders.

“yeah, although I thought you were gonna do boiled potatoes?” pope asked you.

“was going to, but since it’s a sunday and the rest of the food is pretty much the same, thought I’d do roasties, felt like a taste of home having a sunday roast.” pope nodded, understanding that it was probably a comfort to your homesickness.

something that had caught you off guard the minute you’d arrived in america was the truth of how in movies or tv shows most people left their shoes on inside the house. it was more than likely that if you were to try that at home you’d get skinned alive by your parents.

the first time you’d stumbled upon this fact was when you arrived at the heyward's house on your very first night in outer banks. as soon as you stepped into the house in front of pope, who was helping you to carry in your belongings, you began to take off your shoes. pope noticed what you were doing and laughed under his breath at your actions, “you don’t need to take your shoes off, y’know.” you glanced at him and then down at your shoes, “it's a habit, I guess.” you shrugged.

another time that you were reminded of this difference was when you visited john b’s house for the first time. the floors at the chateau were rough and wooden, meaning that bare feet would be at constant threat of splinters if one was to take their shoes off. you’d gotten used to wearing slippers or just socks around the heyward house since their floors were laminated, but around the chateau it was safest to keep shoes on, no matter how innately wrong it felt.

in a way, not taking shoes off was beginning to grow on you, even if you would rather take that to the grave than admit it out loud. it saved time since the pogues were almost always on the move and staying outside more often than they were indoors. a downside was that it did make your feet feel kinda gross staying in shoes all day without a proper chance at breathing. another con was the production of blisters that appeared on your ankles from the constant wear.

it also meant that you were going through socks like wildfire. at least one pair a day, sometimes more if you went to the beach where clothing easily got soaked. you missed the laminated and carpeted floors of home where socks were only soaked from a downpour of rain.

© thornnii.tumblr.com 2023

[xzho-writes]

dedicated to,

diluc x gn!reader

fluff

1.6k words

fine pieces of gravel crunch softly beneath two pairs of feet as you stroll across the pathway that leads towards the ragnvindr estate.

your right hand is snug within the grasp of your lover. with intertwined fingers you begin to absentmindedly swing them in an easy motion, back and forth and back again.

it’s well past midnight now. mondstadt is still. serene. there’s not a soul in sight, save for the man whose existence fills you with nothing but peace and an aching fondness.

diluc walks by your side in tandem with your gait so as not to overtake you. his presence, reminiscent to that of a steady and burning flame, is a welcome comfort against the chill of mondstadt’s cold night.

he’s awfully attentive like that. much more than he likes to admit.

it makes you want to kiss him silly sometimes, for spoiling you with such silent yet gentle care. makes you want to shower him with as much love as he gives.

and sometimes you do. quite often, actually.

within the private confines of your shared bedroom you would litter kisses along the expanse of his bared skin, along the trails of his scars both old and new— your lips a lowly pilgrim and his body the holiest site.

yes, perhaps that’s the first thing you should do as soon as the pair of you settle in for the night. kiss him into a stupor.

a small thank you in exchange for how often he pampers you— which, in fact, is very often indeed. physically and emotionally speaking. financially too, if you were being completely honest.

not that you were complaining. no, never.

you bask in his love and adoration like a flower under the sun.

“tell me, my dearest darknight hero. was this your way of courting me? taking me on a moonlit stroll by the lake.”

there’s that familiar lilt in your voice that diluc knows all too well. he sours at the mention of his egregious alibi, grimacing at you with his pretty face before sighing halfheartedly.

he’s cute, really. he always is. especially when the tips of his ears glow just the faintest hue of carmine.

“how strange,” diluc grumbles lightly at your jest. there’s no malice in the sound, though. only that of feigned exasperation. “i was under the impression that what we have is merely platonic.”

you truly do love it when he takes your bait. diluc is a lot of fun like that, not that anyone else would know given his stoic demeanour.

it’s one of your many guilty pleasures, having the privilege of experiencing this side of him.

there’s a grin stretched across your face that you can’t seem to quite control. “i don’t suppose you go on scandalous, romantic rendezvous like this with your other platonic relations?”

“this is hardly anything scandalous.”

“perhaps. but,” you drawl, “you don’t deny that this is rather romantic, then?”

a minute hitch in his voice as he tries to counter your accusations satisfies something within you. you can’t really help but snicker.

diluc gifts you with another unamused frown as you beam and titter at him cheekily.

with your need to pester him somewhat sated, your arms snake upwards to wrap themselves around his bicep as you snuggle into his warmth.

you’re quite sleepy now that you think about it. diluc is terribly cosy, too. who could blame you for your growing drowsiness?

“i’m only teasing you, ‘luc.”

the man shakes his head softly, fluffy bangs swaying with the movement. “you always do, love.”

well, he wasn’t exactly wrong. a small yawn slips past your lips— a telltale indication of fatigue. diluc doesn’t miss it despite the way you attempt to hide it behind your free hand.

“yeah… ‘m sorry,” you offer.

“somehow i question your sincerity.”

there’s a soft pressure against your head. you know the feel of his lips more than you know the sound of your own name, and you recon you know diluc well enough to discern his innermost thoughts voiced through his actions.

but i forgive you. i’d let you tease me forever if that’s what you so please.

it wasn't always so easy to figure him out. truthfully it was quite the struggle initially, what with how guarded the man is considering his past. you couldn't be more grateful for the patience and trust he's extended to you.

alas, your train of thought is cut off short when diluc suddenly stops to scoop you into his arms, one hooked below your knees and the other around your back. to his credit it was a seamless action, but it doesn’t stop the startled yelp that jumps out of you as you instinctively cling to his neck.

“now this is definitely scandalous, you brute! a warning would be nice at least.”

“my apologies,” he chuckles, securing you tighter in his hold. “want me to put you back down?”

you feign annoyance with the furrow of your brows, pretending to ponder for a moment, before pecking his cheek. “don’t even think about it.”

diluc is kind enough to heed your wishes (he almost always does). though, you doubt he would’ve set you down regardless actually.

the two of you lapse into a comfortable silence as diluc continues the journey home, and you take this time to finally rest your eyes. it’s easy to let yourself go like this with him around.

diluc had always exuded such dependable warmth but it was even more noticeable now, what with you being nestled in his arms. you’d have fallen asleep right then and there if it wasn’t for the sudden recollection that hits you.

when the both of you were lazing beneath a tree by the city’s waters just half an hour ago, you couldn’t help but notice a strange bump on his finger as you played with his gloved hands.

you didn’t need to see it to know what it was, though. after all, the physical manifestation of diluc’s devotion to you is not too dissimilar to the one on your own finger.

a simple golden ring.

it was a pleasant surprise to discover him adorning his wedding band. the both of you had agreed upon hiding your marriage for a number of reasons, but the greatest by far was to do with your safety.

unbeknownst to many, diluc is an enemy to a large number of dangerous individuals. an entire nation's military, even. he cannot afford, cannot bear, to place a target on your back.

perhaps it was for the best.

with your head resting comfortably against his chest, you slowly extend your left hand towards your husband’s face, just beneath his nose.

no words are exchanged as diluc reverently presses his lips to your ring finger. it’s nothing but a chaste kiss, but diluc seems to linger on your skin even as you try to pull away.

you can’t help but sigh contentedly.

“someone wore their ring today. when we were by the lake earlier— i could feel it. underneath your glove.”

“hmm? ah,” it takes diluc a moment to figure out who you were referring to, but he gives you a simple nod once it dawns on him. “i did, yes. it seems that you did, too.”

“mhm.”

diluc doesn’t bother to stifle a smile at the progressive grogginess of your voice. silence ensues for a moment or two until another thought crosses your mind.

“it’s really pretty.”

your husband hums. it’s a low and soothing sound, one that comes from deep within his chest. “mine or yours?”

“my one, of course,” you quip matter-of-factly. “but yours is pretty too, i suppose.”

diluc finds himself chuckling at your forwardness. “ah, i see.”

usually you tend not to think too hard about the tenderness often heard in his voice when he speaks to you, lest you end up bursting with intense emotion.

you swear to the archons you’re normally not this emotional, but diluc seems to have a knack for rendering you so.

you're glad the sentiment is mutual.

it took a great deal of time, patience and understanding to get this far in your relationship. diluc isn’t, has never been, an open book. it was a privilege to even skim through a few of his well-worn pages, so the fact that he willingly let and still lets you read and indulge in all his chapters is something you hold most dearly in your heart.

you've seen countless pages blotted with the tears he had shed in his past. pages stained in crimson with the blood of his late father, of his brother. his own. diluc held you close that night as you wept for him and his tragic past, wiped your tears with your face cradled in his palm.

you couldn't have guessed the significance of that vulnerable moment at the time, nor could you have guessed the impact it would have on your budding relationship.

following that night you noticed certain pages within his novel that had your name etched in graphite within them. sometimes smudged and illegible, other times neat and with clear purpose.

what you found out much later was that he hadn’t just written you in pencil— hadn't just left you as a scribble amongst the sea of ornately written words.

diluc had inked you in. engraved your name into the parchment of his skin, immortalising you within the story of his very soul.

with the sound of your husband’s steady breathing, coupled with the rhythmic rise and fall of his firm chest, you're finally lulled to sleep.

kissing him stupid will have to wait until morning comes.

taglist; @tellerluna-stories @roguebox @searriously (pls ask if you wanna be added or removed from the taglist!)

[slythering-snake-boys]

Old Friends (Sebastian Sallow x Reader/MC x Ominis Gaunt)

Characters: Sebastian Sallow x Reader/MC x Ominis Gaunt

Words: 4059

Warnings: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, can be read as platonic or romantic, spoilers for the game, mentions of death, somewhat of an AU because of certain major events not matching what happens canonically

A/N:

Without spoiling too much, I love adding this character, especially since it didn't seem fair to only have one of them

Solomon is alive

Halloween was fast approaching and the entirety of Hogwarts was excited for this year's festivities. And despite everything that had happened during your fifth-year, you were somewhat excited as well. After all, the wizarding world was currently safer, including all your friends. Though it all came with a price.

As you got ready to go downstairs to the Great Hall, you looked into the mirror one more time. There were bags under your eyes even now. No matter how much you slept, it didn't help. With a sigh, you looked through your trunk by the bed, getting a beautification potion that you'd managed to brew specifically for such cases.

The effects were immediate, the bags disappearing and more colour filling your cheeks and the rest of your face, making you appear livelier. The downside was that the potion didn't help your eyes change - they still looked quite distant and held a pretty faraway look in them. But who could blame you, really? You'd fought Ranrok, watched Sebastian almost murder his uncle and witnessed the death of your mentor, Professor Fig. You weren't too sure the nightmares would ever go away.

As you applied just a little bit of lipstick and looked over your dress one more time, you thought about what you might possibly see this year and what you'd do afterwards, in the future. The excited chatter and giggling from outside the girls' dorm room made your train of thought derail. With a sigh, you straightened up and left, going downstairs and leaving the common room.

"Took you a while, MC." You looked up as the entrance to your House's common room closed behind you, seeing Sebastian and Ominis. They were both dressed nicely, but more leisurely. "But I can see why." You laughed at Sebastian's words, seeing a teasing smirk grace his face. Which promptly left and turned into a pout because of Ominis elbowing him in the sides. You couldn't help laughing at the two of them playfully bickering, relieved to see their friendship was still intact and, hopefully, stronger than ever.

You were glad that you'd managed to stop Sebastian in that tomb. Otherwise, who knows what might've happened. Right now, Sebastian had pretty much given up on the Dark Arts, finding his new chance of curing Anne in you. It had taken a lot of persuasion and arguments, but in the end, you and Ominis managed to get him to stop pursuing that dark path.

"Keep your hands to yourself at least for tonight, Sebastian." Ominis sighed before turning towards you with a smile. "Hello, darling. I'm sure you look beautiful, if the girls fawning over you as they were leaving was of any indication." You felt yourself flush a little at his words, seeing Sebastian smirk. You jokingly glared at him before coming closer to the two Slytherin boys.

