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lizzieolseniskinda · 21 days ago

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TOM RIDDLE - soulmates don’t exist PT. 6

SDE MASTERLIST - FEM!reader (POC!reader)

SUMMARY: everything changes for you when snape gives you a certain memory. will you be able to do the task that dumbledore has given you?

WORD COUNT: 4846

GENRE: angst-ish (but not really)

CONTENT WARNING: talks about blood & nightmares (nothing too graphic!)soulmate & time travel au, English is not my first language

NOT proofread

to be added to taglist

As you slipped into your sleep, you found yourself wandering through memories—familiar, cherished memories—it all came flooding back, slipping into your mind like whispers and playing before your eyes like a movie. It was a bright, golden afternoon by the Black Lake at Hogwarts. You could see Ron, Harry and Hermione.

They were sitting on the grass on a picnic blanket you’d brought, laughing over something Ron had said, his face red with barely-contained laughter. Hermione was reading out loud from a book, clearly exasperated but smiling, and Harry was watching them both with that look. A look that he always had when he was at ease, a rare smile.

Harry’s glasses are slipping down his nose as he squints against the sun, his hair as messy as ever. Ron stretched out lazily, one arm propped behind his head as he reaches for a pumpkin pasty with the other.

“It’s so good to see you,” you say softly, the words spilling out before you can stop them. You felt a pang of longing, realizing how much you miss this easy, familiar closeness.

“Oh, you’re stuck with us, don’t worry,” Harry says with a grin, his green eyes bright and reassuring. “We’d never leave you.”

“Absolutely,” Hermione adds, nodding earnestly and closing the book on her lap. “Besides, who else would help us figure out all these mysteries? You’re as much a part of this as we are.”

Ron chuckles, taking a big bite of his pasty. “Not to mention, someone has to be there to keep you two from overthinking everything. Imagine the chaos if it was just the three of us.”

You laugh, feeling a warmth in your chest.

“You know,” you say, glancing at the lake where the water shimmers in the sunlight, “I wish we could stay like this forever. Just… having a picnic, no worries about anything else.”

Hermione reaches over and gives your hand a squeeze. “We’re here, whenever you need us. Even when things get difficult, remember that.”

Harry nods, his expression softening. “Don’t let anything make you doubt that. We’re always with you.”

You felt a rush of warmth and nostalgia hit you, drawn into the comfort of those days you had spent with your friends. You could hear their voices as clear as day. Their laughter mingling with the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle breeze. It felt safe, like nothing could touch or hurt any of you, like the years hadn’t drawn you apart.

But as the warmth of the dream lingers, something shifts. Colours started to fade, darkening the sky. The warmth of the sky dissipating into a cold shadow. The laughter thinned into silence, Hermione’s face contorting in worry as she looked toward the darkening horizon. You reached for your wand, only to find nothing. You looked up towards your friends.

One by one, they started to fade—Ron’s freckles dimming into the darkness, Hermione’s eyes lost the fear as her face became indistinct, until only Harry remains. He’s staring at you, dead in your eyes, his expression haunted, as though he knows something you don’t.

The familiar faces of your friends became twisted, their eyes wide and hollow, black, staring past you, as if you weren’t even there.

“You've never been alone in this.”

You turned your head towards the sound of Harry’s voice from behind you. Suddenly, you’re no longer sitting on the grass. The world around you seemed to shift and distort, like the walls of reality were bending in on themselves.

Instead, found yourself in the Great Hall, but it’s ruined, twisted. Broken. There’s rubble everywhere, and you’re alone with a figure moving slowly through the debris. You look down to find your wand in hand, trembling, but no matter how hard you try to call put, no sound leaves your lips.

The figure points behind you and unwillingly your head turns with the hand, behind you could see them, all of them, your friends—Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna and the twins. They were standing at a distance, eyes empty and staring straight through you. They look lost, hollow, shadows of who they once were.

A faint dripping sound pulls your attention away from their faces. You glance down and notice a small puddle of blood pooling at Hermione’s feet. Your gaze shifts up to her arm, slick with blood, where something is scrawled in crimson against her arm.

Tears formed in your eyes and you looked away, towards Harry, the hollow in his eyes having a faint green look in his eyes. As soon as you noticed it, it left.

You tried to move toward them, but your feet felt glued to the spot. A wave of helplessness surged through you. The only thing you could do watch as figured emerged from the darkness, out of the walls—hooded, faceless shadows that closed in around your friends.

Distant screams echoing as they were dragged away, lost in the darkness.

Your heart pounds painfully, the sense of helplessness crushing you. A chill crawls down your spine, the cold seeping deep into your bones. Your breaths grow shallow, the weight of guilt pressing down like a heavy stone.

And then, in the depth of the moment, the figure approached you—a pair of cold, dark brown, calculating eyes fixed on you, a face shrouded in darkness but recognisable everywhere. Tom.

He’s looking at you, a small, chilling smile playing at his lips. His voice echoes, low and taunting. “They’re all gone because of you,” he said, voice soft yet sharp. “Because you couldn’t change a thing.”

Your breath hitches, and you stagger, trying to escape, to wake up, but his face looms even closer. His presence filled the void with even more darkness, casting shadows that seemed to cling to your skin, creeping up your spine like ice.

“Why are you even here?” his voice echoed, smooth and unfeeling, carrying a weight that felt like judgment. “Do you really think you can change anything?”

You woke up with a start, heart racing and gasping for air, the cold sweat clinging to your skin as the remnants of the nightmare cling to your mind. You sit up, images of twisted faces and dark shadows still burning behind your eyelids.

You sat up, wiping at your face with shaky hands, only to realise they were wet—tears had already started to flow, now completely blurring your vision. You wiped them away with a shaky hand, but they just kept coming, as though all the fear, all the frustration, all the loneliness you’d been bottling up had burst free.

Looking around the empty dorm room, you realized it was Sunday morning. Your roommates had already left for breakfast, leaving you in a silent room that suddenly felt too big, too cold.

With your chest tightening, you stumbled out of bed, grabbing a sweater and tugging it on over your head, fingers fumbling with the sleeves. You barely took the time to slip on shoes, leaving them unlaced as you hurried out of the dormitory. Your hands wouldn’t stop trembling, and the cold, early-morning stone floors of the castle did little to calm you as you rushed through the corridors, your footsteps echoing in the silence.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as you navigated the winding halls, your mind locked on one single thought: Dumbledore. He had to send you back. you couldn’t take it anymore.

It wasn’t long before you reached the familiar stretch of hall leading to professor Dumbledore’s office.

The portraits along the walls watched you as you rushed past, whispering among themselves. You climbed staircase after staircase, fueled by a mixture of fear and anger, until finally you stood in front of the stone gargoyle guarding dumbledore’s office.

“Let me in,” you whispered hoarsely, still crying, your voice cracking. When the gargoyle didn’t move, you let out a strangled yell, slamming your fists against the cold stone. “Let me in! Please!”

As if in response to your desperation, the stone gargoyle slowly shifted aside, revealing the spiral staircase. You scrambled up, each step feeling like it took forever, until finally you burst into his office. He stood up behind his desk, calmly looking over a stack of papers, but he looked up immediately when you stormed in, concern flickering in his eyes.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said gently, closing the door behind you. “What brings you here so early?”

“Professor,” you choked out, standing in the middle of the room, your body trembling as the flood of emotions poured out, “Send me back. Please, send me back. I don’t want to be here anymore, I… I can’t do this.”

You swallowed, the words coming out in a shaky rush. “I can’t… I can’t stay here. I want to go back. please, I need to go back to my time. I miss my friends, my parents… everyone. i can’t do—”

The weight of everything came crashing down as you spoke, your voice trembling. “Please, professor, I don’t belong here… I want to go home.” your voice broke, and a sob escaped you. You covered your mouth with one hand, the tears coming faster now, blurring your vision completely.

Dumbledore’s eyes were full of understanding as he stepped closer, guiding you gently to a chair. “Take a seat, my dear,” he murmured, his voice calm and reassuring. “I know this must feel unbearably difficult.”

“No, you don’t understand!” you interrupted, your voice coming out in a broken yell. “I don’t want to sit down! I want to go back!”

“I don’t belong here! every day, every second I’m here, it feels like… like i’m suffocating. I miss my friends, I miss my family, and I can’t…just pretend everything is okay. It’s not fair! You brought me here, and now I’m stuck. I never even had a choice!”

Tears were streaming freely down your face, your fists clenched so tightly your nails dug into your palms. Dumbledore took a step toward you, but you took a step back, shaking your head.

You sank into the chair, wrapping your arms around yourself as you tried to catch your breath, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “It’s too much,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I feel so alone… everything here is different, and I don’t know how long I can pretend I’m alright with it.”

He took a seat beside you, his expression pained but kind. “Your feelings are entirely valid, and your courage to speak up about them is admirable.” he paused, studying your tear-streaked face with that same intense, searching look he often wore. “Being out of one’s own time is a very heavy burden to bear. You have been given a task that no one should be asked to bear alone.”

“Don’t tell me to be brave, don’t tell me this is for some greater purpose!” you shouted, voice breaking. “I don’t care about the greater purpose! I want to go home! I don’t want to be here, living in constant fear, watching every move I make. you don’t understand what it’s like!”

Your sobs overtook you, racking your whole body as you sank deeper into the chair, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep yourself from falling apart. “I miss them so much. Please… please, just send me back.”

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment, watching you with a sadness that only deepened the ache in your chest.

“If I could, child, I would,” he said softly, his voice filled with an unfamiliar heaviness. “But, you know why you’re here. There are things that must be done, paths that must be taken.”

“I do not say this lightly, and I do not expect you to forgive me for the burden I have placed on you. but the future depends on it.”

“I don’t care about the future right now!” you yelled, the anger burning bright through the fear and pain. “I care about now! I care about my life and my friends and my family.”

“Why should I have to give all that up? I didn’t ask for any of this! I lost my life—freedom for you!”

Dumbledore nodded slowly, as if weighing each of your words. “Sometimes, life asks of us sacrifices we would never choose,” he said quietly. “I am deeply sorry for that. But know this—you are not alone, and you do have the strength to face what lies ahead.”

He stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “And strength, my dear, does not mean the absence of pain or fear. Strength is simply the willingness to keep moving forward, even when it feels impossible.”

You stared at the floor, the weight of his words pressing down on you. A part of you wanted to believe him, but another part just felt… tired. bone-deep tired.

“I don’t even know if I-I’m doing it right,” you managed to whisper, your fingers gripping the edge of your sweater tightly. “What if… what if nothing changes? What if Harry still… still dies?”

“I understand your fears,” he said softly, “But I am here to help guide you. And while I cannot give you a clear answer about the future, I can tell you that your presence here has already changed things, even if it may not be obvious.”

You wanted to believe him, but the doubts gnawed at you. “I feel like I’m losing myself, professor. every day, it feels harder to remember who I am, or who I used to be.”

“Your identity is not lost, even if you feel disconnected from it,” he replied, his voice warm and steady. “It is within you, no matter what time you find yourself in.”

You looked down, sniffling, trying to draw strength from his words. “It’s just… Everyone feels so far away.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes soft with compassion. “You are allowed to feel this way. It is human, after all, to yearn for those we love.”

After a few moments of silence, he added, “If you truly wish to return, I can explore the possibility of sending you back to your time. However, I would ask you to take a little time to think it over first. Sometimes, in the midst of hardship, we cannot see the strength that lies within us until the storm has passed.”

You took a shaky breath, nodding, though the ache in your heart still lingered.

He offered you a reassuring smile. “Whenever you need to speak, my door is always open.”

The gentle waves of the black lake lapped at the shore, the water shimmering under the soft morning light. You sat by the edge, hugging your knees to your chest, staring out across the lake as memories of Harry, hermione, and Ron surfaced, vivid and sharp. The ache in your chest felt endless, like a hollow, sinking weight that refused to leave.

The spot felt haunted now, a cruel reminder of everything you’d left behind—the laughter, the closeness, the feeling of home that was slipping further from your reach with each passing day. You felt yourself fraying at the edges, unraveling beneath the surface of your forced smiles and brave face.

You barely registered the sound of footsteps approaching until someone sat down beside you. Turning your head, you found Lucas, his usual easygoing grin replaced by a look of gentle concern.

“Hey,” he said softly, nudging you with his elbow. “you look like you've got the weight of the entire library on your shoulders. what's going on?”

You tried to respond, to tell him it was nothing, but the words caught in your throat. The mere kindness in his voice, the familiarity of it, broke something in you. All at once, the tears started to flow, again, hot and unstoppable, and you buried your face in your hands.

Lucas’s arm immediately wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you close. He didn’t say anything, didn’t press you for answers. He just held you there, letting you sob against him, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. “Cry all you need to. I’ll even throw in a free shoulder to soak.”

You let out a choked laugh through the tears, but the laughter quickly turned back into sobs. You clutched onto him tightly, as if he could anchor you back from the overwhelming tide of pain and loneliness that threatened to swallow you whole.

“I… I’m sorry, I’m a mess today.,” you managed to say between sobs, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I miss my friends so much, Lucas.”

He nodded, squeezing you gently. “I know, I know. That’s got to be the hardest part of all this—being here, away from everyone. But you’re not alone, okay? i’m right here, and i’ll stay here as long as you need me to.”

“Besides, we can always send them letters, they’re only in France.”

You stayed there, clutching onto his warmth, letting his words settle over you like a balm. ‘Only in France’

You swallowed fresh tears.

After a few moments, he leaned his head closer, his voice soft but with a familiar mischievous edge. “Besides, who else would put up with me if you weren’t here?”

You sniffled, managing a small, wobbly smile. “Probably, like, everyone. you’re everyone’s favorite flirt, Lucas.”

He grinned, and there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Well, that’s true. But nobody gets my best material like you do. I save all the good jokes just for you, y’know?”

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head. “You’re an idiot.”

“Hey, insults aside, at least I got you to laugh. My work here is almost done.”