"You two look really nice this evening. And my, oh my, Sallow. Is that...cologne? Old Eau de Confringo not attracting the ladies anymore?" He pouted and glared at you playfully while Ominis snickered.

"You're never gonna let this go, are you?"

"Nope. After witnessing 7 people describe one of the scents in Amortentia as Confringo, for lack of a better word, during Professor Sharp's lesson a few weeks ago... You can't really blame me, can you?" The brunette huffed and crossed his arms, the blush on his face highlighting his scattered freckles like little stars.

"Well, as much as I'd like to take the day off and make more fun of Sebastian and his fangirls, I'd like for the three of us to go and enjoy some Pumpkin Pasties and Butterbeer. After all, you two have been badgering me about this for the past month, so we better not be wasting time. I still have to write my paper on Felix Felicis for Tuesday." Ominis explained as he got up, his wand already glowing as he looked in your direction. Sebastian got up as well and you linked your arms with his then with Ominis'.

"Don't worry, Ominis. You'll be a lot more relaxed after tonight and you can write your paper tomorrow, after a good sleep. I have to get some information for Professor Shah's class, but I'll do it tomorrow night since it's going to be clear. Tonight is all about relaxing and enjoying ourselves." Sebastian grinned and nodded at your words, flexing his arm enough for you to feel it and look up at him with a smile.

"Exactly. I don't want to hear about homework for tonight, thank you very much. That can wait. For now, though, Butterbeer is in order." He commented, already mentally drooling at the thought of all the treats commissioned by Hogwarts from Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks. It was the same every year, but there was always a new product, as some sort of a thank you for most of the clients being Hogwarts students.

With those words, the three of you walked towards the Great Hall, talking and laughing along the way. And the party was in full swing, with friends and classmates laughing and mingling. The scent of different Honeydukes sweets and Butterbeer permeated the air and made your stomachs grumble. With practised ease, Sebastian moved his arm around your shoulders while Ominis' hand barely touched your lower back as they both led you to the refreshments table.

The next few hours were spent socialising, laughing, drinking and stuffing yourselves full. You were almost never without any of the two Slytherins, especially since Sebastian had told Ominis about some of the other students ogling you and seeming ready to come and ask you either to a dance or on a date. Some bolder ones had tried, but the look in the two boys' eyes, with or without your knowledge, made anyone turn tail and walk away. It wasn't that they were jealous, no. They just...hated the idea of you being asked out just because of your status as the 'Hero of Hogwarts', as they had agreed in the Undercroft. Yeah, that was it, no other reasons, surely.

"Everyone, if I may have your attention, please!" You all turned towards the podium, seeing Professor Weasley, who smiled at the crowd of students having a good time. "As you may be aware, Headmaster Black is currently engaged in other business with the Ministry until next week. As a result, I will be the one to make some special announcements tonight. Let's start with the first one: the Ghosts of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, who have graciously accepted our suggestion of dancing for us tonight. Let's give them a warm welcome!"

Everyone started clapping as the aforementioned ghosts glided inside the Great Hall through the walls and open doors, some passing above the students, others through, making them shiver. Everyone made room for the ghostly residents of the castle and Hogsmeade as they danced in sync, echoing laughter intertwining with the music played by both the enchanted instruments and the musicians' portraits, whose residents had been invited to accompany them. You all watched the ghosts dancing, the two boys flanking you from either side.

Ominis froze and turned his head around a little, his wand able to somewhat sense the commotion, curious before feeling a smile overtake his face. When the dance was over, everyone applauded. You and Sebastian talked about it before you saw him flinch and yelp comically. You looked at him with a chuckle as he looked back, his jaw becoming slack. You turned as well, seeing Anne. She still appeared a little pale but you were more overjoyed to see her than anything. Sebastian, you and Ominis all hugged her, happy to see her back at Hogwarts.

"What are you doing here?" Sebastian asked her, beyond curious.

"Professor Weasley invited me. Told me there was a special occasion tonight and that I shouldn't miss it. Uncle Solomon is just over there, talking with her." You all looked where she was pointing, seeing the older man as he greeted several of your teachers. Sebastian scoffed a little but didn't say anything else, not when he felt you squeeze one of his hands reassuringly.

His relationship with Solomon hadn't improved much, especially after he almost cast the Killing Curse on their uncle. Still, with a bit of coaxing and many, many promises and reassurances from you and Ominis and plenty of begging from Anne, Sebastian was allowed to visit Anne and Feldcroft again. Though he wasn't allowed to bring anything he thought might cure Anne - not without proper research, official clearance by a professor or a doctor, and certainly not without him present.

Sebastian had protested immediately and promptly left the house, taking his frustration out on the training dummies outside. You all left him to vent, but he knew he couldn't win. And with you and Ominis coming out after a while to discuss with him, he finally relented. And as much as he would've tried to sneak past his uncle, you and Ominis had put your faith in him and told him so. Which made the brunette feel guilty and actually respect his promise.

"Did she tell you anything else about this special occasion?" You asked the girl, effectively ending the awkward moment the four of you had found yourselves in. Anne shook her head.

"Nothing. I tried to ask her and even Uncle Solomon, but he didn't know anything either. But I'm glad to be back here nonetheless." You both smiled at each other and hugged before the boys did the same. She asked you all questions about classes and your adventures, and you all told her different anecdotes, making her laugh so hard until her cheeks had gained a rosy, healthy colour.

"Is it me or does it seem a bit more crowded this year? Or is my wand not doing its job properly?" Ominis asked with furrowed brows. You and the twins looked around, noticing how many ghosts were actually gliding and dancing around and above you.

"There are a lot more ghosts here, that's certain..." Sebastian mumbled, his height offering him an advantage as he looked over most of the heads of those around him, noticing that there were indeed more ghosts than usual.

"What's going on?" You asked as you looked around and then at Sebastian.

"I'm not entirely sure..." He whispered, looking above almost everyone else's heads curiously.

"Attention, everyone!" Professor Weasley's voice once again made everyone turn towards the podium. Seeing that everyone's attention was on her, she smiled and continued talking with a smile. "Given that tonight is Halloween and there are so many of us gathered here, I'd like to announce another special event that will be taking place shortly. You may have noticed how many otherworldly guests are here tonight. There is a good reason for that." Her eyes almost seemed to lock on your group of four and she smiled wider, almost motherly. "They have been able, in their own unique way and thanks to the latter's strong bond to Hogwarts, to help us call forth some of our former and beloved teachers who have left us too early. Mainly, Professor Fig and Mr and Mrs Sallow."

At the sound of those words, the three of you froze and felt everyone's eyes on you, whispers starting to raise in numbers. The sound of quiet voices from behind you made you all turn in that direction. At first, you couldn't see anything, though soon you heard Sebastian gasp, watching as his eyes filled with tears and his chin and lower lip trembled. Your hand involuntarily squeezed his hand and you felt him squeeze back.

The students and other ghosts moved to the sides of the Great Hall, enough to make way for the three special guests. You felt tears well up in your eyes at the sight of the transparent figure of your former mentor who was smiling, nodding and greetings those he passed by. When his eyes locked onto yours, his smile widened and you felt the tears finally slide down your cheeks as you smiled back. He stopped in front of you, looking down at you proudly with a big smile on his face.

"It's good to see you again, my young friend."

"H-Hello, Professor Fig. It's great to see you again, sir." You sniffled, unable to stop yourself from crying and wanting to hug him, despite knowing you'd go right through him. Seemingly uncaring of such trivial things, he came forward and hugged you, making you shiver at the cold feeling passing through you. But you tried to give him a hug without going through him, happy to know that he was still somehow there.

You looked to the side, seeing Anne and Sebastian crying as their parents talked with them with smiles on their faces. The twins were both red in the face from all the crying and your heart ached because of how clearly they missed their parents. But you were glad to know that they managed to see them again, even if it was after quite a while.

"Mr Gaunt! My boy, you've grown taller than me!" Professor Fig leaned back, looking at Ominis with a wide smile. Ominis smiled and bowed his head, coming to sit by you as one of his arms went around your waist, half embracing you.

"I have? That's good to know. Sebastian always tells me I'm shorter than him." You chuckled, your voice sounding watery, but you leaned into Ominis' side.

"Don't worry, this will be our secret." Professor Fig winked, making you smile.

"Mom, Dad, these two troublemakers are MC and Ominis, my best friends here." You, Ominis and Professor Fig turned around, watching the Sallow twins come to stand by you, presenting the translucent figures of their parents.

"Hello, Mr and Mrs Sallow. A pleasure to meet you." Ominis bowed politely and you nodded and smiled, watching them.

"Likewise. It's good to finally meet the two of you. Thank you for taking care of Sebastian and Anne all those years." Their praise made the two of you flush, but you smiled nonetheless. You knew that they had most probably been watching over their two children, despite not being alive for so many years already.

"By the way, who are you calling troublemakers, Sebastian? Last time I checked, you were the detention master here, not me and MC." Sebastian flushed and pouted.

"Surely your parents already know about your...reputation here, Sebastian?" His parents nodded and Sebastian pouted even more, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away with an obvious blush. Anne giggled and patted his back.

You spent the rest of the night talking with most of the invited ghosts, including Jackdaw, who was thrilled to see you doing well and still alive, especially knowing that you'd survived what had brought his early demise. Even Professor Fig and the older Sallows talked with others, students and ghosts alike, though your eyes were almost always going to them for fear that they'd disappear. You and Ominis stayed close to Sebastian and Anne, understanding that they were suffering even more since they'd lost their parents and were finally meeting them again after around 10 years.

"So... You're only here for tonight, professor?" You asked Professor Fig as you looked up at him before glancing towards Mr and Mrs Sallow as they were back next to Sebastian and Anne. He nodded, smile dimming a little.

"Until 4 AM, I'm afraid." You visibly deflated. Twenty more minutes. And from what you'd understood, their ghosts had to leave. Probably forever. This had been a special, unique opportunity. You didn't know if something like this could ever happen again.

"The witching hour, huh?" He nodded at your almost silent words, looking at you with a sad, pitiful smile.

"Sadly, yes... I could become another one of Hogwarts' ghosts, but..."

"No, no, sir... You've chosen...because of Miriam, right? And Mr Osric." Your mentor nodded. You smiled, happy to know that he could now meet those dear to him again. "I'm glad to know that you have been reunited again. I know how much you missed her..." Professor Fig smiled and nodded.

"I can see that Mr Sallow and Mr Gaunt are both keeping a close eye on you." You felt like blushing, but schooled your emotions and only smiled before glancing at the two young men in question. They were both on either side of Anne, talking with the Sallows.

"Sebastian and I have been on many adventures together... And Ominis has tagged along quite often, more out of worry for us than anything. But he's had his share of fun with us, especially when we were saving captured beasts."

"They both care a great deal about you and I can see that you care about them as well."

"They are some of my closest friends here. Along with Poppy, Natty and Amit... We've all had our share of...dangerous adventures. But we've only come out stronger in the end." Professor Fig smiled proudly.

"I know that your fight isn't over. If what the Keepers have told us is true...it will never be truly over. But I feel relieved knowing that you aren't facing everything alone. And I am very proud of you for how brave you are. For how far you've come. And for how much you're staying true to yourself. I know you'll do great things. But please, remember to also take care of yourself. Let others take care of the world and recover. Physically, mentally and emotionally." He was as caring as always, trying to take care of you and offer you advice even from beyond the grave.

"Thank you, Professor Fig... I will." You nodded. You could almost hear the minutes ticking by. He will leave soon, you thought. I won't see him again.

The thoughts made you tear up and a lump started forming in your throat. A hand on your shoulder made you tense before looking back, seeing Sebastian, Anne and Ominis, along with Mr and Mrs Sallow. The twins were both smiling, though their noses and cheeks were a little red and their eyes red-rimmed and filled with unshed tears. Ominis came to your other side and took your hand in his, with Sebastian and Anne on your other side as he held onto your other hand while also holding onto Anne's. The twins' parents stood next to your former mentor, looking at you all.

"We are very proud of you. All of you." Mrs Sallow said, looking at each one of you four. You heard Anne sniffle. Sebastian straightened up, breathing in deeply to keep himself from crting even more.

"I'm glad that you're all watching over one another and I know you'll be there for each other no matter what." Mr Sallow followed. You squeezed the boys' hands, feeling them squeeze back.

"And we will always watch over you, rest assured. You'll never be truly alone." Professor Fig smiled at all of you. You all smiled and nodded in response.

Mrs Sallow came a little closer, har hand trying to brush both of their cheeks. The tips of her fingers went through and Anne had obviously felt the coldness. The knowledge that they couldn't feel each other's touch, whether a hug or a pat on the back, made Sebastian swallow thickly.

"Sebastian... Anne... Oh, you two have grown so much... I'm so proud of you for how we'll you're doing..." Mrs Sallow whispered, visibly getting emotional. "We love you two very much. Never forget it." Mr Sallow only seemed to pull her closer as he smiled at his two children.

"You'll be okay. Both of you. We have faith in you." He added. Anne sniffled and hugged Sebastian's side tightly as he nodded, tears brimming his eyeline.

"We love you, too. Please, w-watch over us." He said with a slight stutter, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from bawling out like his twin sister.

"Everyone!" Professor Weasley's voice pierced through the air. "It is almost time for our guests to return. I would like to thank them once again for gracing us with their presence and for their help in allowing us to see those we've lost once more. As a final thought for those who will be leaving us... For being in our lives... For making us better versions of ourselves... For offering us advice and helping us grow up... For believing in us. Thank you." Everyone clapped, the sound echoing while a few of those in the audience cheered loudly.

Professor Fig and the Sallows all smiled at the four of you before you saw their translucent figures gradually disappear until they became as small as a pale blue match flame. They lingered for a few more seconds before the blue wisps turned even smaller and started floating away, along with the other ghosts who weren't Hogwarts residents.

It was quiet between the four of you as you stood there, stuck to the same spot almost in a daze.

"Anyone else in need of some fresh air?" Ominis asked tentatively, to which you all agreed quietly and walked out of the Great Hall, feeling a few people staring at your figures. Once outside, you sat down on the nearest benches, staring at the barely cloudy sky, watching the stars glinting on the inky sky. The air was cold enough that you could see your breath every time you exhaled.

"Are you two okay?" You asked Anne and Sebastian quietly. Sebastian was staring at the sky with a blank look on his face while Anne was wiping her nose with a handkerchief.

"I wish we had more time..." Sebastian whispered, feeling tears well up in his eyes again. You got up and came over to him, hugging him tightly as he embraced you back, soon hearing him sniffle as the top of your dress soaked up his tears.

"I know... I wish for the same thing. But it's okay. Now...we know that they're there, watching us. And we got to see them. To talk to them. I..." You licked your lips as you took a shuddering breath so you wouldn't start crying again, your fingers going through his now unruly locks while Ominis scooted closer, rubbing his best friend's back comfortingly. "I'm glad we were able to do this. It feels like a part of me is back." Anne sniffled once more before breathing in and out to clear her head. She stared at the sky for a moment before smiling and nodding.

"You're right... I never thought I'd ever see them again and now... Now I feel as if we got some sort of...closure." You nodded and kissed the top of Sebastian's head. You felt his arms tighten around you and bury his face more into your chest, seeking more of your comfort and warmth.

"Seb? Are you alright?" He had stopped crying and was only taking deep breaths. Instead of answering, he leaned back a bit, his eyes, nose and cheeks evidently red from all the crying. But he nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"I'll be fine." He answered simply. "Thank you for being there for us, you two." Anne beamed at you and nodded while Ominis and you only smiled back.

"What about you, MC? How are you feeling after all this?" Anne asked you. You sighed before smiling.

"I actually feel...good. I managed to tell Professor Fig a lot of the things I didn't get to. I feel more at peace with the situation. And I'm glad he and Miriam are together once again." Anne and Ominis nodded thoughtfully, though the smiles on their faces indicated that they were relieved you were feeling better. True to your words, you seemed to be carrying yourself better now. As if you felt lighter, like a burden had been taken off your shoulders.

Sebastian embraced you once more, though he didn't start crying again. Anne came closer and put her arms around her twin brother, having him put an arm around her in response. And you pulled Ominis closer, hugging him as well. Merlin knows you all needed the comfort.

"We're going to be alright." You all nodded, squeezing the other a little tighter.

[meganlpie]

Announcement!

So, as I posted a few months ago, my old laptop decided to poop the bed as far as writing goes. I have been trying to recover all the fics that I had started and lost. Unfortunately I was not able to recover all of them and I do not have the emotional capacity to restart all the ones after all the work I put in.

Below the cut is the list of requests that I was able to recover. If you don't see your request, I'm afraid it is lost and I am so, so, so, sorry! If your request is listed, you can still feel free to take it to another writer if you wish!

Recovered requests:

*What’s Your Poison?: Hello, I saw that requests are open and wanted to ask if you would be willing to write something for Gabriel from Supernatural. Something were you always see him eat sweets amd just can’t help but wonder if there is a treat he loves and something he absolutely hates, which leads up to getting him to just try sooo many different sweet treats. Maybe him finding one that he absolutely hates and just teasing at the end. Hope this makes sense! If you don’t feel like writing it, it’s no problem. Thank you anyways and have a good day! from curious-trickster

*Battle Scars: Hi! I hope you’re doing alright. May I request a Beorn x Human!Reader who accompanies Thorin on his quest and Beorn takes a liking to them. Possibly with some angst during the Battle of the Five Armies and maybe a glimpse of life after the war? Thank you! AND May I request a Beorn x reader fic? Beorn saves the reader from Orcs or they’re part of the company and he’s intrigued by them, even suggesting they could stay. They meet again during the battle (imagine the angst). After the battle they consider visiting his cottage and after some a couple of days decide to stay with Beorn. Thank you very much 😊 by chaostwinsofdestruction

*I Feel Safe With You: May I request an Aragorn x reader (platonic) fic? I was thinking he took her under his wing for a while as Strider and they got separated and she was taken from him. She escapes but doesn’t know how to find him. She’s on her own for a while then as she’s wandering the forest alone some men come and attack her. She gets knocked out or wounded then Aragorn shows up and saves her. He’s been tracking her the whole time. When she comes too or the danger is gone they have a sweet reunion and she finally feels safe again. As always feel free to tweak it or take it where ever you’d like. by iwillbeinmynest

*I Can’t Marry You: Do you think I could request one where the reader is engaged to Boromir but she and Faramir are in love? Denethor doesn’t care and expects Boromir to marry her. Angsty with whatever ending you choose?

*A Fevered Proposal: Hi meg!! I saw your requests are open and here I am again!! If you could, could you please write a post Azkaban Sirius (exonerated sirius, idk how but it happens ok!) Taking care of a fever delirious reader, who in the height of her delirium asks sirius to marry her. He says something along the lines of “darling, we’ve talked about this, I wouldnt make a good husband” to which she replies with “you already have, if just like it on official paper” then she goes off the ramble some nonsense but it leaves sirius thinking. That yeah they are committed to eachother in every sense of the word and he has often seen the look of longing she gets when she sees Molly and Arthur together being all wifey and husbandy. So once shes sleeping soundly, he pops out for a bit, buys a ring and keeps it in his pocket so that as soon as her fever breaks he: (A) hands it to her so that she can propose to him proper Or (B) proposes to her I’ll leave the ending up to you!! Thanks in advance meg and hope you’ve been well!! by gollyderek

*What We Have: Did I read that right? You’re writing for Hogwarts Legacy characters? If that’s the case, may I request either a Professor Sharp x reader(f) where reader is the new professor taking over Professor Fig’s class and the two hit it off, but it’s like sunshine and grump trope mixed with a little “I like you, but don’t want to ruin what we’ve got going on” trope?

**How Wrong You Are: OR a fic where, after the events of the game, reader(f!MC) is the center of gossip like is she dating someone and her besties are curious?(continued) and she is dating someone, but they’ve been enjoying the secret. Like MC gets a kick out of how wrong people can be. I’ll leave it to you to who she’s dating, but I was thinking either Sebastion, Ominis, Gareth, or(and please don’t hate me) Leander. Whichever request interests or inspires you more. Thank you!!

Again, I am so very sorry I've lost so many requests, but rest assured I am working on the ones I was able to save. Thank you for your patience and understanding! Lots of love!

-Meg

[sharpwitfic]

Aesop Sharp X Reader (Platonic... for now)

Game Spoilers, Obviously. Part 1/?

Haters, DNI. It's a game. I only like drama in my fics.

In the months following your battle against Ranrock, everyone was quick to congratulate you on your incredible feat. Butterbeer poured freely from strangers upon your visits to Hogsmeade, strangers tipped their hats in gratitude, and the students who whispered about you following your arrival seemed to become your dearest friends overnight, all because Professor Fig’s ambition led you down the road you now traveled alone.

You could see ancient magic, but it seemed no one could see you. Of the few who tried to look past the heroic facade, most only saw a foolish young woman who had no business fighting anything. One person, however, looked beyond all of the smoke and mirrors surrounding your victory and saw your pain. Professor Aesop Sharp knew pain like an old nemesis. Seeing such pain in the eyes of someone so determined, talented, and too young to be so deeply hurt stirred in him a great deal of anguish, though it was the compassion brewing within him that caught him off guard.

There was little he could say to you about his growing affinity for you, pride in all you had accomplished in such a short time. He knew you had a mentor in Professor Hecate, and he knew he hadn’t kept an open door for his students, preferring to keep his office quiet and evenings to himself. He had convinced himself he had no right to extend an invitation to send a letter of recommendation to the ministry regarding your interest in becoming an unspeakable or to offer you a recipe for a calming draught after he heard rumors of your nightmares. He wasn’t like Professors Ronen or Garlick. He had built stronger boundaries between professor and friend.

“We owe you our gratitude,” was all he had said. Two years had gone by, and he wondered, perhaps, if that were all he would ever allow himself to say to you on the matter. He hadn’t said fighting at your side had Made him feel alive again for the first time since his hip had been shattered. He hadn’t said he watched you enter your first class shy and was proud to see you grow into your confidence in your magic, then heartbroken to see you withdraw into your pain after the tragedy. Yes, he saw your tragedy where others saw victory.

That was what he longed to say to you. If he ever allowed himself the chance.

[ashthemadwriter-archived]

Heyyy Had a smol request to make! I really loved the headpat hcs you wrote <33 if possible, could you please write some for Chuuya and Akutagawa too? Take your time! Stay hydrated, and take care of yourself <333

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairings: Chuuya, Akutagawa X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor

Format: Headcanons

Warnings: None

Word Count: 0.9K

A/n: When you said that you wanted to send a request I didn't think you meant this lmao. I suffered till I got some ideas XD

I got a bit carried away with Chuu btw🤧

Part 1 with Dazai, Fyodor and Ranpo

↬Ryuunosuke Akutagawa

◆I honestly think that having a platonic relationship with this guy is really fun! And maybe even better than romantic.(Don't ask me why cuz that's just another story)

◆He isn't used to have someone as a friend, so this is all new to him and hes still, you know, testing the water.

◆It will take him a lot of time to get used to, well, You; but he will eventually if youre trustworthy and capable enough.

◆He cares for you in his own particular way, and by that I mean that no one is capable to notice it. Not even you yourself; but he does care, and that's what that matters.