You smiled a little, feeling a bit of the heaviness lift, if only for a moment. Lucas’ arm stayed around your shoulders, solid and steady, like a lifeline you hadn’t realized you needed so badly.

“You’ve got a lot on your shoulders,” he said, his voice turning gentle again. “And I know it feels impossible, but you’re stronger than you think, Y/n. and I’ll be here every step of the way, even if you’re too stubborn to ask for help.”

You let out a long, shaky breath, feeling the warmth of his reassurance settle over you. It wasn’t home, it wasn’t Harry, Hermione, or Ron, but Lucas was here, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. And for now, it was enough.

“Thank you, Lucas,” you whispered, your voice thick with gratitude.

He gave you a reassuring squeeze. “Anytime. I mean it. Anytime you need a shoulder to cry on, or someone to charm the socks off the Slytherins just for fun, I’m your guy.”

You laughed again, and this time, it felt genuine. Lucas gave you a smile that was soft and warm, and as you sat by the lake together, you felt, for the first time in a long time, that you might be able to make it through this—one small step at a time.

Lucas nudged you with his shoulder as he reached for a bowl of mashed potatoes. “Alright, Y/n, here’s a question: if you could switch places with anyone in the entire wizarding world right now, who would it be?”

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. “Easy—someone on holiday. preferably somewhere sunny.”

Alicia laughed, tossing a piece of bread at you. “That’s cheating! I thought you’d say someone exciting, like an auror or the minister of magic.”

“Can’t blame her,” Lilith chimed in, grinning.

“A tropical holiday sounds pretty thrilling after being stuck in potions all morning.” Maeve nodded her head, agreeing.

“You’ve got a point,” Lucas said thoughtfully, grinning at you. “Although, if I could switch with anyone, I’d probably pick Slughorn. Imagine all the secrets he must know, all those weird stories about famous people.”

“And you’d get to throw endless parties for yourself,” Lilith pointed out, a rare smile tugging at her lips.

Maeve smiled, “it would be the ultimate ego trip.”

Everyone laughed, and Lucas shrugged, clearly not bothered. “Hey, the guy knows how to live. He’s probably got more gossip than all of us combined. Speaking of parties,” he added, raising an eyebrow at you, “Ready for the slug club soirée, miss Riddle’s date?”

You groaned, feeling your cheeks warm as the others turned to look at you with intrigued expressions.

“I still can’t believe he just… declared you his date and walked off,” Alicia said, shaking her head in disbelief. “You didn’t get a single word in?”

“Not one,” you admitted, laughing. “He just looked at me with that infuriatingly smug expression and then left.”

Lucas leaned in, smirking. “And you, Y/n, are seriously going along with it?”

“Well,” you said, rolling your eyes, “I mean, he’s kinda… hot.”

“So… yes, I guess I am.”

Alicia nearly choked on her pumpkin juice, eyes widening. “Hot? He’s terrifying, Y/n! Have you seen the way he just stares at people? It’s like he’s plotting their downfall.”

“Yeah,” Maeve added, shooting you a half-amused, half-bewildered look, “But I get it… he’s got that whole brooding dark lord-in-the-making vibe. Still, I wouldn’t want to be within hexing range.”

You couldn’t help but laugh uneasy, brushing off their reactions.

Lilith shoved some cauliflower onto her plate, “Oh, come on, sure, he’s intense, but there’s something about him that’s… intriguing.”

Lucas, however, looked horrified. He leaned back, crossing his arms dramatically. “intriguing? No, no, Lili, intriguing is a new flavor of bertie bott’s beans or a strange ingredient in potions. Not Tom Riddle.”

Maeve nodded absentmindedly, “He does look like a good snack.”

Lucas gaped, “Sorry, what is wrong with you?”

Maeve shrugged her shoulders, “Don’t act as if you wouldn’t like a little nibble from him, even though you’re like—into girls and stuff.”

You straightened up, feeling Lucas tense beside you. So, you were the first person to know. Alicia also having noticed this, she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, lighten up, Lucas,” Alicia teased, nudging him. “I think we’re all just a little scared that she’s going to show up to the party in some hypnotic trance, spellbound by his ‘intensity.’”

Lucas rolled his eyes, pretending to be unimpressed, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Fine, if that’s what you want. But personally, I think he’s the human embodiment of a dark cloud, and I’d rather not be around for the thunderstorm.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” you replied with a grin. “It’s just one night. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Lucas gave you a long, exasperated look but then sighed, shaking his head with a reluctant smile. “I feel like you’ve just jinxed us."

“But, if it makes you happy, I suppose… but just remember, if he starts getting that ‘plotting world domination’ look, I’ll be there with a rescue plan.”

You grinned, giving him a playful nudge. “I’ll keep an eye out for his ‘dark cloud’ side.”

Maeve leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. “And what are you wearing?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Lucas said proudly before you could respond. “We’re matching.”

The entire group burst into a chorus of excited gasps and laughter, peppering you with questions. Lilith just nodded approvingly.

“Trust Lucas to make sure you two are the best-dressed at the party,” she said, a hint of admiration in her tone.

“Hey, if she’s going to suffer through a night with Riddle, the least I can do is make sure she looks fantastic,” Lucas said, grinning. “We’re talking silk, elegance, mystery—the works.”

“I don’t know about suffering,” you said, shrugging, though a part of you felt slightly on edge about the party. Tom Riddle’s attention still felt unsettling, but you didn’t want to think about that now.

“Oh, come on, I bet he’s actually a terrible dancer,” Maeve said with a wink. “you might have to lead.”

“That would be hilarious,” Alicia added, snickering. “Just don’t let him step on your toes.”

Lucas laughed. “If he does, you have my permission to hex him right there in front of everyone.”

You couldn’t help but smile, comforted by the light-hearted teasing. As you looked around the table, a warmth settled over you, the tension from this morning melting away.

“If anything, I know you’ll be having a great time, Lucas,” you said, nudging him.

You stood up from the table, giving Lucas and the others a quick wave as you grabbed your bag. “I’m going to the library to study with Ben,” you said, smiling weakly. “I’ll see you later.”

Lucas shot you a mock-salute, his expression playfully suspicious as if to say, ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ You grinned and waved him off, heading down the hall with the familiar comfort of your new friends’ laughter fading behind you.

The corridors were quiet, the muffled hum of the Great Hall lingering in the background as you made your way toward the library. You had only made it a few steps when, from the corner of your eye, you noticed someone falling into stride beside you. It was Tom.

He moved silently, his steps measured and smooth, his hands tucked into his robe pockets. You hadn’t even heard him approach, yet here he was, looking as composed and unreadable as ever. You tried not to tense, but the memory of his last intense gaze lingered.

You didn’t look at him but raised an eyebrow anyway.

“You’re walking alone,” his voice came from just next to you, and you could almost feel his gaze on the side of your face. “I thought I might walk with you.”

“Y/n,” he said, voice calm but direct, as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

You hummed in reply, wondering where this conversation was going to lead you this time.

“I saw you by the Black Lake earlier.”

You kept your gaze forward, unsure where this was going. “…And?”

His tone was quieter than usual, though still carefully controlled. “You were …crying.”

The words struck you, not because they were untrue, but because you hadn’t realized anyone had seen. You felt your cheeks warm slightly, defensive instinct kicking in.

“Why do you care?” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “It’s hardly any of your business, Riddle.”

He looked at you, brow raised slightly. “It’s not,” he admitted. “But I’m asking.”

You glanced at him, his face composed but his eyes watchful, curious in a way that felt genuine, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything about him was calculated. Even so, he had a strange intensity about him that made it hard to dismiss him completely.

You stiffened, your fingers tightening around your bag strap. “I’m fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, your gaze fixed ahead. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing,” he repeated, almost sounding amused. “You’re lying.”

“If you must know, it’s because… I had a difficult time, with….something,” you kept your words vague, unwilling to open up fully but feeling oddly compelled to say something.

“Difficult?” Tom echoed, his voice betraying the faintest hint of curiosity. “You seem perfectly capable of handling yourself. What could possibly make you—” he paused, almost as if the word felt foreign to him, “—upset?”

You shrugged, keeping your tone guarded. “Being capable doesn’t make someone immune to, well… feeling lost, different? I don’t know. It’s not like everyone here is exactly friendly.”

He nodded, considering your words in silence as you turned the final corner toward the library. “You sound like a Hufflepuff.”

After a beat, he spoke again, his voice almost softer. “Perhaps.”

“It is just very odd to imagine someone like you feeling out of place.” He paused, his expression unreadable. “I wonder why that is.”

Something in his voice made you feel exposed, as though he was peeling back layers you hadn’t even known were there. You were confused how he spoke so, elegantly for someone so rough.

You looked away, shrugging. “Maybe because I’m just a girl, at the end of the day.”

You caught a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of interest in his eyes. “Perhaps,” he said slowly. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “I understand that feeling, you know. Not fitting in. It’s a powerful motivator.”

The words lingered between you, unspoken layers hidden in their simplicity, and before you could form a response, he glanced down the hallway.

“We’re nearly there,” he said, his tone shifting back to its usual detached calm. “Don’t forget, by the way—Slug Club party. You’re still my date.”

He gave you one last look, his eyes gleaming with an enigmatic intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Then, with the same silent precision, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone outside the library, a strange sense of unsettledness trailing in his wake.

As you watched him walk away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—some subtle, quiet thing—had shifted between the two of you because of that little conversation. And you weren’t sure whether it was unsettling or… strangely comforting. But you could feel it in your stomach.

A/N: sorry for late postinggg, hope you enjoyed it though!! also, I'm having problems with tagging, so i apologize if your tag didn't work :(

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271 notes · View notes

theodorenmyth · 5 months ago

Note

Mattheo and Enzo sharing a lover who kinda sleeps very deeply to the point mattheo may joke that reader is dead in their sleep. Probably so Enzo is like “don’t say that!” Because it’s an actual thing. So now when ever reader deeply sleep Enzo and mattheo have to check their breathing

Dreams and Reality

Pairings : Mattheo Riddle x GN! Reader x Lorenzo Berkshire

Summary : Nestled between Mattheo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire, you find comfort in their warmth and presence. However, your deep sleep becomes a point of concern for them, leading to a mix of playful jokes and genuine worry. Mattheo's dark humor and Enzo's protective nature bring light to the love and care they both have for you. Through heartfelt conversations and shared moments, you come to understand the depth of their concern and the strength of your bond. No matter how deeply you sleep, Mattheo and Enzo's unwavering presence ensures your safety and comfort, reminding you that you are cherished and protected in their arms.

A/n : Enjoy (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

Warnings) : nothing

Word count : 1.1k+

The heavy curtains are drawn, allowing only a sliver of moonlight to pierce the darkness of the room. You lie nestled between Mattheo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire, their bodies a comforting presence on either side of you. The soft, rhythmic sounds of their breathing create a lullaby that almost sends you deeper into your already profound sleep.

Mattheo's hand rests lightly on your shoulder, his fingers occasionally twitching as if to reassure himself of your presence. Lorenzo, or Enzo as you affectionately call him, has an arm draped protectively over your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck. The warmth of their bodies is an anchor in the night, grounding you in this shared space of intimacy.

It's in moments like these that Mattheo's dark humor surfaces, a defense mechanism against the vulnerability he rarely allows himself to show. His voice is a soft murmur in the stillness, "You know, sometimes I think you're dead when you sleep this deeply."

Enzo's head snaps up, eyes wide and glinting with a mix of annoyance and genuine concern. "Don’t say that, Mattheo! It's not funny."

You stir slightly at the sound of their voices but remain blissfully unaware of the conversation happening around you. Mattheo rolls his eyes, though there's a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Relax, Enzo. I’m just joking. But seriously, they sleep like the dead."

Enzo's grip on you tightens almost imperceptibly. "Jokes like that aren’t funny when it's actually a thing, Mattheo. You know how worried I get."

Mattheo's expression softens, and he reaches over to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I know. I’m sorry. It's just... they seem so peaceful when they sleep. Like nothing can touch them."

Enzo sighs, his features relaxing a bit. "I get it. But still, I wish you wouldn’t joke about it. We should check their breathing."

You feel a slight shift as Enzo moves, his fingers gently pressing against the pulse point on your neck. He holds his breath, counting the steady beats beneath his fingertips. Satisfied, he relaxes back into the bed, his body curling protectively around yours once more.

"They’re fine," he murmurs, mostly to himself.

Mattheo's hand joins Enzo's, resting lightly on your chest to feel the slow rise and fall of your breathing. "Yeah, they’re fine," he echoes, more for Enzo's reassurance than his own.

In the morning, the sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You stretch, feeling the comforting weight of both Mattheo and Enzo beside you. They’re already awake, watching you with a mix of affection and something else you can't quite place.

"Good morning," you say, your voice thick with sleep.

"Morning," they reply in unison, their voices a harmonious blend of relief and warmth.

You notice the way they exchange a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. "What’s up with you two?" you ask, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Mattheo chuckles, shaking his head. "Nothing. Just making sure you're still with us."

Enzo nudges him with his elbow. "Don’t mind him. He’s just being dramatic."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Okay, now you have to tell me."

Enzo sighs, his hand finding yours beneath the covers. "It's just... you sleep so deeply sometimes. It worries us."

Mattheo nods, his expression more serious now. "Yeah. We just... want to make sure you're okay."

You feel a warmth spread through you at their concern, your heart swelling with affection for these two men who care so deeply. "I’m fine, really. Just a heavy sleeper."

Enzo's thumb strokes the back of your hand. "We know. But humor us, okay? Let us check every now and then."

You nod, understanding the need behind their request. "Okay. If it makes you feel better."

Mattheo's usual smirk returns, and he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. "It does."