"Oh my god I'm Exhausted!" is what you say when you inter the room and throw yourself on the couch, taking a deep breath while relaxing your body. "Mori is planning on killing me by sending me to these death missions! I can feel it! " Turning your head to the silent man who was slowly taking a sip from his tea, you sulked and got upset because he was totally ignoring you. "As I was saying… the damn snipers were shooting at me from everywhere! I nearly got shot in the head if my men hadn't blocked them!" Even a tiny glance was enough for you, but Akutagawa was still silent, pretending you didn't exist at all, and this made you angry. "Oi! Goth boy!" "…" "Fig wasting machine!" "…" "Twenty year old man who doesn't know how to smile!" "…" Knowing him for quite a long time, you knew how to catch his attention, but it was a risk you were willing to take, which you weren't before because you weren't that close in the beginning. "Oi! Coward!" The second those words came out of your mouth, the man looked at you sending daggers through his eyes, while forming a blade out of his coat, ready to attack you. What he was not expecting was for you to smile and move closer to him. "What? Are you a coward?" "Do you have a death wish?" "Then why did you look at me when I called you that?" His blade slowly came down as he stared at you a bit more, then went back on drinking his tea. You rolled your eyes and then turned your head to the opposite direction, and started whining to yourself in a low voice. "Well what am I even expecting from you. You don't care if I even die or anything. I come to your office everyday trying to make conversation but all you do is just ignoring me. You don't even look at me! Like, do you hate me that much? But why? what did I d-" your words were immediately cut off by the sensation of his hand on your head, slowly patting you; And when you looked at him, he was looking back, and not in a threatening way. "Good job" Now it was your turn to be silent. Not because you wanted to get back at him; but because you were caught off guard and didn't know how to react. "Happy? Now shut up and let me have my tea in peaceful silence"

↬Chuuya Nakahara

◆Being in a platonic relationship with this guy is just so entertaining! Hes fun, interesting, brave, cool, etc.

◆But the thing is, hes been betrayed so many times that he just cant fully trust you. He wont show it at all though. He will chat with you, drink with you and stuff, but hes still afraid if youre gonna be like his old "friends" .He will eventually trust you if you two spend time together.

◆But it will take a lot of time, cause he did considered Dazai as his friend for 4 whole years; but then…

◆Anyway, hes literally the best if youre willing to put up with his short temper :)

"I hate everything in this shitty world!" "What now?" you grab the bottle of wine from his hand and drinking it till theres not even a drop left, then throw the bottle out of the window. Chuuya would have been be mad if you weren't this angry and tired, but luckily, you had enough that day. "I say hello and they give me work. I run into them in the hallway and they give me work. work, work, work. What am I? A stupid robot or something?" Chuuya looked at you carefully while opening the next bottle, trying to hide it so you wont snatch this one from him too. "Well, you get paid a lot in exchange, so its kind of fair" "Fair? Fair?" Dramatic as always, you sat next to him while covering your face with your hands, trying to fight the anger that was taking over you. "Making you work like a damn machine isn't fair! And were risking our lives by working in the mafia! I nearly died a while ago on the mission! And do you know what they did? Nothing! Nobody even bothered to sat "Thanks for working this hard" or "are you ok?" or "Well done" or- " "Well done. I'm proud of you" Frozen in the spot, you look at him with surprise and shock, while he gives you a small smile that melts your heart. "Awwwwwwwww Chuuuuuu! Waaaaaaaa!" Throwing yourself in his arms, you begin to cry as you wrapped your arms around him. "I love you so much! what am I supposed to do without you! Waaaaa(crying*)!" Chuuya slowly patted your back as he tried to act smooth and not to blush furiously. "Its ok y/n… its ok"

Reblogs are apprecaited!

[thehomeofplatonicfics]

Curiosity Killed the Cat

MC!Reader x Sebastian Sallow (platonic!)

Sebastian was definitely keeping a wide berth from you, you knew this much. What you didn’t know was why. He had been trying to sort out all his dark thoughts, his tumultuous feelings, the guilt of what happened to his uncle and losing Anne, possibly forever. You had done so much for him, he had realised this now. However, you had your own troubles and burdens; the loss of your dear Professor Fig, and well, the entire battle against Ranrok in general. He thought you certainly wouldn’t have time for his emotional problems too. Especially, after how he had treated you in the weeks leading up to those tragic events. He realised how selfish he had been and thought staying away from you would be helpful.

It was driving you absolutely crazy. The fact that the boy you’d given everything to would just now walk by with just a glance and a curt nod. It was worse than anything. More than once, you found yourself tempted to cast a basic cast (or even a confringo) at him just to get him to respond to you, react in some way to your existence.

In the weeks leading up to the end of term, you realised that without Professor Fig, you now didn’t really have anywhere to go once the Summer holidays arrived. You certainly couldn’t go back to the muggle orphanage. Originally, you had been planning to ask Sebastian and Anne if they’d speak to their uncle Solomon, about letting you stay… but clearly that wasn’t going to work anymore. You couldn’t ask Ominis, because he was trying to escape his family, and Poppy had her own issues with family. You thought of then asking Natty, but after she had literally taken a cruciatus curse for you, you weren’t quite convinced that Professor Onai would be willing to have the living, breathing reminder of it staying with them for the whole summer.

So, who had been left? In the end, you plucked up the courage to ask Imelda Reyes. Shockingly, the Quidditch obsessed witch had warmed up to you and had agreed, but only under the strict pretence that you would have to fly together a lot and let Imelda practise Quidditch as much as she pleased with you.

Of course, you felt you had no choice but to agree. However, in between these flying practices, you were finding yourself bored, restless and still thinking endlessly of Sebastian, of Ominis and Professor Fig. You needed something to do, desperately. So, one evening you had pulled out the old familiar field guide that Professor Weasley had given you at the start of your fifth year, and you decided to set a quest for yourself; specifically, to complete all the Merlin trials before the start of your sixth year.

It started out as a fun little distraction, but as the weeks drew on it became more and more like a desperate obsession. Sometimes, you’d spend hours trying to solve them, refusing to eat, drink or rest until you had solved that particular trial. You were slowly but surely running yourself ragged over these damn trials.

It didn’t take long for Imelda to be concerned after your flying times started slowing down, and Imelda being Imelda, she certainly didn’t hesitate to call you out on it. More than once she had uttered, “You look awful, Y/N.”

On this particular day, you planned to solve two Merlin trials that were close to Feldcroft. They were too close for your liking to the village Sebastian grew up in, and you had been wanting to avoid it for a long time, but at this point you just couldn’t help yourself. You had to solve them. You had to solve them all.

Meanwhile, Sebastian was sat outside on the grass by his house, reading a book. He looked up to notice the familiar outline of you flying on your thestral overhead, looking positively wild. Curiosity and concern piqued, he closed his book and decided to try and follow you. It took him a while to track down your trail, only having the vague idea of what direction you were going in, and he sighed in relief when he saw the thestral hoofprints that soon evolved into your familiar steps.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he saw you, but he certainly wasn’t anticipating the scene he found. You sat there on the stony cobblestones of the Merlin trial, almost in tears and muttering to yourself. “Where are you?” You frantically whispered, as you started rapidly casting confringo and incendio at literally everything. “There must be another! Why aren’t you working?” You muttered again, growling in frustration.

You stood up to turn and cast confringo once again, as you heard something behind you, but before you cast, you gasped in shock and your wand fell from your hand, clattering onto the cobblestone. Both of you stood there, staring at each other, neither of you sure what to say.

The longer you both stood there in silence, the deeper Sebastian’s brow furrowed in deep concern as he looked you over. “You look awful.” His words echoed in your mind like he was Imelda’s parrot.

“Thanks very much, you don’t look so great yourself.” You retorted, sighing slightly, his words affecting you more than you’d care to admit.

An awkward silence passed between you. “Why are you here?” Sebastian asked, stepping forward. “Why are you here?” You countered defensively, taking a subtle step back. “Saw you flying overhead, got curious.” Sebastian replied nonchalantly, shrugging slightly.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

As soon as you said it, you outwardly cringed, feeling like it was very inappropriate in the circumstances. Your flushed face looked around for an escape.

“I’m sorry, that was-” “No, it’s okay.” You tried to apologise, but Sebastian cut in before you could finish. Another awkward pause ensued.

“You didn’t answer my question. Why are you in Feldcroft? Shouldn’t you be back at home or wherever.” You kicked the ground with your shoe as you tried to think of a response, stammering slightly. “I can’t go back. Was going to stay with Fig, but obviously that didn’t work out.” You forced an awkward laugh, burying a sob that threatened to surface. “I’m staying with- well, it isn’t important. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.” You turned away from him, considering the conversation over.

“You’re trying to solve the Merlin trial, aren’t you?” Sebastian said it as more of a statement rather than a question, as if he already knew the answer. You raised an eyebrow, feeling as if he somehow knew what you had been up to this whole time. “Yes, I am. Trying to, anyway. This one is impossible!” You paused, looking at Sebastian’s face with suspicion. “You don’t seem very surprised.”

Sebastian sighed, running a hand through his hair, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before he replied. “That’s because I'm not. Ominis has been writing to me the whole summer with updates about various… things.” At this he paused, a small, sly smirk appearing on his face. “He told me that he’s heard about several sightings of the Hero of Hogwarts-” “Don’t call me that.” You interrupted him, muttering under your breath as you grit your teeth, your face contorting with disgust at that name. “Okay… sightings of a certain person flying around the Scottish highlands and mysterious ivy arches appearing in your wake.”

You turned back completely to face him fully, your mouth gaping open, your shoulders slumping down. “Recently his letters have been sounding more concerned. People are worried about you.” Sebastian sighed loudly, restarting his sentence. “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be, I’m fine. Just passing the time, that’s all.” You replied, a little more hostile than you had intended. Sebastian shook his head, reaching for you as you stepped back. “Why are you doing this, Y/N?” Sebastian stepped toward you again. “Why not?” You retorted, your voice raising slightly.

“You’re taking it too far, Y/N. It has become an obsession. It has got to stop.” He pleaded with you. “You hypocrite! This is harmless!” You cried out, shaking your head in disbelief, “You’d know all about taking things too far, wouldn’t you?!” He stopped, shaking his head with a grim expression, knowing that he probably deserved that comment.

“What happens when you’ve finished all of them, Y/N? What then?”

A heavy silence passed between you. You suddenly sat back down on the ground, completely stunned by the question as if you had just taken a stupefy to the chest. In all this time, you hadn’t actually thought about it. You presumed it would take the whole school holiday, but you only had eight trials left to go, and three weeks to do them in. You’d be done, for sure, before then.

“I don’t know.” Your voice sounded small and strangled, as you looked up to the sky which was beginning to darken for the evening. “I have to solve them. I just know I have to.”

At that moment, Sebastian spotted the missing fire pillar that you’d been so fervently seeking. “It’s over there.” He pointed to it in defeat. You immediately threw powerful confringo spells at all the pillars. The arch reveals itself and you sighed in immense relief, finally smiling.

Sebastian smiled along with you. “That’s very satisfying.” He admitted. “It is, for a few seconds. Then I feel empty, hollow, and craving more.”

“So, you look for the next one to find that joy for a few more seconds.” Sebastian shook his head. “That’s a slippery slope you are on, Y/N.”

“I know.” You stared up at the sky, doing anything to avoid looking at him.

“Come back with me, it is getting dark.” Sebastian offered, turning around and walking away, not looking back to see if you were following him or not. For whatever reason, you found yourself silently following him back into Feldcroft. He could hear your footsteps behind him, but chose not to say anything.

As you gingerly stepped through the front door of the familiar house, you immediately felt the intense pang of a bizarre mix of guilt, nostalgia and longing. It was strange to walk in and not see Solomon pottering about, to not see Anne sat on her chair or her bed. “Do sit down.” Sebastian offered, and you hesitated, looking between your remaining options. Instinctively, you avoided Anne’s usual seats.

A cup of tea and an apple was thrusted under your face. “Eat. Drink.” Sebastian practically commanded, the undertone betrayed his deep concern. You looked up at him quizzically. “You look like you need something sweet. I know you like them.”

You tried to smile, but it fell rather flat. As you sat and nourished yourself in silence, a heavy oppressive feeling sat on your chest. “How can you stand it?” You blurted out suddenly, turning to look at Sebastian. He raised an eyebrow, inviting you to elaborate. “Being in this house, alone, I mean.”

Sebastian simply shrugged, moving to lean on the kitchen countertop. “Because I have no choice. These were my actions, and now I must suffer the consequences. I learnt the hard way that some things just cannot be changed.”

“I don’t think I could do that.” “Do what?” “That.” You vaguely gestured at him. He chuckled. “It seems after everything, I still have new things to teach my charge.” A smile and small blush appeared on your face as you thought back to your first trip with him to Hogsmeade. “Ah, there’s the elusive smile I’ve been looking for.” “Stop it, Sebastian.” You smiled despite your words.

The atmosphere already felt a little lighter and a weight felt like it had finally been released from your shoulders. This. This feeling is what you’d been searching for all summer. Sebastian gave a soft smile, kneeling down so that he was eye-level with you. “Y/N, I promise to solve the rest of them with you, together. I want to turn this all into a positive memory for you.”

You wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. He gasps slightly, surprised by the motion, before he returned it. “You already have, Sebastian.”

[jofie-does-things]

A Florin For Your Thoughts?

Summary: Ezio Auditore is quite possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. He could have any woman he wanted. And there was no way he reciprocated the feelings that you have for him. All the gifts he gives you are strictly platonic. Right? Right?!

Word Count: 8K (It’s a big’un fellas)

Pairing: Ezio Auditore x Oblivious!Reader (AC: Brotherhood)

Genre: Fluff, Tiny bit of angst but only if you squint

Warnings: None really, except La Volpe does the Renaissance version of the middle finger (“the fig sign”), making fun of Machiavelli

Author’s Note: Here’s the finished fic! I was really stumped on how to end it, but I finally dragged myself to the computer to finish it. Be prepared for more Assassin’s Creed content because I’m currently playing AC 3. Thank you for all the support and comments that were left! I really appreciate them <3

Please don’t hesitate to make a request or leave feedback because the askbox is open! Enjoy!!

“A florin for your thoughts, Signorina?” A voice calls from behind you as you survey the fruit stands, a teasing lilt to it. The cadence and familiarity of it sends your eyes rolling, turning to the speaker with a smile on your face.

“Buon giorno, Messer Auditore!” Ezio emerges from the busy current of shoppers, looking as regal and elegant as ever. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of watching the graceful way in which he maneuvers around the hustle and bustle of the street. It’s one of the many things you’ve found appealing about the Master Assassin. He sweeps into a bow, hand across his chest and, when he straightens once more, you can see the mirth dancing in those beautiful eyes of his.

“It is wonderful to see you again, Ezio. I’m glad you’re back home safe.” You smile up at him, drinking in the sight of the man before you. He truly has been gone for far too long. “I’ve missed you.”

“It is wonderful to see you as well. Although I fail to see how you could ever spend any time missing me when Machiavelli is keeping you busy.” He gestures, smirking, at the sacks leaning against your legs and the satchel draped across your shoulder. An eyebrow raised as if to ask for an explanation.

At the mention of the groceries you’ve struggled with so far today, the ache in your shoulders return, only dulled slightly by Ezio’s distracting presence in your vicinity. You shift the hot strap of leather to a more comfortable position on your shoulder in self-consciousness, laughing awkwardly.

“Yes, Machiavelli is quite the organized man.”

“One might say tyrannical in his methods.”

The comment is said with a blank expression, but earns a light swat on the shoulder nonetheless, and his face cracks into a grin. Ezio rubs the place he was hit with mock pain molding onto his face and into his voice.

“I would have to tell Machiavelli about the wounding of his dearest friend at the hands of you, Signorina.” Ezio swoons dramatically as you bend to pick up the sacks of food, “I will have no choice, but to retire to the Tiber Island post and spend the rest of my days bothering you.”

You tried to ignore the implication of Ezio spending the rest of his life with you, but your heart couldn’t help skipping a beat at his act. Instead, you opt for a safer interaction that wouldn’t expose your true feelings: rolling your eyes.

With a huff and a smile, you swing the weight of one of the sacks his way. He catches it easily with his “injured” arm. The effort taken to pull it out of your grasp is slim to none.

“It seems you have been miraculously cured, Signore.” You sigh dramatically, wiping an invisible tear from your eye, putting in as much gusto as he did, “I guess you’ll have to find another activity to fill your time that doesn’t include tattling on me to the notorious Machiavelli.”

Having retrieved the other sack from the ground, you turn to start heading down the next isle of stalls. Truth is, the grain stand that holds the last few items on Machiavelli’s list is in the other direction, but between him requesting that you run errands for the hideout and sheltering the many members of the cause, you’ve hardly had any time for yourself.

If Machiavelli had a problem with his groceries being late, then he could make the next run for all you cared.

You could hear Ezio chuckle as he trails after you down the aisle.

He catches up to you at a stall that showcases jewelry for hairpieces, all of which are too expensive for you to afford. You may have the money for the groceries at the hideout, but that was money collected for the cause; it would be wrong for you to use it to add to your personal wardrobe. So, you let out a small sigh, brushing your hand lovingly over a simple gold circlet lined with tiny white gems and, equally as bright, metal leaves.

The simple yet ornate design of it is the stuff of dreams.

You continue to inspect the jewelry displayed at the stand, even as Ezio plants himself next to you. It’d be a lie to say that having the Master Assassin watch you survey the gems over your shoulder didn’t stress you out, but it was your grocery trip. If Ezio got bored, he could simply walk away.

It wasn’t until a few more moments pass that Ezio leans across your field of vision to grasp the circlet you were eyeing the whole time. He turns to the vendor, a declaration of wanting to purchase it passing his lips as he gingerly hands it, and the florins, to him.

“I wasn’t aware that you were interested in women’s accessories, Ezio.” You say in surprise, glancing between him and the vendor, who is wrapping the circlet up in cloth. “Although, I don’t think that style of circlet would really suit you.”

Your remark gains a raised eyebrow as he turns his attention— smirking as usual— to you. Clearly, you’ve garnered his amusement.

“Oh?” He murmurs lowly, the conspiratorial curve of his lips, and the way he leans toward you has your breath catching. “And what piece do you think suits me, if I may ask.”

It takes you a moment too long to break his gaze and turn to the stand.

Embarrassing.

You resume your examination of the accessories. The heat of Ezio’s interested gaze boring holes in the side of your head causes a bead of sweat to roll down your neck. Until you finally find it.

It’s quite possibly the gaudiest hairpiece that you’ve ever seen.

You gesture towards the maroon headband— the cheap color of the fabric is almost drowned out by the bright yellow beading adorning the lopsided cut of it— with a triumphant smile on your face.

“That one, il mio amico.” A giggle pushes past your lips at Ezio’s momentarily offended expression. “It’s perfect for one so dramatic and extravagant as yourself. It’s sure to draw the eye of many a fair lady.” You earn an eye roll at that.

“Very funny, mia cara,” He huffs out a small laugh, turning to gather the wrapped circlet from the vendor as he starts off down the aisle of stalls once more, “but if you must know— it is a gift.”

Your interest is piqued.

“Oh? Who for? Bartolomeo?”

You barely dodge the sack of vegetables he swings your way.

“No. It is a gift—“ he pauses, a nervousness overtakes his demeanor that is rare for a man such as him before he continues, “for a woman that I admire. And hope to grow closer to.”

Your grip on the sack in your hand falters. It takes your upper body down with it. The force of it steals the breath from your lungs. Well, that and the news that Ezio has just delivered.

It feels like a swift kick to the gut.

Noticing your struggle, Ezio helps you right yourself with a gentle grip on your elbow. He slips the packaged circlet into his robes then bends to hoist the other sack into his arms.

You move to frantically apologize.

“Sorry. I can’t properly carry these bags with my sore arms. I’m being worked to the bone.” You let out a forced chuckle at your statement to recover from your shock. Finally, you manage an even tone as you think of something to say: “It’s a beautiful circlet, Ezio. I’m sure she’ll absolutely love it; whomever this lucky lady is.”

Every word is forced past the lump in your throat as you croak out the compliment.

“Grazie mille. I truly hope she does.” You don’t miss the sparkle in his eyes as he says it. Your heart clenches.

Now you feel horrible because not only has he now taken over holding your heavy groceries, but you can’t even give him sincere reassurance when he’s so clearly nervous about his gift.

You are a horrible person.

—

It’s not until the sun is shining brightly in the early afternoon sky that you and Ezio make it back to Tiber Island. Ezio sets the bags of produce on the table in the kitchens of the hideout. The reminder sends another little pang of guilt coursing through you.

That was one of the things you loved about the Master Assassin. He was thoughtful of those around him. Taking their needs into consideration, before moving to be the first to help. It was part of what made him such a great leader. It also helped that he was quite easy on the eyes too.

“Thank you for the help, Ezio. You didn’t have to lug all those groceries up here with me.” You turned from slinging your satchel on the countertop of the island to face him, wiping the perspiration from your forehead and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It was no problem, mia cara. I would hate to see a beautiful woman such as yourself struggle with such burdens.” He gives you a cheeky grin while rolling out the strain in his shoulders. Unfortunately, the fact that he was handsome meant that he also knew how to wield it like a deadly weapon. The thought brought a heat to your cheeks as you coughed and turned away from him. Hopefully he hasn’t seen it.

In a desperate attempt to steer your mind away from him calling you beautiful (seriously, he can be too flirtatious sometimes), and to keep him from invading your space with his stupidly handsome smug expression, you turn him around and start physically pushing him out the door.

“Yes. Yes. I have too many burdens to deal with, especially when you are responsible for the majority of them.” You tease; the man can take the small jab at his ego. A laugh is heard from the man in front of you and it sends a rumble through the planes of his back muscles, underneath your palms. Is there any part of him that isn’t built?

He needs to leave before your little crush becomes obvious to him and the whole of Tiber Island.

Your path to the door is brought to a halt with the abrupt spin of Ezio in front of you and before you know it, your momentum— and the loss of the solid mass in front of you— sends you falling into his chest.

This is bad.

You stiffen, clearing your throat and straightening up, with the help of Ezio’s hands on your arms.

“Before I go, I have something for you.” He says, making sure you’re steady before brushing past you to the pile of groceries again. Your brow furrows in confusion as you watch him pluck something from one of the sacks before turning to you with a lazy grin on his face. It sets your nerves alight.

He saunters over to you, his movements as practiced and graceful as a cat’s and he stops in front of you once more. The lazy grin has dimmed down into a simple upturn of the lips, which brings your gaze to the small scar that you’ve seen so many times that you’re sure you could picture it in your sleep if you needed to.

A warm touch to your hand, as Ezio gently grasps it, draws your eyes down between the two of you. To a single red rose that’s being placed in your palm. Then Ezio curls his fingers around yours to ensure your grip around the flower.

The breath leaves your lungs. You’re frozen. You’ve forgotten how to breathe. And you’re gaping down at the rose like a fish out of water because you’ve forgotten how to breathe!

“For you, mia cara.” He whispers, the distance between you two seems to shrink as he speaks, “A small token of my appreciation, for all that you do.” His hold on your hand is steady, almost intimate, as a slight squeeze to your knuckles serves to completely sever the connection between your brain and your mouth.

It’s not until a few moments later that you notice Ezio has fallen silent and has made no move to leave. He’s expecting a response from you, but you’ve been too busy gaping to realize.

Oh no.

Say something.

Anything!

“Oh, um,” you start, clearing your throat to buy you precious seconds to recover your composure and think of a response, “Thank you, Ezio. That’s very thoughtful of you.” You step out of his hold, trying not to slip up and say something that will get you in trouble. “I’ll put it in some water as soon as possible.”

You can’t help but notice the near imperceptible downward tilt of his lips and slight deflation of his posture before it’s all gone in the blink of an eye. A wide grin is pasted across his face as he cards his hand through his hair before you can even think to question it.

“Of course. If you’re in need of any more assistance in the future, don’t hesitate to ask.” Ezio places a hand across his chest as he dips into a quick bow. Then, he turns on his heel, and is out the door without another word. You turn back to the kitchen with a sigh, stepping forward to begin putting everything away.

It was very sweet of Ezio to give you a rose. He can be so thoughtful. Always taking the time to let others know that they’re appreciated.

So then why did he look upset when you thanked him?

You shook your head, ridding your mind of the thought that maybe, maybe, there was something more to it than he let on.

No. He was just being his friendly, charming self. It’s how he is with everyone. And you’re no exception. There’s no reason to give too much thought to his compliments, or gift, when it’s all just platonic gestures. Besides, he said so himself that he already had a woman he’d wanted to pursue. It’s better if you accepted the rose for what it was: a token of gratitude between friends.