The day passes in a blur of activities and laughter. The three of you navigate your shared life with ease, the bond between you growing stronger with each passing moment. The deep connection you share is evident in the way you move around each other, an unspoken understanding that requires no words.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Later that evening, the three of you find yourselves sprawled across the couch in the common room. The warmth of the fireplace and the comfort of their presence create a cozy atmosphere. You rest your head on Enzo's lap while Mattheo occupies the other end of the couch, his legs stretched out and resting comfortably over Enzo's.

"So, what’s the plan for tonight?" Mattheo asks, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Enzo glances down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. "I was thinking we could watch a movie. Something light, maybe?"

You perk up at the suggestion, your eyes bright with interest. "How about a classic? Something we all love?"

Mattheo grins, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Stranger Things marathon?"

Enzo chuckles, nodding in agreement. "Sounds perfect."

You snuggle deeper into Enzo's lap as Mattheo grabs the remote and starts the first movie. The familiar music fills the room, and you feel a sense of nostalgia wash over you. As the movie plays, you find yourself drifting off again, the combination of their warmth and the comfort of the setting lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

"Are they asleep already?" Mattheo whispers, glancing over at you.

Enzo smiles, his fingers gently stroking your hair. "Yeah. They must be really tired."

Mattheo’s expression softens as he watches you. "You know, I was thinking... maybe we should talk to them about this. Make sure they know how much we care."

Enzo nods thoughtfully. "I think that’s a good idea. We should have an open conversation about it."

As the night wears on, you shift slightly in your sleep, a soft sigh escaping your lips. Mattheo and Enzo exchange a glance, their silent agreement clear. They care deeply for you, and your well-being is their priority.

When you wake up the next morning, the sun is just beginning to rise, casting a golden hue across the room. You find yourself in bed again, nestled between Mattheo and Enzo. They’re both awake, their eyes filled with a mixture of love and concern.

"Morning," you say softly, your voice still heavy with sleep.

"Morning," they reply in unison, their voices warm and reassuring.

You stretch, feeling the comforting weight of their presence. "Did I fall asleep during the movie?"

Enzo chuckles, his hand gently caressing your cheek. "Yeah, you did. We carried you to bed."

You smile, a sense of gratitude filling your heart. "Thank you."

Mattheo’s expression grows serious, and he reaches for your hand. "We need to talk to you about something."

You nod, sensing the importance of the conversation. "Okay."

Enzo takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. "We’ve noticed that you sleep very deeply, and it worries us sometimes. We just want to make sure you're okay."

Mattheo squeezes your hand gently. "We care about you so much, and we want to make sure you know that. If there’s anything we can do to help, please let us know."

You feel a wave of emotion wash over you, your heart swelling with love for these two wonderful men. "I appreciate that, really. I’m fine, though. Just a heavy sleeper. But if it helps you both, we can come up with a plan to check in on me."

Enzo smiles, relief evident in his eyes. "That would mean a lot to us."

Mattheo nods, his expression softening. "Thank you. We just want to make sure you're safe."

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to each of their cheeks. "I know. And I love you both for it."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The rest of the day is filled with laughter and light-hearted moments, the bond between you growing stronger with each passing hour. As evening approaches, you find yourselves once again curled up in bed, the familiar sense of comfort and security enveloping you.

"Goodnight, love," Mattheo murmurs, his voice a soft caress in the darkness.

"Sleep well," Enzo whispers, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist.

As you drift off to sleep, their presence is a constant reassurance, a reminder that you are cherished and protected. The last thing you hear before you succumb to the depths of slumber is Mattheo’s voice, soft and teasing, "Don’t sleep too deeply now."

You smile, your heart filled with love and gratitude for these two wonderful men. And as you sleep, you know that no matter how deeply you dream, you’ll always be safe in their arms.

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ahqkas · 6 months ago

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I have like a supernatural request and I’m obsessed with mermaids…LIKE 😕 but I would like to request something where mattheo is by a lake. He heard a lot about how there’s a Hogwarts mermaid by this lake. But she only comes out at night. Reader’s scales are so beautiful and it makes him memorized and he starts to sneak out a lot to see her.

-🦋anon

PRECIOUS LIKE THOSE PEARLS ; mattheo riddle

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

THE BLACK LAKE WAS CALM AND STILL UNDER THE PALE LIGHT OF THE CRESCENT MOON. Mattheo Riddle stood at the water's edge, his eyes scanning the dark surface, hoping for a glimpse of the creature he'd heard whispers about. The air was cool, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees. He'd been coming here every night for the past week, driven by curiosity and a strange, unexplainable pull. Something must be in this lake.

Tonight, however, felt different. The usual silence of the lake seemed charged with an interesting energy. As he stood there, he noticed a faint shimmer beneath the water, a glimmer that was neither a reflection of the moon nor a trick of the light. His heart quickened as he took a step closer.

Suddenly, the water's surface broke, and a figure emerged. You were breathtaking, with scales that glimmered like precious jewels in the moonlight. They ranged from deep emerald green to a soft, iridescent blue, shifting and sparkling with her every movement. Your eyes, perhaps shining even more than the scales, locked onto his, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

"You're the mermaid," Mattheo exclaimed softly, more to himself than to you. His breath hitched in the back of his throat.

You tilted your head slightly, a small smile playing on your lips. "And you must be the boy who has been watching me."

Your voice was melodic, carrying a soothing quality that matched your ethereal appearance. Mattheo felt his breath hitch for the second time in a minute, captivated by the sight before him. He nodded slowly, unable to tear his gaze away from you.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The shock of your appearance resided in his system.

"Call me [Name]," you replied, eyes twinkling with curiosity as you swam closer, examining his human features. "And you are?"

The boy appeared almost like from another realm. He was beautiful. His features, so distinctly human, seemed strange to you. The round curve of his ear, the redness of his cheeks. Only the look in his eyes matched yours. Wild curiosity for the other world.

"Mattheo," he answered, taking another cautious step closer. "I've heard stories about you. They say you only come out at night."

A chuckle escaped past your lips, a sound that reminded Mattheo of the tinkling of small bells. "The night is my comfort, where I feel most at home. It's safer, too. Humans can be . . . unpredictable."

"I suppose we can be. But I'm not here to harm you. I just wanted to see if the stories were true."

"And now that you've seen me?" you asked him the question, your gaze never really leaving his.

"I'm more mesmerized than I ever thought I would be," he admitted. "Your scales . . . they're beautiful." You are beautiful.

"Thank you," your smile widened upon hearing his words. "It's rare for someone to see me like this. Most are too afraid or simply don't believe."

"Well, I'm not most people," Mattheo said with a hint of pride. "I've always been drawn to the mysterious, the things others overlook or dismiss." And it was the truth. Mattheo had always been curious, his caretakers used to say.

Your eyes softened, and you swam a little closer to the shore, towards him. "Why do you come here, Mattheo? What is it that you seek?"

He thought for a moment, considering your question. "I don't know," he finally said. "Maybe I'm looking for something beyond the ordinary. Something that makes me feel alive."

"You find that in me?" you asked, a touch of vulnerability in your voice. No one has ever treated you with such kindness. No one from the human world, that’s it.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation. "There's something about you, [Name]. Something magical." And it wasn’t the Hogwarts.

For a moment, the two of you simply looked at each other, the silence between you filled with an unspoken understanding. Then, you broke the spell.

"Would you like to come closer?" asking, you extended a palm toward him.

Mattheo hesitated for only a second before he knelt by the water's edge, reaching out to take your hand. Your touch was cool and soft, sending a shiver up his spine. You gently pulled him closer, and he found himself sitting on the damp ground, his feet almost touching the water, knees soaking the dampness in.

"Tell me about your world," you proposed, eyes wide with interest. "What's it like above the surface?"

Mattheo smiled, realizing he had so much to share. "It's . . . chaotic and beautiful all at once. There are mountains and forests, bustling cities and quiet villages. People can be wonderful, but also terribly complicated. It's a world full of contradictions."

"That sounds fascinating," your voice was full of wonder. "I wish I could see it for myself."

"Maybe one day," Mattheo said, his tone hopeful. "But for now, I'll tell you everything you want to know."

You spent hours like that, talking and sharing stories. Mattheo told you all about Hogwarts, the magical creatures, and the adventures he'd had. You, in turn, shared tales of the lake, its hidden depths, and the creatures that dwelled within. With every word, the two of you grew closer, the bond between you strengthening.

As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, you let out a sigh. "I have to go. The sun is rising."

"Will I see you again?" Mattheo asked, not wanting your time together to end. He has never felt more connected with someone.

"Yes," you promised. "Come back tomorrow night. I'll be here."

With one last, lingering look, your figure slipped beneath the water, disappearing from sight. Mattheo stood up, his heart full of a strange mix of emotions. He knew he would return, drawn back to the lake by the pull of the mysterious mermaid who had captured his heart. As he walked back to the castle, he couldn't stop thinking about you, the night you had shared, and the promise of more to come.

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sophora2025 · 1 month ago

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Johan Liebert x Reader Headcanons | Monster ( Anime/Manga)

The Mysterious Attraction

• At first, you’re not sure why you’re drawn to Johan. His beauty is undeniable, but there’s something deeper—an air of mystery that pulls you in.

• Johan is the type to observe from afar before making his presence known to you. He watches how you interact with others, how you react to various situations, almost like he’s analyzing you.

• Once Johan decides to speak to you, you feel immediately disarmed by his calm demeanor and soft-spoken words. He’s incredibly charming, and there’s something in his eyes that makes it hard to look away.

• There’s a subtle thrill in being close to him. You know there’s something dangerous beneath his polite smile, but that just makes you want to figure him out more.

His Subtle Possessiveness

• Johan is possessive, though not in the conventional sense. He doesn’t get jealous of others easily; rather, he ensures that you feel as though no one could ever compare to him. He subtly weaves himself into your life until you’re always thinking of him.

• He often reminds you how unique your connection is, how no one else could ever understand you the way he does. You begin to notice that he’s always one step ahead, knowing what you need before you even ask.

• Johan can be manipulative without you even realizing it. He’s a master at guiding conversations, making you feel like he’s the only person in the world who truly sees you for who you are. It’s intoxicating, but also terrifying once you realize how deep you’ve fallen.

Moments of Vulnerability

• Though Johan rarely shows his true feelings, there are rare moments where you catch glimpses of vulnerability. His composed mask slips when he’s alone with you, and for a fleeting second, you wonder if the darkness that surrounds him ever overwhelms him.

• He doesn’t talk much about his past, but in those moments where he’s silent, staring into the distance, you can feel the weight of something unspeakable. It’s then you realize how broken he truly is, and part of you aches to help him, though you know better.

• Johan might let you touch his face, allowing you to trace the lines of his expressionless features, but there’s always an undercurrent of something ominous. He’s simultaneously soft and chillingly distant, like he’s allowing you into a world you can never fully understand.

Protection and Danger

• Despite his darkness, Johan is fiercely protective of you. He won’t allow anything or anyone to harm you, though his methods are… unsettling. People who threaten or hurt you tend to disappear or meet sudden unfortunate ends.

• Johan never explicitly tells you about the lengths he goes to for your protection, but you can sense it. There are times when you wonder if you’re safer or in more danger being with him.

• He has a way of making you feel like you’re the center of his world, but there’s always the lingering fear that if you ever wanted to leave, you wouldn’t be able to. Johan is patient, but he won’t let go easily.

The Psychological Games

• Being with Johan often feels like a mental chess game. He’s always ten steps ahead, and though he never hurts you directly, you sometimes feel like he’s testing you—seeing how far he can push before you break.

• Conversations with Johan often feel like they have layers you can’t quite decipher. He speaks in riddles, in philosophical musings, leaving you questioning everything, even your own sense of reality.

• Johan enjoys seeing how far he can shape your worldview. He’ll gently plant ideas in your mind, make you question the morality of society, of humanity, until you find yourself becoming more and more like him—detached, observing the world through his dark lens.

Tender but Tense Moments

• There are moments of tenderness when you’re alone with Johan, where he holds you close and speaks in that soothing voice. He strokes your hair or traces his fingers along your arm, his touch soft, yet his presence is always a little overwhelming.

• He loves the quiet moments where you lie in his arms, your head resting against his chest as his hand brushes over your back. He’s silent, but you can feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on you, even if he doesn’t share them.

• However, you can never fully relax around him. Even in moments of calm, there’s always an edge to his affection, like he’s holding back something much darker.

A Fatal Attraction

• Being with Johan feels like being caught in the eye of a storm. On the surface, it’s calm, almost peaceful, but you know the chaos that lurks just beyond. You can never shake the feeling that you’re teetering on the edge of something catastrophic.

• You begin to question whether you’re truly in love with him, or if it’s just the intoxicating power of his presence. Either way, you can’t escape the hold he has on you.

• Deep down, you know that Johan could destroy you, either emotionally or physically. And yet, you can’t imagine being with anyone else. There’s a strange sense of inevitability about it—you were drawn to his darkness, and now, you’re bound to it.

#monster manga #johan liebert #johan x reader #johan liebert x reader #monster anime #johan x reader headcanons

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trashpandato · 1 year ago

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Love

“Personally, I’ve always rather liked the pre-Socratic philosophers and their take on it.”

“And what’s that?” Kara asks as she shifts a little closer to Lena.

It’s a rare lazy Sunday morning, and they’ve both not left the bed yet. Kara isn’t sure how they got here, having a deeply philosophical conversation before the sun is fully up, just that it started with Lena solving an expert level math riddle on her phone while Kara was working her way through the latest crossword puzzle in the Sunday paper. And somehow, it turned into debating the meaning of love.

“Let me see if I can get this right,” Lena starts. “It’s been a while since I’ve read Empedocles. But basically, he saw love and strife as the two main cosmic forces that decide how individual elements in the universe mix together to form different things. The two forces battle for dominance, but they’re both in everything, in a way. Love and conflict. They’re both why we’re here.”

Kara leans over and presses a soft kiss to Lena’s bare shoulder. She can’t help but smile.

“Of course you would be drawn to a definition of love that sounds more like particle science.”

Lena chuckles a little but turns to chase the feeling of Kara’s lips against her skin. “You love me anyway.”

“I do. I very much do.”

#supercorp #kara x lena #supercorptober2023 #supercorptober

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your-musicguru · 1 month ago

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**Title: Sweetness in Shadows**

**Summary:** Tom Riddle, the enigmatic and ambitious Slytherin, finds himself drawn to a Hufflepuff whose kindness and sweetness stand in stark contrast to his own darkening ambitions.

---

You were a beacon of warmth in the often cold and calculating halls of Hogwarts. As a Hufflepuff, you embodied the qualities of loyalty, patience, and sweetness that set you apart from the more ambitious students of Slytherin. Your laughter, like a gentle melody, echoed through the corridors, attracting the attention of many—but none so intensely as Tom Riddle.

Tom was a striking figure, with sharp features and an air of confidence that made hearts race. Yet, beneath his charming exterior lay an ambition that often spiraled into darkness. He was captivated by power, but it was your sweetness that ensnared him.

It was a chilly evening when you found yourself in the library, poring over a particularly difficult Herbology text. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated your features, and for a moment, Tom simply watched you from a distance, his breath hitching at the sight. You were so focused, your brow furrowed in concentration, and he couldn’t help but admire the way your lips would curl into a small smile when you understood something.

“Need any help?” His voice was smooth, almost a whisper, as he approached your table.

You looked up, startled but pleasantly surprised. “Oh, Tom! I didn’t see you there.” A warm smile spread across your face, and he felt a flutter in his chest.

“I thought I might offer my assistance,” he said, sliding into the seat across from you. “Herbology can be quite tedious, especially with Professor Sprout’s demands.”

You chuckled softly. “It’s not so bad. I actually find it quite fascinating. Plants have their own kind of magic, don’t you think?”

Tom leaned in, intrigued. “Indeed, but perhaps not as potent as the kind we’re capable of wielding.” His gaze softened, captivated not just by your words but by the very essence of who you were. Your kindness was a stark contrast to the ambition that fueled him, and it both thrilled and confused him.

As the days turned into weeks, Tom found himself seeking you out more than ever. He would appear in the library, at Hufflepuff gatherings, even in the greenhouses, where you tended to the plants with tender care. With each encounter, he became more entranced by your sweetness—a quality he felt he could never possess.

One afternoon, as you were tending to a particularly stubborn plant, Tom approached, a rare softness in his demeanor. “Why do you always choose to see the good in everything?” he asked, watching you with a mix of admiration and curiosity.

You paused, glancing up at him. “Because there’s always something good, Tom. Even in the darkest of places, there’s light to be found. I believe that everyone has a spark of kindness in them.”

His expression turned contemplative. “And what if that spark is overshadowed by ambition? By darkness?”

Your gaze softened, and you reached out, placing a gentle hand on his. “Sometimes, all it takes is someone to remind you of that light. You don’t have to walk this path alone, you know.”

Tom’s heart raced at your touch, the warmth of your hand grounding him in a way he had never experienced before. “You are an enigma, Y/N. Sweet, yet so strong.”

You smiled, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. “And you are complicated. But I see something in you, Tom. Something good.”

Those words hung in the air between you, a delicate thread of hope woven into the fabric of your budding connection. Tom felt a yearning he hadn’t anticipated—a desire not just for power, but for the sweetness that you embodied.

As the days passed, Tom became more protective of you, often watching from the shadows as you navigated the social circles of Hogwarts. He found solace in your laughter, and every time you smiled, it felt like a balm to his darkening heart.

One evening, as the sun set behind the castle, casting golden rays across the grounds, Tom found you sitting by the Black Lake, lost in thought. He approached, feeling a magnetic pull toward you.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his heart pounding. “What if I told you that you are the reason I keep my darkness at bay?”

You turned to him, surprise etched on your face. “Tom…”

“I don’t want to lose that sweetness you bring into my life. It’s… it’s intoxicating.” His gaze was intense, and for the first time, you saw beneath the ambitious facade he wore like armor.

You took a deep breath, your heart racing. “You don’t have to be alone in this, Tom. I believe there’s still good in you, and I want to help you find it.”

As he looked into your eyes, Tom felt an unfamiliar warmth wash over him—an emotion he had long buried beneath layers of ambition and darkness. “Perhaps it’s time I let someone in.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the fading light of the day, two worlds collided—one of ambition and shadows, and the other of kindness and sweetness. Tom Riddle had found something that could rival his desire for power: the sweetness of your heart.

**End.**

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years ago

Note

Omg I'm SO sorry!!! I'm the soulmates pain AU anon, I was completely aware you were the one with the milestone!! I saw the post through Molly's rb and I was almost completely sure I had opened your blog to send you the ask but alas, the Tumblr app can never give you any certainties. That long-ass message was completely dedicated to you, I still can't quite grasp how I managed to send it to scribbledghost 🙄🙄🙄 Sorry!!! Congrats again, I love you!!!!

for reference a Din Djarin x reader soulmate request where your soulmate feels your injuries and pain

hello, dear heart!

I wanted to say, before anything else, thank you. I've reread your words multiple times since you sent this, confirming they were to me, and they really mean the world to me. thank you so, so much! anyway, your idea is fantastic, I had a lot of fun with this one! I hope you like seeing what I did with your already wonderful thoughts 💕

ps it's well documented that I'm a big fan of sprawling thoughts, so please never apologize for sharing them!

warnings: mentions canon-typical injuries, a bunch of fluff. at least enough for a couple of throw pillows

soulmate requests / follower celebration

There's a short burn on his forearm when he wakes.

Din stares at it, wondering at the dull ache, trying to place the injury from yesterday's adventure when it hits him. Hot and golden warmth, flooding through his chest, thawing his flesh against the cold filtered air.

It's one of yours.

A burn, on his forearm.

And selfishly, indulgently, he pauses for a moment, mind slipping away from duty and expectations to dwell in the daydream of his soulmate.

First, his mind creates an image of a blurry mandalorian caretaker, gently moving around a kitchen in the covert. You stir a pot, tapping the spoon on the side before setting it down. Hearing distant calls, you turn too quickly and oh - a sliver of burn along your arm.

Din wants to help, wants to pull you away from the domestic .... danger, and he rushes forward. Your helmet turns to him and he almost sees it - before his mind can no longer produce the answers he aches for late at night.

The second image is of you, in armor as gleaming as his own, in a thick, unrecognizable forest. The hairs on his neck are at full attention, already subconsciously wanting to shout - but you don't need his help. You're breathtaking in all versions of his daydream - but watching you fight with practiced ease punches the air from his lungs. For a moment he feels self-conscious of his awkward maneuvers and slapdash fighting but then his mind pulls him back. You're protecting someone, or else you wouldn't have messed up - you never do, injuries from you are too rare - but you shove them behind you, shooting an enemy over your shoulder before your helmet snaps back. There are so many - you're surrounded - and a hot, sharp blaster bolt grazes your forearm before your fury is truly unleashed.

He runs his fingers over the burn, almost giddy at the possibilities.

Mandalorians are few and far between, but he's grateful he has a soulmate, and even more thankful you've kept yourself out of harm's way almost entirely, since you'd been connected.

As he dons his layers, the shine of his armor reflects bruises and scrapes littered across the expanse of his skin. His own, from his journey, and one beautiful little burn from his soulmate.

And then they're covered, and the armor is tied securely in place, and he leaves his daydreams in the room as the ship door slides unceremoniously shut.

You hiss at the burn, clutching your arm.

Great. Just what you needed - another injury to add to your impressive collection.

At least my soulmate gets a gift from me this time. You roll your eyes.

The vendor next to your stall is a sweet lady, already apologizing for her steaming pots and pans and offering you compensation.

The credits would be nice, but you could hardly justify taking anything, especially since it was your soulmate's fault your body was riddled with aches and pains in the first place.

Waving your hand, you accept her counter offer - a bowl of her perfect broth and noodles - before retreating. You sell cloth, from beautiful dyed lengths tucked away to sturdy, unstainable blacks, and it was days like today that you thanked your stars for that choice.

There's a thick pile in the middle that you perch on, sinking into the folds as your body cries at you, and you sigh over your soup in relief. The burden of waking to webbing bruises and sprawling scrapes and the more-than-occasional broken bone is eased by your stall - sitting and haggling until the sun goes down. That is, unless there's drama in the market, as it seems there is today.

In the distance you hear shouts, more than those of vendors selling meat on sticks to passing warriors and merchants - the taunts of drunkards.

Someone is coming, and you almost laugh when you see his form in the distance, because he's trying and failing to be inconspicuous. It's impossible, with his gleaming armor, but still he ducks into shadowy spots, forgetting - or maybe ignoring - their inhabitants.

"A Mandalorian has graced our market," your neighbor remarks dryly. They were respected, but it was well known that chaos followed them. You share a look, both wishing you were wealthy enough to conpletely pack up shop. If anything, a logical person would put away most of the stock and hunker down for a few hours. Weighing the odds was difficult: if you were lucky, the chaos wouldn't bother your business, and shoppers might be drawn out, hoping for entertainment and spending as they waited. If you weren't, a wayward burst of plasma or blaster fire would destroy your whole month's stock.

You looked at him again, the Mandalorian kneeling down the street. His form was... almost handsome, formidable but careful. He was light on his feet, seemingly with gentleness on his mind, and it drew you in like a moth to flame. You decided to stay, and hope for the best, your curiosity pulsing like your bruises.

And you were lucky, that day, because he ducked away not a moment later, taking the exciment with him.

Until, he came back the next day, this time on the prowl, stalking up and down the edge of Dicer's Row, one hand on his blaster and the other atop a bulky, wriggling bag. This time, you ventured to stand, folding and refolding your displays as you watched him through your lashes.

And then he made his move, and you sighed, feigning a yawn to cover your disappointment from your neighbor's knowing smile. She shouldn't be wiggling her eyebrows over the box wall between you - honestly his type were more annoying than anything. A crash from the alley confirmed it: there was no way a guy like that cared about his soulmate. The gentleness from before was surely a trick of the light.

Your whole side lit up with pain, the impact of something hard against your whole side and you groaned, settling into your mound again. Any curiosity or attraction was snuffed under your annoyance and pain, and your mood soured like fruit left unpicked on the tree.

Selfish, you thought, glaring as a chicken ran squawking from the commotion. What a jerk.

The next day, you tried to maintain the sentiment, huffing as he wandered the stalls.

Why does he keep coming back?

You'd have thought his time here was over when he'd dragged that lowlife out of town yesterday. But here he was, buying a crock of soup at the stall next to you, and ignoring her comments about how he couldn't eat it with his helmet on.

She had warmed to him, since he'd put money in her pocket, chattering in a way that kept him stuck for long moments.

It struck you as strange - he almost seemed too awkward to leave, like her returned generosity actually meant something to him. A man like him... surely could've just walked away.

But he stayed for awhile, nodding and looking at the spoons she carved in her free time, and you almost thought he was looking at you, too. Then he ducked his head and planted himself in front of you, and certainly he was.

For all the years you'd spent weaving words to sell your fabrics and goods, you'd never been so speechless. The Mandalorian was large, sharp, shining edges and bulky canvas packs tied to his shoulders - he seemed out of place, filling your whole stall, shuffling as he loomed over you.

He asked for soft brown things - children's clothes.

"Of course, I - I mean, yes, just over here -" you tripped over your words, caught completely off guard by the shape of him, the feel of him just an arms width away, and his request. You stumbled from your seat, nearly toppling in your hurry and his gloved hand wrapped around your arm, catching you.

"You're injured," he stated not really asking. It was... overwhelmingly intimate, him knowing, and acknowledging it, like he cared.

"Yeah, my..." you swallowed, trying not to get lost in the dark glass inches from your face. "My self-centered soulmate keeps getting himself nearly killed."

Even with your heart thumping in your chest, you couldn't keep the bite from your words, bitterness having collected over years of nursing injuries that were consequences of someone else's actions. He didn't let go of you for a moment, his helmet pulling back and tilting, like he was startled.

Then he was cautious, unbearably so, releasing his grip like a child freeing a captured creature when it was time. The topic was dropped, and he made his purchase quickly, but before he left, he paused. The Mandalorian's gloved hand ghosted over your cheek, slowly moving a hair back into it's place, and if you hadn't known better, it was almost an apology.

And then, thick cape swirling in the dust, tiny clothes in tow, he swept away, leaving you along with your whole body alight with a foreign longing.

Din felt as though he'd been stabbed.

Hot, hot feelings poured through his chest, spreading fast as fire as he desperately tried to sort through them.

You - you were incredible, fragile and bruised, with the most stunning, determined eyes he had ever seen. Not a Mandalorian, and you had a ... a soulmate, a fucker who left your skin littered with marks, burdening you with ...

He felt panicked, shocked, and guilty, just as he had when you'd told him. It had never occred to him that his soulmate might be there... out there, constantly burdened by his recklessness. His body screamed for attention, something he so often ignored, but this time, he was almost deafened by it.

His feet, legs, arms, chest, heart - all of them wanted him to return to you, in your little fabric stall. To... what? Truly, he hadn't the slightest idea, so his mind won out, shaking a little to try to reign in the muscles that he'd taught to obey him.

He couldn't go to you.

But, he couldn't stay away.

He was back in the market, and this time, he wasn't being subtle about staring at you.

Tall and ... slow, he waded through the crowds, making his was towards you like he was following a careful path.

"Can I help you?" You stood, moving almost involuntarily towards him. "Was there something wrong with my -" he was already shaking his head, hands reaching to make you shush.

Waiting, an irrational part of your mind wished he would touch you again, would place his big hands on your skin and sooth the aches that haunted your life. It was unfair, but you didn't stop it, couldn't if you tried.

Carefully, he slid a single finger to your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the little burn you'd gotten.