—

The hideout had been abuzz with excitement with everyone bustling around, preparing a small feast in celebration following the safe, and successful, return of some of Ezio’s recruits from their mission abroad. The news was a most welcomed distraction from the tip toeing you had to do around Ezio. And, after what felt like months— truly, it was only two weeks— of Ezio seemingly by your side at all times, it seemed you could finally breathe easy.

Or so you thought.

What you assumed would be more time left to your own devices, doing your part to move preparations along, actually meant even more time attached to the Master Assassin’s hip. And it left you stumbling over yourself, trying desperately to keep your feelings for him from being clear as day.

At first, you tried to get rid of them altogether, after the news of someone else garnering his affections. But his constant presence only served to be the bane of those plans.

How dare he be so horribly perfect.

The next few days saw you both hard at work, side-by-side, ordering people about, gathering food, and organizing the space in the main hall for members of the creed.

The sight of the banquet tables being moved was something Machiavelli was not particularly fond of— a fact he would soon complain about through the night.

Nonetheless, with the help of Ezio’s recruits and La Volpe’s men, the headquarters had finally been deemed fit to hold the feast everyone had been waiting for. It was a welcome break when Ezio finally sent you off to your chambers to get ready with a gentle touch to your shoulder and a warm smile on his face.

By the time you had returned, the main hall was more energetic than usual, with Volpe’s men, the Assassin recruits, and even Claudia Auditore’s courtesans making an appearance.

You found yourself swaying self-consciously at the bottom of the stairs near the entrance, unsure if you should even bother showing your face, or if you could get away with feigning sickness due to stress. In all honesty, you did feel a rush of nausea coming on— the idea that your attire didn’t quite match up to the elegant fabrics that Claudia’s girls were wearing sent a hot spike of nerves through you.

A few more minutes of internal debate later, you turn to head back up the stairs, already preparing an apology in your head for when Ezio decided to come looking for you. That is, until a hand grasped your wrist.

Stumbling in shock, you turn to face the obstacle in the way of your escape— only to find Claudia a few stairs below you, the Auditore look of amusement narrowing her gaze playfully towards you— you didn’t realize that expressions such as this one could run in the family.

“And where do you think you’re going?” She questions, tugging you further out of the stairwell, “You’re not leaving Ezio to suffer through the night alone, are you?”

“He’s not going to be alone. He has you to keep him company.” You tug your hand out of her iron-clad grip, turning away from her accusing stare to study the room behind her. She snorts.

“We’ve kept each other company our whole lives, I’m pretty sure he’s sick of mine by now.” Her face, while still holding an expression of amusement, is morphed slightly by one that’s hard to decipher, “Besides he’s been waiting for you.”

You try not to visibly perk up at that, instead allowing your hands to fidget with your skirts. The self-consciousness slowly seeps back into your mind. This time, Claudia gently grasps your hands to keep them from wrinkling your dress even more.

“Hey, you look beautiful. And my brother will think so too.”— The sincerity in her tone warms your heart and soothes some of the anxiousness you feel— “He may be an idiot, but he’s not blind.”

Her scarily accurate observation of your want for Ezio’s approval startles a laugh out of you before you inhale deeply and nod your head in assent.

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Just— lead the way.”

Claudia giggles, turning on her heel and pulling you behind her through the bustle of the main hall in search of her brother.

You eventually find him talking amongst La Volpe and Machiavelli, glass of wine in hand as he concentrates on the story that Volpe is telling that you’re too far away to hear. It appears to be a humorous one as there’s an upturn to Ezio’s lips. He seems so relaxed, a state that he never really seemed to be in. You’d hate to disrupt it.

However, before you could say as much to Claudia, she had already announced your presence to the group.

Ezio’s gaze shot up to her then, noticing that she had been dragging you behind her, his eyes snapped to you. The jolt of him shooting out of his seat gracelessly caused him to bump his knee into the table. You had to stifle a laugh while his companions openly dissolved into fits of laughter.

Seemingly desperate to ignore his stumble, Ezio turns to you, stepping forward to scoop your hand up and bring it to his lips.

“You look exceptionally beautiful tonight, mia cara.” The statement sends his warm breath ghosting over your knuckles and a heat to your cheeks. You were used to him flirting with you in the privacy of the kitchens or the publicity of the markets, where no one paid any mind to the two of you. But this time, while he’d called you beautiful dozens of times before, it was in front of some of your closest friends.

This time, it felt more intimate.

“Thank you, Ezio. You look very handsome yourself.” You say, momentarily forgetting the three sets of eyes watching the interaction with interest. Ezio’s proximity seems to cut any connection you might have to your brain. His eyes glow an amber color in the light of the chandeliers above and he’s close enough for you to distinguish a sharp scent of spice on him.

Useless facts that your brain decides to tow away for later.

The sound of a clearing throat next to you snaps your attention back to the men sipping at their wine glasses. Volpe fails to hide a smirk behind the rim of his cup. Heat floods your face, embarrassment burning at the tips of your ears.

“Hello Niccolo, Gilberto,” you nod to each of them in turn, “You seem to have cleaned up nicely.” The jest, aimed at Volpe, brings a bigger smirk to his lips. A knowing expression crosses his face before it’s gone in the blink of an eye.

“Thank you, Signorina.” Volpe gestures for you to join them at the table. “You must join us. I was just telling them about one of my men who was unfortunate enough to pick the pocket of a Borgia guard, but narrowly escaped by jumping into a pile of horse dung!”

“Yes, it was very amusing.” Ezio offers, guiding you to the bench. You realize, belatedly, that you’re still holding his hand.

The night passed by in a blur of celebration and laughter. Tales of heroics from each faction of the cause being passed around, along with tales of embarrassment. You distinctly remembered a tale Claudia told about her brother getting wasted, stealing a horse, and waking up in a coop of messenger pigeons using him as their own personal toilet.

The thought of Ezio hungover, covered in poop and feathers as he grumpily trudged home through the streets of Firenze brought tears of laughter to your eyes.

Before you knew it, the cleaning up of the main hall had wrapped up and guests filed out in small groups, determined to make it back to their homes before the early morning sun rose. After you hugged Claudia and Maria goodbye, a warm hand on your shoulder caught your attention.

You take in Ezio’s fatigued form as he extends his elbow to you, wordlessly asking if he could escort you back to your chambers. You wrap your arm around his as you allow him to guide you up the stairs, sleep weighing down your eyes with every step you take.

The two of you make it to the doors of your chambers and you move to step inside, but the firm hold of Ezio’s arm wrapped around yours stills you as you send a questioning look his way. He releases you so that you’re able to turn to properly face him.

There are no candles lit in this hallway, you realize as your eyes are drawn to the way the moonlight floods through the glass of the window, casting a glow over the white of his clothing. You notice that he’s fidgeting with something in his hands, but the light doesn’t quite reach it. Ezio takes a minute step closer to you, shrinking what little distance there is between you.

“I’ve been wanting to give this to you.” He gestures with the object in his hands. An object that, upon closer inspection, is a pearl necklace with a pendant that is inlaid with rubies. It’s quite possibly one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry you’ve ever seen and it’s rendered you, quite literally, speechless.

Your attention turns from the necklace in his hands to his face, meeting the earnestness in his eyes.

“I- really? Are you sure?” You’re certain the hesitation shows clearly on your face. He nods, his lips upturned a touch at your admiration of the necklace.

“Yes, I’m sure. Especially since I purchased it with you in mind.” Ezio holds it up to sparkle in the moonlight, gesturing for you to turn around. “May I?”

“Oh- um, yes.” You smile sheepishly and grant his request. He drapes the necklace over your collarbone and fastens it in the back, warm fingers brushing the hair away so that he could fit it on you properly. It sends a shiver down your spine.

Once done, Ezio gently grabs your shoulders and moves you to face him. A strange look crosses his face, one you can’t quite decipher in the darkness of the hallway.

“It looks gorgeous on you.” It’s little more than a whisper, but it seems to echo in the empty hallway. The hands on your shoulders move down to grasp at your hands, enveloping them in warmth.

A million thoughts are racing through your head as you process that Ezio bought this necklace for you. A necklace that you were certain cost more than any of Machiavelli’s grocery runs put together. And you’re so close. So close that, if you leaned a few inches closer to him, your lips would brush his.

In fact, you thought you saw his gaze drop down to your lips for just a split second.

“Thank you so much, Ezio.” A full smile spreads across your face, as you reach up to lightly touch the pendant, “It’s truly stunning. And I can’t tell you how much this means to me.” It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to telling Ezio how you honestly feel about him.

“Of course, tesoro. I’m glad to hear that.” He emphasizes his point through another kiss to your knuckles and it has your stomach doing flips. Then, almost reluctantly, he steps away from you, sending you one last smile as he watches you enter your chambers. “Goodnight, mia cara.”

“Goodnight.”

As soon as the door closes, you lean on it for much needed support. You bring your hand up to touch the pendant of the necklace gingerly, reminiscing about the precious moments you had just shared with Ezio.

Distantly, the thought of Ezio’s love for someone else rings through your mind. But you decide to save that sad reality for tomorrow.

For now, all you wanted to think about was the evening you spent with him.

—

It wasn’t until a few days later that Ezio deemed to brighten your day with his presence.

Unfortunately, it was at the tail-end of your training session with La Volpe.

You had just settled down for a much-needed break before you were to have one last match with Gilberto when the Master Assassin strolled in.

He was free of his normal Assassin robes— you’d noticed— only donning a simple white shirt, brown pants, and his regular boots. He also looked like he had come back from a rigorous training session before showing up.

You only half paid attention to Volpe greeting him, as the exhaustion won out over the need to admire him. Instead, you settled on studying the cracks in the ground of the training arena.

“I can take it from here, Volpe. She needs to learn to fight different opponents at some point. It’ll be important training for the both of us.”

That sends your head snapping up to the men, meeting Ezio’s gaze as he momentarily glances over to you then back to him, nodding his head in thanks as Gilberto gives Ezio his permission.

“Just try not to break my pupil.” Is all the thief says before sparing you a glancing smirk and strolling out of the room.

You gulp. Without Volpe, it’s just you and Ezio in the training arena. And it scares you. Sure, you figure that with his level of skill, the Master Assassin will take it easy on you, but you also don’t know what his definition of easy is.

Even worse is the fact that sparring meant fighting, and fighting meant close contact. Close contact.

All you can focus on, as your heart thuds against your rib cage, is the way his signature smirk of his is plastered on his face as he makes his way to where you’re sitting against the low wall of the arena. He stops in front of you, holding a hand out to help you up.

“So, come to get beaten by a novice?” You tease, taking his hand and pulling yourself up. Ezio snorts as he walks away from you to place himself in the center of the ring.

“Yes, that is exactly why I sent Volpe away; to keep him from witnessing my demise.”

The comment makes you laugh in turn as you place yourself across from him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to take it easy on you.”

A chuckle is heard from across the ring, but Ezio makes no retort, just shifting ever so slightly into a fighting stance. You mirror him.

A bead of sweat makes its way down your neck and there’s a churning in your gut. Nervousness, but whether it’s from being around the Master Assassin or the concept of actually fighting him, you don’t know.

The arena falls deathly silent, neither of you making a move.

You blink.

The sound of gravel rings in your ears and suddenly Ezio is already halfway to you before you can even think about moving away.

He swings a fist towards your head, instinct telling you to duck out of the way, only to catch a blow to your side. It knocks the wind out of you for a few seconds and sends you off-kilter.

Rookie mistake.

One last, slow swing sends you completely to the dirt. You’re inhaling clouds of dust, trying to get your brain back on track.

Ezio takes a few steps before kicking his leg out at your fallen form, but luckily you manage to roll out of the way, scooping up a handful of gravel and repositioning yourself on your feet. The gravel goes flying into Ezio’s eyes. You’ve bought yourself a few seconds.

It’s odd. This isn’t the way he normally fights. You’ve watched him train enough times to know that haphazard kicks and punches aren’t his style. He’s a fluid fighter.