He was being gentle. It made you want to stomp your feet, jealously welling up in your heart like bile, bitter and hot. How could it be, that someone so powerful had learned so quickly, wanted to, and he wasn't - he wasn't even your -

Then he moved again, pushing up his own sleeve and your thoughts tumbled over each other. It was intimate, even more than before, desperately trusting, as his skin near glowed in the morning light. And there was a burn on his skin, hairs singled like they'd met the edge of a pot of boiling broth.

You wanted to punch him. This man has spent years tossing his body around like he had one one spare, making your own as brittle as bread crust and - you wanted to kiss him. This man had learned after a single day, the impact of his actions, and had been nothing but kind.

The forehead of his helmet pressed into yours, and the two sides of your mind compromised.

Later, words would come - they had to.

But now, your eyes closed, and you sighed. He had the rest of your life to make it up to you - and he would, you were sure.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk @saradika @zinzinina

#din djarin x reader #soulmate requests #anonymous and elle #elle only posts soulmate rqs at weird hours thats the rule

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stormgardenscurse · 3 years ago

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Hullo there! Can I ask for some fluffy headcanons for Malleus, Silver, Vil, Epel, and Riddle taking care of their fem s/o after she burns herself out after a long day of schoolwork please? Thank u!

Malleus

Initially, Malleus considered granting you a spell that would help soothe you from a day of work. However the fae decided that he would save that for later. He's heard of baking as a stress-relieving activity, so Malleus arranged to try it with you today (even if it included a bit more magic than regular baking). It’s worth venturing outside of his comfort zone; you were smiling throughout it and the muffins became one of the rare creations from their kitchens that didn’t require a warning sign!

Later on there’s cuddling - his coat is wrapped around you both snugly whilst he cradles you as the big spoon. Malleus trades stories and advice with you as you rant about your day, and you eventually doze off to the sound of his heartbeat...

Silver

The woods are gently lit with sunlight at this time of day - after chatting for a while, you and Silver found yourselves sitting in the shade of the trees as you caught up. It’s quiet, save for the gentle chirping of birds and rustle of leaves; it was honestly the best place for a nap.

Though the environment was only secondary to what you were doing right now. Fur, softer than you’d ever imagined, tickled your fingertips when you petted the rabbit on your lap. Silver was beside you as you were surrounded by more curious animals. You could only assume that they were attracted to his presence, something that he never thought much of until he learned that spending time with animals could be used as a form of therapy.

Vil

Nothing beats some self-care! By the time you arrive, Vil has drawn up a bath for you with your favored bath salts. Comforting scents twine and fill the air as you feel your muscles lose their tension in the warm water. By the time you exit, drying your hair with a towel, you notice what looks like nail polish on the table.

Perhaps a massage was snuck in before your started on manicures, but essentially the rest of the day was spent in conversation and one another's company. Vil's hand is nimble as he painted, the other holding yours lightly as he asked about your week. It feels unreal, the domesticity and softness of his touch, but you're here and feeling the most rejuvenated than you've been all your life.

Epel

When you’ve spent the day exerting yourself on schoolwork, it’s nice to just rest and not think about things sometimes... That’s how you end up in a mini-sleepover situation with Epel, who suggested that you guys bought some food and binged movies together. It's fun going through different genres and learning about each other's tastes, and depending on how things go, you may end up playing video games or chatting into the night.

Epel was a little worried you might not like the idea since it’s not very refined, but once the two of you settled into your bundles of blankets and pillows it's hard to refute how fun it was. With a warm drink in hand and laughter in the air, you felt your worries drifting away.

Riddle

Riddle invites you to wind down with some tea and sweets! The aroma of freshly baked scones and tarts is more than enough to help you relax - plus paired with the rose gardens and some hedgehog visitors? Thoughts about school will be the last thing on your mind.

At the end of the day it’s almost definite that you’ll end up reading together, though this time he offers to read to you. Riddle’s voice gradually lulls you into a sleepy state, and as you drift off with a faint smile, he almost can’t bring himself to leave your side. (When he finally does, it’s after about another hour as he continued to read silently next to you, sometimes readjusting the covers if they slipped off your shoulders.)

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crispycrimebrulee · 3 years ago

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HI! Can i request chrollo with prompt 12? Thanksssss <3

Prompt #12: "I Miss You" "Don't Lie, I Know She's With You." [Angst!] [TW: Cheating] [Also Available on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/31658609 ]

Absence Makes The Heart Grow...Fickle.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Indeed, a statement that every relationship comes to meet, a milestone, a test of faith across miles of land and oceans, for if your love can withstand distance, surely it can withstand time, turmoil, and anything else.

And yet…

You find yourself, staring out of a raindrop riddled window, the soft hush of rainfall on adding fuel to your thoughts, watching your worries become realities as a pattern emerged from his constant actions…

Or lack thereof.

Could you blame him, though? Chrollo Lucilfer, feared among thieves and civilians alike, ruthlessness without bounds when he’s set on getting what he wants, going to any distance, metaphorical or physical to obtain what he wants most. You couldn’t really fault him for his distance; his distance in miles, being thousands of miles away gallivanting with his spiders on yet another quest, continuously building his legacy. You couldn’t blame him for his emotional distance either. He was an intense man to reach, to truly reach and understand and get close to. It would take ages of hard work and commitment to get him to share even a fraction of a clue of his own troubles to you. Not to mention, he always had something on his mind, a new quest, a new artifact, a new theory from his books, a new gang to silence, debts to collect...oh was he a busy man. You couldn’t blame him for being so far away, so distant…

And yet…

In the past he’d always made time for you, always called and made sure you were safe and taken care of while he was away. You’d been his top priority, his ultimate treasure, all quests and roads lead back to you at the end of a day or the end of a month, it was always your heart he returned home to and you welcomed him time and time again, how could you not? Everything about him was captivating, you’d be a fool to not let him in and have all that you are, albeit slowly and carefully, weary of what he was capable of.

Not weary enough, it seems.

You’d let him in, opened your doors to him and allowed him to gaze at what you thought was everything he wanted. Sure, it was everything he wanted, more than that by far. But as thieves go, they take without bounds and leave the door ajar, only a little so that they may slip in and steal whatever is left whenever they please, and you can do nothing to stop them seeing as only a fool lets a thief in their home.

He’d taken valuables beyond obtainable prices.

Love, time, faith, gentle smiles and gentler words, secrets of hopes and dreams and fears, all of it. He’d taken all of it without remorse on the basis of ‘your love could never be replaced’ promising he would only and always come back to you…

And.

Yet.

You already knew his heart and his eyes had wandered, from missed calls to missed dates to missed events to ‘forgetting to tell you he’d returned home’, to hearing whispers from shop owners mentioning they’d seen him with Her, his hand resting on the slope of Her hip, his eyes resting on Her hands as She held gifts from places he’d been, places he knows you could only dream of visiting, gifts that were seldom for you. He’d already tested the waters with another, already given in to a special kind of temptation, a one sided selfish temptation. What had you meant to him? Were you only someone to play with, something to fill a gap in his desires, desire for a sense of stability? Had he only spent years with you to play house with a docile routine only to put you on the shelf when the gap had closed, a new one opening where you did not fit? Were you another object he had to have, something to join a collection of used dolls, a worn out plaything, a gemstone now frosted and without luster, something to be given away with lesser value?

Of course, you little fool. What else would he want with you?

Only souls with stars in their eyes and hope in their hearts think ruthlessness with no bounds have bounds in regards to another, and that they’ll be the special one, the one that gets spared and cherished. Do thieves cherish? Do thieves find things special beyond monetary value? What monetary value did you hold?

Not enough, not enough, not enough.

You could only think about what She’d done to coax him away, or what She hadn’t done at all. You thought about it as you would walk to the store, the park, the bank, and glimpses of Her would cross your eyes clear as day, the scent of Her perfume, the clatter of Her bracelets, the sound of Her shoes on the pavement going to wherever Chrollo was, wherever he wasn’t with you, the place he said he would always return to. And at first, it was merely suspicion, something you talked yourself out of on nights where he was home but away from you, nights where he failed to call, night where you’d caught glimpses of them out late at night as though you wouldn’t notice.

Ruthlessness without bounds.

Suspicion only lead to confirmation by others and by your own eyes, accidentally of course, when he would come home and find Her earrings in his pocket, love letters in his jacket no longer addressed to you, Her perfume lingering on his shirt and pressed to his skin, catching the notes of sandalwood and citrus as he dared to sleep beside you on nights he could not sleep beside Her.

You could blame him.

And you did.

Your caring, your desperation and sorrow and attempts to reach out to him while he was wrapped up in satin sheets with Her only added fuel to his ill willed fire. You simply stepped back, two can play at that game.

You stopped wearing the foreign gifts, stopped reading the dull love letters, stopped sending calls and messages to someone who clearly did not care to receive them or not. To lose power, leverage, the damage it does to know what the ruthlessness of an old lover can do.

Being so easily let go, like the treasures he sells, was too much for him it seemed.

So much so, that your phone rang, his name lighting up the screen. You looked at it, letting the ringing pass through you as you considered if you should leave him wondering and falling apart.

Wondering too long, the call fell, the abrupt end to the rings bringing you out of your thoughts as you went back to watching the rain fall.

No more than 5 minutes, it seemed, before the phone rang again, Chrollo seemingly desperate to reach you now, more so than he ever had.

Once, twice, three times your phone rang before you picked it up slowly, a somber hello drawn out from you.

“Y/N… I haven’t heard you in some time-”

“I know.” you cut him off, your voice soft but stern and unamused.

He was silent for a moment, the sound of rain on both ends prodding at your thoughts again.

“You’ve been well, I hope? I’ve sent some things over to you from my recent trip.”

“Mmm… I never got them.” you lied, of course, knowing the small packages remind untouched, sitting outside on your balcony getting soaked by the rain.

“I’m sure I sent them, y/n, a few things I know you’d enjoy.” he hummed as he seemed to be lacing his words with sweetness, too much for his own sake, really.

“I’ll look out for them.”

Although you knew you wouldn’t.

He sighed, a rare sign from him, the sound of him sitting down from wherever he is, making the audio crackle.

“I’ve been gone a while, y/n.”

“I know. I know more than anyone.”

“I haven’t called as much as you’d like me to, it’s my fault my love.”

“It is your fault, Chrollo.”

Silence.

“Y/n…”

“Chrollo.”

“I miss you.”

You tilted your head to the side, watching the raindrops race down the window as Chrollo lied his finest lie.

“Don’t lie, I know She’s with you.”

Although you couldn’t see him, you could sense the shift in the atmosphere, was the shift from losing his chance to reconcile? Losing his chance to explain? Or from being caught like a rat in a cage of his own making?

“Y/n there's-”

“Tell me, Chrollo...do you miss me when you run your fingers through Her hair?”

“...”

“Or when you kiss Her hand and walk Her home?”

Deathly silence from someone so brazen...

“Do you miss me when your lips brush against Her skin, do you think of me then?”

You didn’t give him a chance to answer as you ended the call, knowing the damage on both ends had been done. You wouldn’t answer his calls, late or early, for the next few days as you planned to find a new place to stay, somewhere he wouldn’t find for a little while. His gifts provided ample financial help when traded in pawn shops, allowing you to gather yourself quickly and vanish in the same fashion that he did.

Your doors were closed, now, less of a fool for a thief with no bounds.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it leaves the rest of you lonely.

#hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter prompts #hunter x hunter anime #hunter x hunter angst #hunter x hunter drabbles #hxh #hxh headcanons #hxh chrollo #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo angst #angst #anime angst #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x reader

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chloelucia13 · 4 years ago

Text

To Dream

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Prompt: After a case takes a turn for the worst, Spencer can’t help the doubt of your future riddling his brain. But when he closes his eyes, everything is okay. If only for a moment. Based off the song “Epiphany” by Taylor Swift

Warnings: angst, a little fluff, mentions of death, language, violence, gore, it’s just a ride y’all (italics are memories, words in bold are dreams)

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: So I’ve gotten sucked into the Criminal Minds fandom, and now it’s time to do what I do best: write sad fan fiction. I hope you all enjoy! My requests are open 24/7 and so is my taglist!

Tags: @sojournmichael

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You’ve done this a million times. The case was so simple, so easy to dissect.

Maybe you got cocky. Maybe you underestimated the unsub. Maybe this was all your fault.

Nausea churned in your stomach as you screeched to a halt in front of the old auto body shop. You knew that you would find a house of horrors as soon as you stepped inside, but the adrenaline in your veins told you to ignore your hesitation and the breakfast from this morning that was crawling up your esophagus.

“I’m going in,” you announced, unbuckling your seatbelt and nearly throwing yourself out of the car.

“Y/N, wait, you need backup,” Spencer shouted after you as you hurried to the entrance.

You stopped in front of the building, turning to give him a look. “Spence, you heard his message.”

This man, this murderer, seemed to be infatuated with the media coverage of the case. You caught on to the fact that he was following along closely with the case after he sent a haunting letter to the precinct, detailing where he was and that he would give himself up to the police, as long as his legacy would not be forgotten.

Turns out, the media coverage wasn’t the only thing he was infatuated with.

It was realized at the beginning of researching this case that you fit his type to a t, but you never expected that it would become this.

His other request? That you were the only one to capture him and take him into custody.

Spencer opened his mouth to argue but you cut him off. “If anyone goes in there but me, it’ll be a bloodbath,” you reminded him.

He gulped, weighing his options for a moment. “Fine. The rest of the team is on the way. As soon as you’ve got him, radio to me and we’ll send everyone in,” he instructed, worry marring his features.

“Everything’s gonna be fine. I promise, doc.” You gave him a gentle smile before turning on your heel and entering the building, your gun drawn.

The smell of coagulated blood and decomposition hit your nostrils the moment you stepped inside, making your stomach lurch. You bit down on your cheek so harshly the taste of copper tinged your tongue.

“Randy McAllister, this is the FBI,” you announced your presence, edging around the corner into the main part of the garage.

“Ah, Agent Y/L/N, I thought you’d never make it,” a voice hummed to the right of you.You turned your head to see him standing with a gun in his right hand, a woman on her knees in front of him.

“Let her go, Randy. She’s got nothing to do with this.”

He chuckled. “Oh darling, she has everything to do with this. She’s my replacement for you, can’t you tell?” He glided the tip of his gun against her forehead, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Then give me her, and you can get what you want.”

“You really thought I was gonna be that easy?” He clicked his tongue. “Take off your vest.”

You scoffed. “I’m not taking off my vest.”

he clenched his jaw, hovering his finger over the trigger. “Take off your vest or I’ll blow her fucking brains out!”

You knew not to question him. He’d done it five times already, so what’s stopping him from doing it again.

You slowly slid your gun into your holster before ripping the velcro apart, pulling your kevlar vest off and setting it on the ground. “There, are you happy?”

He grinned, baring his teeth like a rabid dog, before pushing the girl forward. You bent down and helped her up before directing her to run, waiting until you could no longer hear her footsteps before you drew your gun once more.

“Alright, Randy. I did what you wanted. Now drop your weapon and put your hands above your head.”

His grin slowly fell, letting his gun clatter to the ground before he rose his hands in the air, surrendering.

You stepped behind him, yanking his hands behind his back and holding them together with one hand while you searched for your cuffs with the other.

Everything moved so suddenly.

A sharp crack echoed through the garage as he slammed his head back into yours, shattering the cartilage in your nose. You stumbled back, clutching onto your nose as you tried to regain your balance.

He grabbed you by your shirt and threw you to the ground, climbing on top of you and wrapping a hand around your throat. You clawed at his hand and kicked with all your might, finally landing one solid blow to his groin.

He swayed, and you gathered enough strength to roll him over, pinning him to the ground.

But you didn’t account for his hands.

As you held his shoulders against the concrete, a shot rang out.

Your abdomen felt warm as the rest of your body felt as if it was stuck in a freezer. Slowly, you rolled off of Randy and laid on your back, staring up at the ceiling.

Voices began to echo around you, a muffled sound that mimicked the effect of your head being held underwater. “Agent down, we need a medic!”

Your eyelids fluttered open and closed at a snail-like pace, eyes flickering around the room to try and figure out what was going on.

And then they shot open wide as the burning sensation began, a feeling as if your organs were being shredded apart with red hot knives.

“Y/N, what happened?”

Your eyes finally focused on Spencer’s face hovering above you, tears in his eyes. “Tis just a flesh wound,” you whispered, your lungs burning.

He glanced between you and the bullet wound in your chest. “Are you quoting Monty Python right now?”

You let out a chuckle, feeling tears begin to sting your eyes. “It’s what I do when I’m panicking. You should know that by now.” Slowly, you reached your hand down to where you felt the pain resonate, eyes growing wide when you felt something wet soak your hand. “Oh my god.”

Tears began streaking down his face, his lip caught in-between his teeth to keep from crying out.

Without thinking, you reached your hands up to wipe away his tears, a look of terror residing on your face when a dark crimson smeared across his cheeks. “Oh god,” you gasped out, moving to pull your sleeves over your hands and try to wipe away the blood. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” The blood smeared around his cheek, and you felt the room spinning around you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just breathe for me. Calm down.”

You nodded, desperately trying to gasp in a solid breath, but to no avail. A sob left your lips, and you felt a rush of blood pour down your sides. “I-I can’t.” You shook your head. “I think... I think I’m bleeding out, doc.”

“No, no, don’t say that. You’re gonna be just fine.” He pulled away from your gaze for a moment to search around. “Where the fuck is the medic?!”

“Spence.”

His eyes fell back onto your face, hazel irises boring into yours as tears dripped down his face. You dedicated his face to memory, trying to remember the way his skin felt under your fingertips, the gentle scratch of his stubble, the way his hair would glide between your fingertips, worried that it you would never be able to experience it again.

“I love you,” you choked out, sniffling. “I love you so much.”

He nodded, a crease forming between his brows as he tried his hardest to contain his sobs. “I love you too. So much.”

He felt as if he died when he watched your eyelids slowly flutter closed, and then stopped moving altogether. He continued applying pressure to your wound, feeling your blood soak through his windbreaker and onto his hands.

Suddenly he was shoved away, and he watched in a daze as a group of medics quickly checked your vitals before lifting you on a stretcher and rushing you out of the building. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled behind them, clambering into the back of the ambulance.

They attached an oxygen mask with a bag valve, attempting to pump oxygen into your lungs. He watched as your chest rose and fell, wishing it wasn’t being controlled by someone else.

The tips of your hair twirled between his fingers, a dazed look on his face as his eyes tracked each breath you took. Breathe in, gentle rise. Breathe out, gentle droop. He felt the soft rush of air against his skin, making his heart race under your cheek.

He didn’t dare move, too worried that if he did, you would wake up. It was rare that he would see you in such a peaceful state, so fragile and unguarded. He wouldn’t dare ruin it. He never knew when it would be the last time he could witness it.

“Her vitals are crashing, she’s going into V FIB!” an EMT shouted, startling him back to the present. “Bring me the AED.” He watched as they applied two wired pads to your chest and turned up a dial, signaling before delivering an electric shock. Your body flinched from the shock, only for it to collapse back down and lay flat.

He felt like he was going to vomit. His hands were clutching onto your free one, unable to tear his eyes away from your ashen face.

He couldn’t decide if it would be better if you were in a black void, unaware of anything that was going on, or if you could feel and hear every single thing that was occurring. He mostly just hoped that you weren’t scared.

But the only thought on his mind, when they finally arrived to the ER and he watched you get rushed into the OR, was that he couldn’t live without you.

*** “Spence, you can head home. I’ll take over,” Emily instructed as she stepped into the waiting room, nudging his shoulder slightly.

He just shook his head, staring at the glass windows in front of him that peered into the hallways of the hospital.

“You need to get some rest,” she persisted, sitting down next to him. “Just go lay down for a few hours, I’ll call you if anything happens.”

“I-I can’t just leave. If something happens...” Spencer mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He couldn’t tell if he was being defensive, or if he was trying to desperately hold himself together.

“She’s gonna be just fine. She’s a fighter.”

He let out a shuddering breath, his eyes falling closed for a moment. “The survival rate after going into V FIB is 50%.”

“Well, 50% seems like a pretty good probability to me.”

“That doesn’t account for the blood loss or oxygen deprivation. She lost over four pints of blood. The body goes into hypovolemic after losing only two pints. Any more than that, and the body will most likely fall into a coma.”

Now he understood how everyone else felt when he spewed out facts. It was torturous, unwilling to allow him to slip away from the predicament for even a moment.

The image of your body bleeding out on the dirty floor was imprinted in his mind. Even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory, there was no way that he could ever forget it.

Emily pursed her lips. “But she’ll be alive. She might be banged up, but she isn’t gone. She’s not going anywhere anytime soon.” She squeezed his shoulder. “You know, if Y/N were here right now, she’d be yelling at you to go and take a nap.”

He let out a watery chuckle at that, sniffling slightly. “I can’t leave, Emily. Not until I hear something from the doctors.”

She sighed. “Fine. I’m gonna set a timer on my phone for 20 minutes, and you will sleep until that timer goes off. If you get up any time during that, I’m restarting the timer. Deal?”

“Emily-”

“Spencer, you know better than anybody the effects of sleep deprivation on a person. You’re not going to be any use here if you’re tired.”

He clenched his jaw, already feeling his eyelids begin to droop. “Fine. But only 20 minutes.”

***

He never thought that golden could be a feeling, until he met you. His whole being, his whole soul felt as if it was dripping with the warm yellow hue.

He may have felt golden, but you were golden. You were the sun to him, something that he treasured with his whole being but worried he would be blinded by your beauty, turned into mush from your warmth. He still risked it, staring at you for so long so he could memorize every aspect of you before his sight left him.

Your scent of sunshine and sweet morning dew lingered on everything he owned, and he was addicted to it. He could smell it now, swooning over it.

“Your hair’s getting shaggy, doc.”

Spencer hummed, fluttering his eyes open and seeing that his head was laying in your lap, the two of you perched underneath a tree in the park down the road from your shared apartment.

“Yeah? You want me to cut it?” he teased, shifting slightly to look up at you.

You grinned, ruffling his hair slightly before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Never.”

His eyes flickered over your face, taking in every small detail. “You’re so beautiful.”

You scoffed, gently gliding your finger along his jawline. “I can say the same for you, pretty boy.”

“I’m serious.” He huffed, sitting up and taking your hand in his, staring directly into your eyes for a moment. He mimicked your ministrations, taking his finger and tracing along your collarbone, against the angle of your jawbone, down the slope of your nose, and down the dip of your cupid’s bow. His eyes followed his finger, a small wrinkle forming between his brows. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

A grin settled on your face, gently pulling his fingers from your skin and pressing your lips to his fingertips. “What’s got you being so sappy?”

He let out a chuckle, shaking his head slightly before touching his lips to yours. “I’m so in love with you.”

A pleased sigh escaped your lips, and your eyes searched his. “I’m so in love with you too. Now will you please tell me what’s going on?” You shifted into his lap, entwining your arms around his neck and playing with his hair.

“I...” He gulped, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Spencer.” The corners of your lips crooked into a frown and you rested a hand on his cheek. “What makes you think I’ll ever leave you?”

“Y/N, you’re dying.”

“What do you mean? I’m right here. And I know you’re not a medical doctor, but I know you’re smart enough to know when someone is alive.”

He shook his head, sniffling. “No, you-you’re laying on an operating table right now. This isn’t real. None of this is real.”

“It’s real enough, isn’t it?”

He shot up with a gasp, immediately burying his head in his hands and letting out a shuddering breath.

“Spence, that was only eleven min-” Emily began.

He ignored her, pushing himself to his feet and propelling himself towards the bathrooms. He stumbled into the bathroom and gripped onto the edge of the sink, sucking in deep breaths until his lungs burned. Bile rose in his throat and he willed himself to keep it down, gaining enough strength to turn on the cold water and splash his face.

A hand touched his shoulder and he stood up straight in a panic. “Calm down, man, it’s just me,” Derek consoled, holding his hands up. “Are you okay?”

Spencer shook his head fervently, running his hands over his face before pulling them through his hair. “I can’t lose her.”

Derek reached forward, grabbing Spencer’s shoulder and tugging him into a tight hug. ‘’You’re not gonna lose her. She’s strong, and she’s stubborn as all hell. If she’s gonna die, it’s gonna be by her own terms.”

And Spencer sobbed.

***

It had been over four hours, and the entire team still had yet to hear anything from the doctors. The sun had already set, and almost everyone had headed home for the night.

But Spencer was still sat in the waiting room, eyelids drooping lower and lower with each passing moment of silence.

He wanted so badly to sleep, to go back to that peaceful moment in his mind where he could lay with you and forget anything bad ever happened, but he couldn’t let himself. He couldn’t let himself succumb to a fantasy when in reality, you were laying on an operating table with multiple surgeons working to keep you alive.

“Mr. Reid?”

Spencer rose to his feet at once, all feelings of exhaustion fleeing his body and being replaced with pure adrenaline. “Yes?”

The doctor gave him a curt nod before directing him into the hall. Spencer followed behind him and stood in a nervous silence as he watched her flip through a clipboard.

“She’s alive, and she’s in stable condition,” she explained, looking away from her clipboard.

He felt as if he was floating, a high he never even imagined was possible.

“But she is in a coma, and probably will remain that way for the next few days.”

And there it was.

“But-But you think she’ll wake up?” Spencer rushed out, shifting from foot to foot.

“Definitely. Her body needs time to rest, but she’ll wake up as soon as she’s ready.”

Spencer let out a sigh of relief, a small smile residing on his lips. “Thank you, doctor.”

“You’re a lucky man. We almost lost her, but she fought with all she had. She wanted to stay here.”

He knew that her claims were impossible, but there was an inkling in the back of his mind that maybe she was right. So, instead of responding, he just nodded. “Can-” He cleared his throat. “Can I see her?”

The doctor pressed her lips together in thought for a moment before nodding. “Right this way.”

He followed her through the hospital halls, leading him through the winding maze until they stopped in front of room 112. She gestured to the door before retreating, leaving him alone.

All attempts to catch his breath were futile for the moment he stepped through the door, all the air left his lungs. He couldn’t tell if he was staring at your sleeping form in horror or fondness as he inched towards your bedside, settling into the chair next to you.

“You’re alive,” were the only words he could formulate, repeating them like a mantra while he took your hand in his and pressed feather-light kisses to your knuckles.

Finally, he let his head rest against the thin blanket on your bed, and his eyes drooped closed.

Poppies were your favorite flower. They symbolized peace, something neither of you were familiar with due to your jobs.

Spencer never understood how a flower could symbolize something so complex until he opened his eyes.

He was completely, utterly at peace.

You stood in a field of bright red poppies, a white dress cascading around your frame and a megawatt smile on your face.

Sunshine. Golden.

As if out of a scene from a romance movie (one that you probably forced him to watch), he ran through the fields, coming towards you. Once you were within reach, he wrapped both of his arms around your waist and clung onto you like a vice.

A breathless laugh fell from your lips as you returned the hug, letting your arms hook around his neck. “Hi, my love,” you whispered.

He knew none of this was real. He knew that every memory of you was being pulled from his brain all at once and letting him feel a moment of peace.

But he also knew that he wanted to stay here, at least for a little while.

“Hi, my love,” he echoed, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Are you alright?” You pulled away slightly, searching his eyes as you brought one hand to cup his face. “You’re crying.”

“I’m just fine.” He gave you a smile, gently taking your hand from his face and placing your hand in his own. “I’m perfect.”

“Are you sure? Did I do-”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, squeezing your hand gently. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.”

You took a deep breath and nodded, letting your shoulders drop. “Sorry, I just... I know you’ve been feeling sad lately. I just want to make sure it isn’t because of me.”

His brows furrowed together, worry lines settling on his forehead. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Because every time you look at me, you cry.”