You, however, are not. You’re relatively new to training. Which means you’re slow. So how did you manage to catch Ezio Auditore off guard with your gravel trick when he’s done the same thing so many times before?

It clicks just as you’re ducking under a blind swing from him.

He’s using the same fighting methods as the Borgia guard.

You take this opportunity as payback, aiming a jab to his ribs, followed by a kick to his thigh.

Ezio gives out a loud grunt of pain and stumbles back.

You rush him. Wrapping your arms around his middle and swinging him to trip over your leg, you bring him to the ground. As quickly as you can, you move to grab at his collar and swing yourself into a straddle position on top of him.

A flash of surprise crosses his face at the sudden takedown and you smile triumphantly at the successful use of the skills La Volpe taught you.

A grin cracks his face and he brings his hands up in surrender.

“I yield, Assassino. You have beaten me.” He teases, his statement punctuated by the deep breaths he’s taking.

You roll your eyes, leaning towards him. His hands have come to rest on your hips, holding you steady. The mirth shining in his eyes and the heats of his touch makes your heart race.

“Right, and Machiavelli is the most relaxed person I’ve ever met,” you nudge his shoulder with your free hand, “You were taking it easy on me.”

“Only for you, mia cara.” His hand has moved to settle on your cheek, tips of his fingers gently nestled in the hair behind your ear. And his thumb starts to trace circles into your cheekbone. It’s a nice gesture. One that lulls you into a sense of peace.

Something in the back of your mind reminds you that you two haven’t spoken a word for the last few seconds. It’s something that— as Ezio’s eyes soften and roam your face— you find you aren’t too concerned with. Another thought ghosts across your mind as you take in the scar on his lips and the gold of his eyes.

But you can’t remember what that important thing is now.

You can’t remember it.

And you especially can’t remember it when Ezio’s hand— calloused from years of hard work— gently, smoothly, guides your face closer to his as he leans up on his elbow.

You only process the ghosting of his breath over your lips before all systems in your brain shut off. Save for the part that tells you Ezio is kissing you.

You can hardly believe it. Even as the raised skin of his scar brushes along your lips in a way you couldn't have dreamt up yourself. Even as the thumping of his heartbeat against your hand on his chest speeds up. Even as his hand holds your face so gently.

He’s sitting up fully now. Right hand coming up to card through your hair while simultaneously pulling you closer to him. He’s kissing you absolutely senseless. And you’re kissing him back.

That is, until that reminder shoots through you like a white, hot bolt down your spine.

Oh no.

This— this is wrong.

You can’t be doing this.

He already has someone.

Someone he loves.

And it’s not you.

Like a woman possessed, you jolt backwards— out of Ezio’s hold— and onto the gravel of the arena, eyes wide and a hot flush rising to your cheeks. A look of shock and confusion settles over his face before you’re kicking up a cloud of dust in your haste to gather your things and rush out of the guild.

“Wa-wait, mia cara. I’m sorry,” He’s scrambling up after you, out of breath and apologetic, “I did not mean to offend! If you’ll just let me—”

The blood roaring in your ears kept you from hearing the rest as you fled.

It was humiliating.

Humiliating to kiss a man who didn’t hold your same affections. Humiliating to harbor feelings for said man. Humiliating to foolishly think that, for just a moment, he felt the same for you.

—

You’ve successfully avoided the Master Assassin for a week.

In all honesty, successfully wouldn’t be the right way to describe how said week had gone. More like, barely scraping by.

For the first two days, Ezio had been relentless. Trying to corner you on grocery trips, in the kitchens, even going so far as to be waiting outside your chambers when you returned after a long day. You had an excuse for him every single time.

Granted those excuses weren’t very believable, but still.

As the days went on, Ezio’s attempts to speak with you dwindled until, by the end of the week, he’d stopped trying altogether. The guilt weighed heavy in your chest.

You didn’t know what was worse— the constant presence of him trying to talk about the kiss, or the silence he left behind.

After the last two days, you’d decided that the silence was much, much, worse.

You weren’t ready to come to terms with what happened. Because if you did, it meant that you had to come clean and then proceed to throw all of your feelings out the window.

You finally decided to do something about it when, instead of Ezio cornering you on the way home from your grocery run, it was La Volpe.

“Care to explain why the great Ezio Auditore is sulking around in the tavern of my guild, driving away business and drinking up all of my ale?” The leader of the thieves sidles up next to you as you survey the things you’ve gathered. A shrug of your shoulders is all he receives. Right before you spare him a quick glance, hopefully not revealing anything, before returning to your examination.

Unfortunately, Volpe wouldn’t be in this business if he were as oblivious as you wished he were.

“Ah, I see.” He clicks his tongue, following annoyingly close behind you as you turn away from the stand with your groceries in hand. “Ezio just lost very, very badly in your sparring match and still hasn’t recovered from the blow to his ego.”

He’s nodding his head now, as if he’s been having a whole imaginary conversation with you. You’re determined to not betray what’s on your mind— lest he figure it all out. The finger rubbing at his chin doesn’t ease your nerves.

“But I don’t think that’s what really happened. Especially since you— as the winner— don’t seem to be in particularly high spirits yourself.”

Your grip tightens on the sack in your arms.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Volpe asks the question, watching as your hands tighten around the straps of your bags, before he plows on.

“I think that you’re hiding something and I want to know what.” He’s leaning around you, into your line of sight, to crowd into your personal space. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck at the interrogation.

“If you must know, oh so desperately, what happened Volpe, why don’t you go ask the man yourself?”

“Oh, believe me, I have.” A smirk curled on his face, “It’s quite amusing how much detail he’s willing to provide with a drink or two in his system. I’m simply asking for your side of the story, Signorina.”

‘Detail?!’ A heat spreads across your cheeks at his phrasing.

“Fine. We kissed at the end of our sparring match. That’s my side of the story. Happy?”

He doesn’t seem to be the least bit surprised. Only raising an interested eyebrow.

“Interesting choice of words. You say ‘we kissed’ as if it was mutual, not just a one-sided thing.” He leans on the balls of his feet, arms crossed over his chest, looking like the cat who got the cream. The comparison annoyed you somewhat as he seemed to know something you didn’t.

“I misspoke. I kissed him. I didn’t wait around much longer for him to turn me down. So, I’ve been avoiding him out of guilt.” Volpe lets out a hum at your confession, still looking as unsurprised as he did before.

“We’ll, I know one way to alleviate your guilt.”

“Disappearing off the face of the Earth?”

He chuckles, “As amusing as it would be to watch Ezio hunt you down, no. You should talk to him. Honesty is the best course.” You snort at that.

“Says the leader of the Thieves Guild.”

“It does not apply to me.” He waves away your amusement. “But I guarantee he will appreciate it if you come clean.” Volpe finishes with a wink before he pats you on the shoulder.

“I’ve kicked him out of my tavern, so you’ll find him at the top of the Tiber Island hideout, still sulking. Do it quickly before you lose the nerve.” He’s walking away now, leaving you with those parting words. You roll your eyes playfully, appreciative of his advice before yelling out:

“You know you’re starting to sound a lot like Machiavelli when you order me around so much!”

He says nothing, only flipping you the fig sign in response.

—

You found Ezio at the top of the hideout; just as Volpe said he would be.

The walk up the stairs to the top had your heart pounding in your chest and your thoughts buzzing around in your skull because this was it. This was the moment when you’d tell him everything. No more hiding fleeting glances, no more playful banter under the guise of strictly friendship.

What was worse was imagining his reaction to it all once it was laid before him. He’d probably laugh at you.

Oh gosh.

What if he laughed at you then told everyone on Tiber Island. You wouldn’t be able to show your face in Roma anymore. You’d have to pack up your things and flee to the farthest corners of the Earth. You’ve heard that London is particularly nice this time of year.

Before you know it, you’re at the rooftop door. The barrier forces you to school your thoughts.

You take a deep breath.

Ezio won’t laugh. He’s a respectful man, no matter what. So stop panicking.

Volpe’s lecture rings through your head and it pushes you to open the door.

Your eyes adjust to the evening sunlight as Ezio’s back comes into focus. He’s sitting along the ledge of the rooftop, gazing over the Tiber and, you notice, he’s fiddling with something. Something shiny.

Taking one more deep breath to avoid chickening out, you step forward.

“A florin for your thoughts, Messer Auditore?”

He stiffens for a moment then turns to you as he slips whatever he was fiddling with into his robes. He moves to his feet, a minutely surprised expression on his face.

“Many things, Signorina.” He’s stepping toward you now, “One of which is why you have been avoiding me this last week.”

You inwardly cringe at his statement; hearing it out loud doesn’t make you feel any less guilty.

“I wanted to apologize.” You’ve met him in the middle of the roof by this point. The proximity makes it easier to notice that Ezio is looking a little worse for wear. The circles around his eyes hint at his lack of sleep and you distantly feel the need to know why. Your fingers twitch momentarily, wanting to soothe the exhaustion from his face, but you stop yourself before you can make any moves.

“I’m sorry for these last few weeks. I’ve made a fool of myself and instead of facing you to tell you this, I’ve been hiding like a coward.”

A confused expression furrows his brows and causes a slight downturn of his lips.

“I’m afraid I do not understand, mia cara.”

The words stay sitting in your throat and a groan of frustration slips out.

“What I mean is that, I’m sorry for allowing myself to hope and for mistaking your actions for romantic affections when really all they were were just platonic acts of service.” Ezio moves to speak, but you plow on, “And I’m sorry for letting my feelings grow when I really should’ve let them wither and die as soon as you mentioned that you had feelings for another woman.”

“I’m sorry for crossing the line by kissing you, Ezio. I don’t know what came over me. I hope you can forgive me.” The last line comes out in an almost whisper, stilling the air between you. Your gaze has settled to the pauldron on his shoulder, tracing the lines that make up the design so you don’t have to meet his gaze. Moments of silence pass before you continue:

“If you wish it, I will leave. I will go as far away as you want me to, just say the word.”

More moments of silence pass, suffocating you as you wait for him to say something. It feels like years before you turn away, tears slipping silently down your face as you make your way back to the door.

He made his thoughts clear— but it still hurt to know the truth.

Despite this, the weight has been lifted from your shoulders and that makes you feel somewhat better.

That is, until Ezio’s hand catches your wrist and you hear him laughing quietly.

A bolt of panic shoots down your spine as you realize that he’s laughing.

Face burning with embarrassment, you turn to watch him. Your wrist is still caught in his hold as his laughter subsides to chuckling before it stops altogether as he takes a deep breath in.

“You had me worried for a moment.”

“Wha-what do you mean?”

“I was worried that there was a real problem.”

You’re gaping in shock at the man. Did he not just hear you confess your feelings to him despite him loving someone else? Is he crazy?

“Yes I did. And I don’t think I’m much crazier than you are.” A cheeky grin crosses his lips as your face burns hotter, the realization that you said all of that out loud hitting you.

He’s reaching into his robes now, pulling out the same circlet from that day in the market. Your brows furrow. You open your mouth to ask why he still has it before there’s a finger on your lips, effectively silencing you so that he can speak.

“I’ve been wanting to give you this ever since I found it in the market with you, but I wasn’t sure if you returned my feelings. I didn’t have the courage to give it to you straight away so I’ve kept it until the time was right. After you accepted my gifts, I was sure that you felt the same, but then you started avoiding me after we kissed and I didn’t know what to think.”

He pauses in his speech, looking earnestly into your eyes, as if trying to convey with every fiber of his being that what he’s saying is true.

“After your confession I feel that I can confidently say, I love you.”

The silence is heavy— mostly because his confession has kept you from fully processing anything— but heavy nonetheless.

Ezio seems to find it funny that he’s rendered you speechless because that stupid look of amusement is right at home on his face. It makes you want to smack it off. Or even better—

Before you know it, you’re grabbing at the lapels of his robes and pulling him in to kiss you. That scar of his is grazing against your lips as he moves to reciprocate, one hand holding you around the waist and the other rising to cup your jaw. The circlet is digging into your back with how tight he’s holding you, but you don’t care.

You always wondered what it would be like to kiss the Master Assassin and now, it seems, you have your answer. With anything he strives to accomplish, he does so with passion and kissing is no exception. It’s sweet and all-encompassing until all you can think about is him.

You pull away as a thought surfaces in your mind.

“You thought I didn’t have feelings for you? Have you seen yourself?”

He laughs sheepishly as his hand leaves your cheek to scratch his neck, “I could say the same about you, mia cara.” He’s leaning towards you again, but you hold a finger to his lips to stop him.

“I believe you were in the middle of giving me a gift.” Now it’s your turn to grin cheekily at him.

“Oh right.” He releases you and holds the circlet near your head. Ezio gestures for you to bow, you do, and he delicately places the circlet on your head as if he were crowning a queen. The metal is cool against your skin, but the warmth of Ezio’s grasp on your hand distracts you from it. He leans down to place a chaste kiss to your knuckles then straightens.

The look he gives you is one that can only be described as loving.

“You look absolutely beautiful, amore.” The new nickname sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, amore.” You copy, the name rolling off your tongue just right.

Now you’re smiling at each other like idiots, everything that needed to be said, has been said.

As the sun sets, Ezio has you back in his arms, kissing the life out of you in that sweet way you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of.

—

Unbeknownst to the two of you, La Volpe and Machiavelli watch from the rooftops below the hideout.

“I win.” Volpe grins as he glances sideways at his, now annoyed, friend.

“You only won because you meddled.” Machiavelli groans out.

“They needed a push. And besides, it is not my fault you are such a negative thinker. Now, if you would kindly supply me with my winnings.” Machiavelli rolls his eyes, digging into his pocket to pull out a pouch of 15 florins.

“Remind me to never make a bet with you ever again.” He says as he tosses the sack to the thief.

Volpe only chuckles, catching the pouch and eyeing his winnings.

“I don’t think I will.”

—

Taglist: @kiatheinsomniac

Thank you again for the support!!!

[thebeautyoffanfics]

keigo takami x gn!reader

a/n: savvi’s excuse today is that she needs some good ol’ distraction but it’s late at night and she has school tomorrow so. she doesn’t feel like being /too/ productive :)) let’s all (platonically) kiss sleep deprived anon for giving me this ideaaaa <3

“hawks and reader first meeting and him and hawks flirting but PLOT TWIST he becomes super flustered cause reader flirts back”

warnings: none <3

word count: 689

You had a general idea of how the pro hero Hawks acted. Of course, who wasn’t at least a bit interested in him-? And, even if you weren’t, there was no avoiding seeing something about him. For you, someone who’d actually pay a bit of attention to the interviews, his personality… radiated off of him.

From calling his fans cheesy nicknames, to his lazy smirk- Keigo Takami was painfully, obviously, so very flirtatious. You always thought to yourself that you may be able to mirror his actions- picturing how on earth someone like him would react to a person flirting back.

Those sort of thoughts made their way into your mind, along with the excitement of meeting a hero you had admired from afar for so long, as you stood in the agency, waiting for the hero to arrive. You had just recently joined the same agency that he was in, and considered yourself lucky enough to already be partnered with him. Or maybe it was simply because of your good reputation both in your old agency, and with many people- undoubtedly, you were an impressive hero.

“Sorry, am I late?” The famous voice spoke, as his very… loud presence joined the room. Yes, loud was the best way to describe the very energy he gave off- not noisy, per say, but simply a presence that seemed to grab attention.

“No, no, you’re fine. I was just a bit early.” You spoke, as he approached you. Seeing him in person… was truly incredible. No matter how many heroes you met, no matter the fact that you were a hero, you could never shake the excitement of meeting someone you admire.

“Ah, great then,” He paused to hold out his hand, “I’m Hawks. But, seeing as we’re partners for now, do feel free to call me Keigo Takami. And what might I have the pleasure of calling you? Other than mine.”

You bit back a laugh, shaking his hand. “(Hero Name), but, if we’re getting less professional, call me (Y/N) (L/N). And if we’re getting even less professional, I like babe, honey, darling- but whatever you call me, I’m sure it’ll sound just fine.”

The hero… blushed? You spotted the slight pink on his face as he attempted to come up with a response- pride swelled in your chest. Did you really manage to embarrass Hawks with such a ridiculous response??

“Well then, darling, why don’t we get onto our partnership plans?” He spoke, basically changing the topic, referring to talking about things you should attempt to cover while the two of you were working together.

“Only if our ‘partnership’ gets to continue after the agency splits us up~.”

You kept your eyes glued on his face, hoping to see a good reaction to the somewhat… hm, half-attempted line.

You felt laughter bubbling up in your chest when Hawks’ face slowly erupted into a bright red.

“Awh, I can’t believe I flustered the flusterer himself! Well, you are quite cute when you blush- I’d love to see you do it more,” You spoke, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Hawks glanced to the side, as if he was trying to hide his face. His wings folded forward a bit, the hero clearly wanting to simply cover up his reddening face-

“Don’t hide that pretty face, Hawks. Really, getting embarrassed is nothing to be ashamed about- your fans would be going crazy.”

“You’re a cheeky one, aren’t you, (Y/N)?” He asked, a smile growing on his face, as it usually was. A playful tone was laced in his voice, as he glanced down at you with amusement in his eyes. His pretty features almost made you forget the red dusting his face, but you couldn’t- no, you kept your eyes glued on his blush, practically taking a mental picture.

“Guess you’ll have to figure it out on your own. I look forward to working with you, Keigo!”

“...I look forward to it as well, baby bird.”

“Oi, don’t refer to me like a fan! We’re partners now~!”

“My fault, my fault. I look forward to it as well, honey.”

[mono-dot-jpeg]

antarctic idiots [pt.4] - c!technoblade

summary; in which two anarchist piglins adopt an ender boy.

genre; child! ranboo, piglin hybrid! reader, slight canon divergence from dream smp, fluff, found family au is my shit, reader is now ranboo’s parent i don’t make the rules, techno is a grumpy father but it’s okay you love him, realistic minecraft? (idk how to describe it-), uh angst (if you squint)

pairing; c! technoblade x reader, platonic! ranboo x reader

word count; 1.2k

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< previous - next >

a/n; i forgot what my draft a/n said bc i accidentally deleted the og part 4 of this. but it's not like i wrote much for this part yet, so not much will change.

i think i did mention that i meant to make reader around techno's canon height so i think i've might've gotten it wrong in the last part but tbh idc too much abt it, i wanted reader to just be as tall as techno bc they're both piglins and yah know, big build go brrr

anyways with a whopping 195 votes for yes, reader will be fighting in the battle of the lake, although i won't write much abt it bc im bad at fight scenes

ALSO IF YOU GUYS WANT ME TO EXPLAIN WHY I PICKED CERTAIN SONGS FOR MY PLAYLIST SEND AN ASK SKDJKSJ I WILL GLADLY EXPLAIN-

"it's not like i have a choice, do i?" you moved to stand by techno and tommy, unsheathing your sword. you hear the sound of teleporting and within seconds, dream is right in the middle of the battlefield. you hid your surprise in seeing the male suddenly.

now i wasn't informed that tommy planned on working with dream for this... you thought, looking at the masked male.

"well, ain't this just fun." you said, catching dream's attention. both of you share a look (though you can't really see under his mask), a dead stare towards him as he nods at you in acknowledgement. you would have to talk to him later. "let's get this done quickly, shall we?"

"but who are you exactly?" sapnap had asked you.

"does it really matter when i'm about to kill you?"

"harsh." techno commented.

"says the one with the title of blood god." you shot back.

"this isn't the point! the point is..." you had long stopped listening to tommy's declarations and rants, patiently waiting for the battle to actually start. and start it did.

every move you made didn't even feel like you were doing anything. your muscle memory just guiding you through your fight. it didn't feel like you. your brain was on auto pilot. everything felt like a blur. quickly and almost underwhelmingly, the battle had ended with pogtopia winning.

you sheath your sword back to its normal place, right by your hip. your eyes half lidded and bored as you stared at tommy relish in the rewards of battle. "all of that for a fish?"

"not just any fish!" tommy huffed. you look at techno who has the same unimpressed look as you do.

"i'm going for a walk. i'll be back by night." you don't waste any time leaving, heading out to a much more secluded area of the smp. your thoughts mindlessly floating around as you take your time, walking.

"y/n."

you turn around, looking at the masked man, "dream."

"what are you doing here?"

"none of your business." a dead silence hangs for a moment. "i'm here for a favor."

"oh? is that so?"

"a favor that doesn't involve you. you don't need to know anything about it."

"well, if it involves you, it must be important. come on. we're friends, aren't we?"

"not on my own will. and not by yours. you and i both know we are not friends." your voice is low as you glare at dream. "we both have our benefits if we work with each other. that is why our deal exists. i would never want to work for you willingly."

"but i mean in a way, you're still working for me."

"that's what you think."

"i thought you said you fight for what you believe in." wilbur said.

"are you mocking me, mr. soot?" you raised an eyebrow at him. "i fought because it's not like i had much of a choice. tommy would've been on my ass about it if we lost."

"but you still fought. even if you didn't want to. you didn't even know who you were fighting for."

"i still do not know what i'm fighting for, even though you brought me here." you look at your hands, both of them shaking as you open and close your hands. "i was not myself during that battle."

"what do you mean?"

"i wasn't controlling myself. everything was a blur." you move your hands into your pockets in an attempt to stop the shaking. "i was not thinking, everything was like instinct." you explained it the best you could.

"is that the other reason you left l'manburg?"

"no. would you stop trying to figure that out?" your words held no sternness but wilbur knew better than to not push you further. you were never really one to try and hold your anger against someone.

"sorry. maybe you should just stick with techno for while? get some rest after that? i'm sure tommy won't go through much conflicts with others while you rest. i won't let him." wilbur put his hand on your shoulder. you sighed.

" 's fine. i'll be with techno then. i expect to have no communications alerts from tommy about fighting." you went to find techno in the ever so wonderful pogtopia ravine. wilbur watched as you left his view to find his twin.

"hello again tough guy." you entered the room, seeing techno turn his head to look at you before continuing to farm potatoes. "even after a battle, you're still working."

"revolution waits for no man."

"that is true." you sit next to a large chest filled to the brim with potatoes. "how are you after that battle?"

" 'm fine. it wasn't so bad." a beat of silence fills the room before techno speaks again, "are you okay?"

the question confused you, "what do you mean?"

"i saw you fighting in that battle. i knew that look in your eyes." you faintly think back to the fight, remembering how you didn't quite feel like yourself.

"was it that obvious?"

"maybe to me, i'm not sure about the others though. you didn't seem like yourself." he mindlessly harvests more potatoes as you rest your head against the stone walls.

you bit your lip, hesitant to tell him that he was right. were you even ready to fully trust techno with something like this? this may just be more important than i realize… you thought. “what did you see in my eyes at the time?” you asked, moving the subject just a little bit to move away from the main topic.

“... unrestraint. while your fighting was not very unrestrained, your eyes… they look hazed. i wouldn’t really say it was unrestrained but you seemed very spaced out and yet you still managed to fight like it was nothing.”

“i don’t really wanna talk about it, i still don’t know if i could trust you yet, mr. blade.” you joked, attempting to move the conversation forward to a different topic. “how long have you been planting these potatoes?”

“since i joined.”

“and when was that?”

“probably a week before i met you?” he guessed.

“that’s pretty impressive. you seem really focused on everything that you do.” you commented.

“it’s sort of my thing.” techno shrugged. “i had a 9 month war about potatoes.”

“holy shit. and you won?”

“of course i won.” he started to ramble about the potato war, while you listened to him in full interest. despite how ridiculous the whole war sounded, you had to admit it was pretty amazing.

“who knew the blood god would be so intent on beating a kid to win a war about potatoes.” you joked. “i never would’ve guessed that you would be so passionate about potatoes.”

“well, never judge a book by its cover.” techno hummed, wiping the leftover dirt on his hands as he finished farming. “you got any stories of your own to share?”

“i have a few. they’re not very interesting though. they were all stories from my times in l’manburg.”

“you lived in l’manburg?”

“i was the general of the army.”

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