Those words made his heart drop to his stomach. He knew that this was all in his mind, but it was still your voice. He felt all the hurt, all the guilt.

“I...” A small sob bubbled in his throat, and he pulled you back into his tight embrace. “I just don’t want to lose you. I’m not ready yet.”

You nodded, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt and holding him as close as you possibly could. “Well, right now, you have me. Is that not enough?”

“But it’s not real. I need the real you.”

“Then you have to wake up, my love.”

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up

“Spencer, wake up.”

His eyes flew open, a hand immediately coming up to rub at them. “What?” he grumbled, holding back a yawn.

“God, I’ve tried waking you up for the past five minutes.”

His eyes flickered up to see a pair of Y/E/C eyes staring back at him.

“You’re awake.”

“I can say the same thing about you, sleepyhead,” you teased, weakly patting his hand.

“Oh my god. You’re okay.” He pushed himself to his feet and hovered his hands over your face, fearful that if he touched you, you would disappear.

“I’m okay, doc.” Your words were slurred, but that was expected. He still knew what you were saying, and even if he didn’t, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were awake, that you were alive.

He let out an incredulous laugh as he bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I thought I lost you.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” You hands slowly reached up, letting your fingers graze along his cheek. “Hi, my love.”

“Hi, my love.” He grinned at you. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be awake for a few more days, at least.”

“I guess I just had to wake up. I couldn’t stand being gone from you that long.” You pulled your lower lip between your teeth. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I-If I wasn’t so cocky, none of this would have happened. You all wouldn’t be wondering whether I’m gonna live or not. I wouldn’t be stuck in a hospital bed with a hole in my chest. You... You wouldn’t be crying.” You gestured to the tears on his cheeks as tears began to stream down your own. “I wouldn’t be crying.”

“Y/N,” he sighed, taking your hand in his and pressing his lips to the back of it. “None of this is your fault. Don’t you ever blame yourself for this.”

You nodded with a sniffle, pulling his hand to your lips and reciprocating his actions. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, letting yourselves take in everything that was happening.

“Once you get released from the hospital and you’re healed, do you want to get married?”

Your eyes widened in shock at his words, searching his face to make sure that he was being honest. “Are you proposing?”

He shrugged, feeling his cheeks begin to burn. “I-I mean I don’t have a ring yet but... I think I am.”

“Well, if you think you’re proposing, I think I’ll say yes.”

Both of your cheeks ached from how wide you were smiling, that smile never faltering when he pressed his lips to yours and let them linger.

“Can we have poppies at our wedding?” you mumbled against his lips.

He chuckled, nodding.

Pure sunshine.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #tw: violence #tw: blood #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds writing #fan fiction #fanfiction #fan fic #fanfic #taylor swift #folklore #spencer x reader #emily prentiss #derek morgan

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pacific-rimbaud · 4 years ago

Note

45 and narcissa x remus (recissa? black wolf? blupin?)

Drabble #45: “Tell me a secret.”

Asylum Seekers

by PacificRimbaud

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Narcissa Black Malfoy

Tags: Angst, infidelity, brief blood, suggestions of violence, swearing, mild sexual content (Rated M)

On AO3

Fall, 1978

The line to fucking another man’s wife is neither a straight nor a moral one. Would it help if I told you that of the two of us, I might be the werewolf, but the monster, unequivocally, is him?

Fucking is the furthest thing from my mind when I see her for the first time since she left school—four, maybe five years before I did. Hollow-boned and apprehensive as a hedgerow bird, she sits with one white hand splayed open on the surface of the table and the other one in her lap, like she’s waiting for one of us to serve her.

Sirius rounds the corner from Andromeda’s kitchen carrying three fingers of Ogden’s, no ice, in a cut crystal glass and sets it down, slow and noiseless, as though she’ll bolt at the sound of the contact.

She picks up the glass with the hand she’s keeping out in the open, drains it, and does it again the moment Sirius refills it.

She smells like whiskey and blood.

Arms looped around her own waist, Andromeda leans in the door frame, Moody talking close at her ear.

The sisters are representative works by the same artist, in two different moods. Andromeda is taller and more substantial: dark, warm and still, a heavy-canopied forest in an abundant summer. Narcissa is hard daylight and the sharp, mythical line of a distant peak, white-capped in perennial snow.

Her eyes are her sole submission to softness; between hers and Andromeda’s, Narcissa’s are the warmer iteration of blue.

Moody mumbles, his face erased of everything but formless intensity, and Andromeda’s vision fixes on Narcissa’s pale, restless hand, the pads of her fingers lighting on the table again, preparing themselves to take flight.

Andromeda mutters, and then she moves, palming something from Moody and taking a seat beside her sister at the scrubbed dining table.

“They’d like you to take this." Her voice comes in at a crawling crescendo, pianissimo to mezzo-piano, then retreats.

She places a vial on the table: Veritaserum, in olive green glass with a tiny cork.

Narcissa pulls in a breath, filling her belly and then her chest, and then she bends away in violent submission toward the floor, her gut belatedly rejecting what I identify as several days of nothing but booze.

Ted arrives at her elbow before she’s finished, carrying a glass of water.

Two glasses, one wet cloth to her mouth, and a full minute later, and Narcissa tips the cork from the top of the vial with her thumb, and drinks it down.

“What do you want to know?”

Her voice is scraped and austere, wounded with whiskey and sick and some other interior, mechanical insult: crying, or screaming, or both.

“Tell the rest of us what you told your sister,” says Moody, turning a chair around at the table and straddling the seat.

Narcissa’s right hand rises from her lap.

For a moment I think she’s wearing an elbow-length glove, like she’s come from a formal ball.

But she’s dressed in nothing more than a thin satin slip, lace-edged, with narrow strings for straps, skating over her unrelenting leanness, either black or dark, dark green.

It's not a glove.

She’s slicked from her fingertips to the curve of her inner elbow with dried and drying blood, a lavish, painterly layer, thick and congealed. It’s an opaque garment of gore, covering everything but a row of four lines where her weakly pigmented skin shows through, like someone has grasped her arm, then drawn their fingers away.

I don’t understand why she looks at me. Between her sister, her cousin, her brother by a hated marriage, Moody and Alice Longbottom nipping at her thumbnail by the window, she settles her wide warm eyes on me.

I watch the tide rise inside her.

I watch it breach the barrier.

I watch her flood.

She closes her glazed fist loosely, fingertips touching her thumb, in the way you would make a compassionate cage of your fingers to carry an injured bird.

“I tried to help.”

She has a flat in Muggle London that her husband knows nothing about.

It’s small, purchased with her private money in another name. She only has two rooms and a bath, but she’s cleaned it with magic, repaired it, made it sharp and neat and softened it with pale fabrics, made it private, and made it her own.

“Why me?”

It’s the first thing I say, after I’ve come through the door, and just before she closes it behind me.

She doesn’t answer straight away. Instead she pours herself a gin from a cupboard in the galley kitchen, and asks me whether I’d like one. I would, but I tell her no, thank you, and she sits on her sofa, ankles crossed underneath her thighs, and tells me why I’m here.

“Because of the way that Sirius looks at you.”

“And how is that?”

There is so little in the way of the unintentional to her that it’s unnerving.

The tilt of her head isn’t a tick or a quirk. It’s a communication.

I could press the issue, but she and I would both understand the deflection.

Call it what you will in another language, in English there’s only one word for love.

For Sirius, and for me, I believe it’s enough.

“Why not him? Andromeda?”

She’s amused by me.

I can’t help but wonder what else she delights in.

Her hair falls over her shoulder, iced gold against the fabric of her white wool jumper, while I draw a plan of Malfoy Manor to her specifications.

The entry. Staircase. Ballroom. Drawing room. The room where she sleeps. The one Lucius keeps for himself.

Where Tom Riddle lays his head down on the nights he stays.

Where else he might be found.

I don’t push for more than she gives me.

When it’s time to go, I roll the diagram, shrink it down, and shove it into the bottom of my trouser pocket next to my wand.

“Thank you,” I say. “For your honesty.”

It makes her laugh.

The next time I meet her in her flat, it’s uncomfortably close to a full moon, and I half gag on the smells of two different men clinging to her body.

She’s washed with an intensely herbal soap, but underneath that is a tinge of nervous sweat, and every unctuous, enzymatic marker of sex.

We cover things the Order already knows, and that she knows we know, but we both understand the nature and necessity of what we’re doing.

It’s safer for her, I think, to start slow, without fully understanding why I would care.

“Good luck to you,” she says while my hand finds the doorknob.

She doesn’t bite her lip. There is never a twist to her mouth.

She’s practiced to rote. Her performance of herself is without error.

I turn halfway around.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

I spend the hours of my turning in a vast, borderless desert of physical suffering.

I map it with my own blood, and by the time I wake, it’s a void I can’t recall.

“Try this next time.”

She sets a pot of ointment that I can’t afford on the table in front of me.

I leave it behind when I go.

She keeps rare and beautiful wines that I refuse to drink.

When I arrive at night on a Wednesday, two months into our regular, irregular meetings, she’s so glassy with ethanol that I nearly leave.

I don’t think about what she wears at home.

When she’s here, she dresses down, in satin trousers and jumpers that fall away from her lustrous white shoulders.

I wonder if this is home.

The surface of her wine rolls and coats the interior of her glass as she lowers herself to sit.

My gut pings with anxiety at the unnecessary closeness, but then she leans away, and rests her head on the leather arm of the sofa while her knees fold against the back.

“I’m going to tell you about death,” she says.

I hear the wine on her breath, and lick my own lips.

I take names, where she recalls them. Where she doesn’t, I make ticks beside dates and locations.

She finishes a bottle, and opens another, her thin arms flexing with the turn of a Muggle bottle opener.

Does she feel safe here? With her magical signature tucked away with her wand? It’s folded between the pages of a day-old newspaper, on the table beside a wingback chair neither of us ever sits in. She never so much as glances in its direction.

Half the new bottle disappears inside her.

“He smells like blood when he comes to my bed.” Her performance falters. “Every time.”

I realize, too late, that the curtain has lowered, and that the house lights have come on.

I’m not prepared to see her this way.

“Which one?” I ask.

She smiles, her mouth a narrow bow.

“All of them.”

I walk home in the dark, staring at my hands.

I feel an urge, sharp and angular and immediate, that can I only explain as the opposite of sexual hunger.

What I want is for my palm against her flesh to cancel and negate every other hand that arrived there before it.

I would smooth my skin against every inch of her.

Outside, and in.

I’m not angry. I don’t know what I am.

I won’t touch her for the world.

I’m desperate for her to ask me to.

“I can’t be her handler anymore.” I can’t look at Moody when I say it.

A week later, Moody glares at me over the rim of a soup spoon. “She won’t speak to anyone else.”

I emerge from my next change three kilos lighter.

I couldn’t afford one of them.

In the mirror in the bath, I run my fingertips through the bloody trenches of my ribs.

“Oh,” I say, dumbly. “You’ve cooked.”

I haven’t seen her since her last drop a month ago, and I’m grateful for the smell of garlic and onions, seeped into everything and overwhelming whatever secrets her body keeps failing to keep from me.

Standing at the Muggle range, she holds a spoon out over her cupped palm.

It’s more shocking than anything she’s ever done.

I open my mouth, and think, briefly, about the weight of a pomegranate seed.

My mouth blooms.

I don’t know what I need. I look for it inside the cunts of the women I meet in the discos of Muggle London.

They’re sweet, and warm, and smell like cocaine and strong perfume and laboratory hormones, and they feel fine.

They feel fine.

Sometimes when I’m inside them, I think about white-blonde hair and narrow hips.

I think about the time I saw her wearing a single red glove, ending at the inside of her elbow.

When I’m looking for what I need inside of other women, I think about her.

I’m looking for her.

“You’re moving too fucking much,” says Moody, never once looking up from his parchment. “Go out.”

He doesn’t make suggestions.

So I go.

The gleaming street reeks of urban petrichor, and the steady incursion of moisture tells me about a new hole in the right side of my left boot.

I’m waxing gibbous inside, something I’ve never tried to explain, but it encompasses something like an unreachable itch, and an ache in the marrow, and a skin-crawling restlessness that I’ve tried exorcising through bone-jarring movement and gallons of liquor, by screaming in train yards and flattening the cilia inside my ears with catastrophic decibels of music, through aggressive sex that turns me into someone I no longer know.

I dance, curled into the form of a brunette with silver eye shadow and no knickers under her shining nylon dress.

I’m stretching my own skin, ready to hurry up the inevitability of what I can already smell between us, when I see her.

She’s wearing a tight silver dress and a glamour that would fool nine out of ten wizards.

Dark hair, dark lips, dark eyes. She’s left her breasts unchanged. Left the unpadded divots of her ribs beneath her constricting dress. Left the perfect lines of her long, long legs.

I follow her out when she goes, and at the mouth of an alleyway I stop five paces behind her, and call out her name.

She’s already pulling at the frame of my belt buckle, but she does ask.

When I fuck her for the first time, against a brick wall behind a bin full of wet newspaper, she’s wearing a face that doesn’t belong to her.

I smooth my hands up her thighs.

I slide my fingers through the pulse of damp between her legs.

I erase anything she needs me to.

“Was it—”

I’m barely through the door.

An hour later, I wonder if I’ve ever been naked next to a woman.

I have.

I never have.

She lets me in again.

And then again.

Then again.

“Don’t come here if you smell like another man.”

I say it while I’m inside.

She takes shallow, open-mouthed breaths.

“That’s not fair.”

“I know. But I don’t care.”

I extract promises she can’t keep from her flesh while it quivers below mine.

While my bones construct a wolf from the materials of a man, I leave my body behind me, howling in a voice that isn’t mine.

I find my way into a dream about the scent of her hair, soaked through with both of our sweat.

“Tell me a secret.” Her open mouth lands against the skin of my belly and then slides closed, a gorging, formless kiss. She skirts my aching cock with a generous deliberation. “I’ve told you all of mine.”

“Not all of them,” I say.

I’m panting like a dog, sweating through sheets we ruined three hours ago.

She looks up at me, hair draped over one warm blue eye, the perfect proportions of her mouth still sliding beside my cock, her legs wrapped around my calf, her knickers slipping against my thigh.

I wrap her secrets in a bow, and pass them along to those who can use them.

I keep my hands buried in her hair.

I keep her secrets for myself.

#drabble #my fic #Remus Lupin #narcissa malfoy

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elidelochans · 5 years ago

Text

Hold Me (and let the world fall away)

For @judexcardanxgreenbriar

Prompt 39: Kissing tears from the other’s face

Pairing: Jurdan

WC: 2,114 TW: none. (although it is a battlefield) QON SPOILERS.

*******************************************************************************************

The world shifted from a drowning sea of blackness and despair to a blinding white. Sounds of metal against metal and screams sounding like a distant echo. Throwing a hand over his eyes, a feeble attempt to avert some of the glow and discover where he was. His vision was blurred only seeing images of odd, swift shapes. Through muffled noises and muddied vision, Cardan felt like he was six feet below in the undersea. Being consumed by wave after wave and pulled down into the depths of the ocean. Yet he wasn't afloat. No, he was standing upright. That much he knew. However, he could smell the copper in the air indicating blood and most likely death. He wondered briefly if this was the nether realm. With the screaming and the particular scent wafting through the air, the possibility didn't seem far.

Cardan tried to recall what happened. He remembered snapping the crown in two, and Jude's face twisted into horror and heartbreak as a blackness consumed him turning him to the serpent. Everything else came in fragments. Slithering from place to place, striking at buildings and people. The only steady thing he recalled was her voice.

The last thing he was sure happened before this state was his wife standing tall before his cage of reptilian despair. Jude talking to him and then the burning sensation of sharp steel cutting through the body of the snake.

Closing his eyes, Cardan tried to shut out the fuzzy formations before him, trying to focus on the land, the magic. There was nothing. Perhaps this truly is death.

The least this fog hazed world could do was have her voice surround him like a blanket of warmth instead of the screams of many. His Queen, his destruction and salvation. If this was some hellish world how cruel the Gods could be. Soon as she had come, she was taken. Having the briefest time in happiness, fleeting like a mortal's life. How soon they are born and soon they leave the world. That was their stint of ruling and being together. He wished to take it back. To never break the cursed crown that sat atop his head. Or sending her away in banishment. He should've proclaimed her his wife, his queen that day before Orlagh. If only to have a little more time. Mother above he longed to see Jude one last time. Kiss her scowling lips and tell her endlessly, how truly undone he was by her. To proclaim his adoration for her until his voice ran raw. Then it happened, a sudden shift like a breeze turned blustery.

It wasn’t there and then it was. The surge of magic and land seeping back into him. A warm breeze brushed against his bare flesh as he flexed his fingers, feeling his body come awake, truly and fully. By the maker he was alive. In a quickened moment everything shifted. The sounds became louder, encompassing him. The feeling of something thick and syrupy filled the space between his toes. Glancing down, Cardan’s face contorted to disgust realizing it was blood underneath him. A few feet away lay the headless body of the serpent he recently occupied. The once strong body now laying here like a driftwood washed ashore. On his opposite side, he found the lifeless head. The serpent's eyes a dirt brown staring out into nothingness. Between that and the violence striking bodies to the ground, bile curled inside of him threatening to rise. The battlefield was a place for Jude, not him. He went still thinking of her.

Jude

Nothing mattered but finding his wife. Paying no mind that he stood tall, with no armor, not even a bit of garment to cover his nude form. His magic, his land would protect him. In the odd chance, it didn’t Cardan hoped he would at least see her face a final time. Taking a few steps away from the serpent he scanned the battlegrounds searching for his High Queen. So focused on the task at hand, he didn’t register the silence around him. As the army of Elfhame dropped their weapons. One by one they kneeled, mouths a gape watching their High King walk before them in the flesh.

Nicasia was there fighting along with her undersea army. Cardan saw the Roach, and the Bomb fighting back to back against Madoc's army. Occasionally slipping into dark areas along the shore or into the forest then jumping out and striking. Ghost wasn’t far from them Slyfooting and striking with lethal ease like he was born for quick steps and hits. Grimma Mog on the other side leading a charge, slashing anyone who would dare cross her path, like a turbulent storm of brutality. Though he was relieved to see them all alive and fighting, they weren’t Jude.

Like a slow poison, a heavy pain started to crawl within his veins. He found it hard to breathe. Turning left and right he looked for her. The high king tried to focus on the land and sense her out. She had magic too, he had always known since making her queen. If the Land rejected her then, he would have noticed. The land would’ve turned cold and harsh. It accepted her, deemed Jude worthy of its sacred gift. Cardan should be able to sense her energy, her very presence. He couldn’t feel it. Whether she had.. no he refused to think it. The land was stained with battle and that had to be the reason he couldn't sense her. Cardan wouldn’t give up. Until the fight ended he wouldn’t stop. She slayed the serpent and freed him. Jude didn’t give up on him, he wouldn’t give up on her.

“Your Majesty!” A soldier shouted from the ground, Cardan stopped turning towards him, “Her highness, the Queen. She’s there,” a shaky gloved finger from the fae pointed towards a woman.

Rich auburn hair flowing beneath a helm adorned with branches the hue of evermore apples and rubies laid in between the branches resembling rowan berries. The armor she bore was fitted yet held practicality about it. The mail that clung to her body shined as she moved against her enemies. A sword drawn, he recognized wasn’t Nightfell, but Heartsworn.

Cardan watched in awe as she grips the hilt and swings with fierce beauty. His heart swelled with pride watching her parry then strike and parry then strike again. She was as deadly as poison yet moved with refined grace. Appearing like some kind of warrior goddess defending her realm, their realm. Seeing Jude defending their home after everything she had been through here in Elfhame. After how he had treated her so many moons ago. This woman. This cunning, unrelenting beautiful woman was still ready to die and fight for these people, knowing some of them still turn their heads at her. If he hadn’t fallen for her by now, this would’ve done it. The awe was short lived seeing a figure march her way.

There was a hitch in his breath as he tensed. Body filled with dread watching Madoc approach her. The red cap’s heavy blade in his tight grip. Darkened with what Cardan could assume was blood. He tried to shout out her name screaming til his throat burned, but the sounds of the sword against sword rang in the air, swallowing his voice. He never felt fear the way he did now. A sickening twist in his gut knowing he was too far to reach her in time. There was magic to use, but they’d lose their friends in the process and he knew she’d never forgive him. The red cap general grinned maliciously, encircling her, like Madoc was the hunter and Jude the prey.

Black as night eyes went wide watching the scene unfold. Cardan could tell Madoc was talking as he moved around Jude. The high king grimaced waiting for the devastating blow to his beloved. Waiting for him to lose all control of his magic watching her fall lifeless into the grass, but It never came. Madoc lifted his gaze beyond the high queen’s shoulder, staring in surprise at Cardan. Madoc looked to Jude pointing behind her. Cardan could tell she stiffened at whatever her father said. Time seemed to slow as Jude finally turned towards her husband.

It was as if the world came to a sudden stop. No one fought at that moment as the high king of Elfhame locked eyes with the high queen. Jude froze in her movements, Heartsworn slipping through her fingers, falling to the ground with an audible clang. In her warm, amber eyes Cardan saw relief, vulnerability, and dare he say...love. The corner of her lips turned into a soft smile. Something genuine and intimate and only for him. He couldn’t move, he could only watch and drink in the sight of his wife standing tall and breathing.

Jude reached for the helm pulling it off her head letting it drop atop the blade with a clink. She took a step, and then another. He copied her movements. Suddenly Jude broke out in a run towards him. Cardan braced for impact. Not knowing if she was running to jump into his arms wrapping her legs around his middle, to kiss him soundly, or to knock him and punch him for worrying her. To his surprise, she did none of those things.

Jude slammed into him immediately curling her arms under his as soon as they connected. Her fingers clutching against bareback, digging into the softness of his skin. Almost as if she was terrified of letting go, like this was a dream and he would suddenly disappear from her embrace. Cardan stood there for a minute listening to her shaky breaths realizing she was hugging him. Wrapping his arms around her armor tightly keeping her there against him. Even his tail curled around her, keeping Jude close to him. She splayed her palms running up the curve of his back grasping at his shoulders. Settling his chin atop her head, he softly closed his eyes, swaying with her as he took a hand stroking the strands of her sweat riddled hair. Keeping her nuzzled against his chest, which became drenched with each passing moment. Jude, a woman who rarely sheds a tear, was shaking and crying in his arms. All because he was alive. The feeling didn’t bloom from anger, but affection. It warmed him in a way he couldn’t possibly describe.

Jude couldn’t stop if she tried. All the pent up walls she built came crashing down the moment her body fell into his arms. Her breaths were far from steady. Eyes burning from the stinging of tears that seemed to flow endlessly as her body shook from the overflow of emotions. He was here and alive. Body warm in her arms. As far as they were concerned it was only the two of them here. The rest of the world fell away when their gazes met.

Cardan pulled away looking down at his wife. The shadow over her eyes smeared across her face. Her honeyed orbs continued to pool over with wetness. A redness formed in the whites of her eyes. Scarlet lips smudged from burying into his chest. He took her cheeks in his warm palms, his lips meeting the salty wet streams falling down her tear stained face. They stayed that way for a while, Cardan kissed all the tears on either side of her face until she relaxed and he could captured her lips in a chaste kiss.

“I can’t believe you cried over me,” he whispered in shared breaths over her mouth before he went back to her cheekbones. His smooth lips tenderly caressing where the tears kept falling.

“It was sweat,” she replied hands still wrapped around him. Jude attempted to hide her cracked voice and choked sobs. Over laying the words with sarcasm. The way her lip faltered they both knew her bluff.

Cardan arched a brow, “Sweat? From your eyes?”

"Fine," she sighed. Cardan darted between her gaze as she glared up at him. Her eyes for once shined with happiness and hope. Looping her hands around his neck, Jude pulled his forehead to hers, "But if you tell anyone I'll kill you. Now finish kissing them before anyone sees."

He grinned, "If that is what you wish my queen."

They stood there embracing each other. her cool armor against his warmed body. Jude's hand returned to the swell of his back. Holding him as close as she physically could. Cardan cupped her face, peppering kisses along the tracks of wetness down her face.

Find it here on AO3

Want a kissing drabble? Send me a prompt and a ship!

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writingfortoomanyfandoms · 5 years ago

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for the four requests, can you pls do speech 5 with situation 10 and kisses 3 ?? tysm i love your work sm!! 💕💕

Thank you so much!!!

Speech 5 - “I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror”

Situation 10 - Cuddling on a Sunday morning

Kisses 3 - Morning kisses

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

There was one tie that Billy had been unable to cut when he joined One.

One person he knew he would forever be unable to stay away from.

He was drawn to her the same as she was drawn to him. They always had been, they always would be. It was like a magnetic force between them.

Billy had admitted it right from the start. As soon as One had informed him that he would have to ‘die’, that he would have to stay away from his family, stay away from his home - stay away from his memories, Billy knew he wouldn’t be able to do it. And he had said as much, he told One that he wouldn’t be able to stay away from her.

She was the love of his life.

One had been ready to leave at that moment, ready to take back his offer, set Billy free with the promise of him keeping silent about their run-in.

But Billy knew the opportunity was too good to loose - he had to join One, he wanted something to live for. Or, more accurately, he wanted something to die for,

So he had admitted that she was the mastermind behind the robberies. That she planned out pretty much everything. It was true, of course it was, but One looked doubtful.

Eventually, though, he had given in, and Billy joined the team. And so did she.

No, he wasn’t Billy anymore. He was Four.

He wasn’t Billy to anyone but her.

Y/N slept on his chest in the quiet of the morning. Billy’s fingers were running through her hair, combing out all the knots that had been gained as they slept. He was gentle, though, more gentle than ever before. He didn’t want to wake her. He knew how stressed she was planning out One’s mission.

Y/N stirred in her sleep and Billy almost hated himself for disturbing her until she blinked her eyes tiredly open and smiled up at him.

“Thought I could feel you staring at me,” the words were almost unintelligible as she muttered them against his chest. But Billy understood her - there was rarely a time that he didn’t understand her.

“Sorry for waking you up,” he said, his own voice gravelly and hoarse from sleep. Y/N’s smile softened even more and she made slow, clumsy movements that were riddled with sleep to move up and press their lips together.

“Morning,” she whispered in response.

“Good morning,” Billy responded, his arms tightening around her. He never wanted to let her out of his arms.

“You’re being awfully clingy today already,” she teased quietly and Billy shrugged.

“I just can’t believe I still have you with me after everything,” he admitted in a soft voice. “I mean... I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror,” he chuckled. Y/N joined in before kissing him softly, sweetly one more time.

“You’ll always have me, Billy.”

Finishing my 3K blurbs!!

#courts3kblurbweek #courts blurbs #blurbs #6 Underground #6 Underground Spoilers #four #four fanfiction #four imagine #four x reader #four blurbs #ben hardy!Four #ben hardy fanfiction #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy blurbs #requested

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keelywolfe · 5 years ago

Text

FIC: Beneath an Aurora Sky ch. 18

Summary: The South Pole Station is equipped for research and Edge has always made sure things run smoothly for the inhabitants. His charges are meant to follow his rules and regulations, and in turn, he makes sure they survive in the arctic temperatures. It takes plenty of hard work and determination and Edge, along with his crew, can handle both.

He wasn’t counting on one of the newest researchers. He wasn’t expecting Rus.

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Arctic AU, Hurt/Comfort

~~*~~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

~~*~~

Read Chapter 18 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

If Edge were forced to consider it, likely under penalty of punishment and with great embarrassment, he would have been forced to admit that the next week might well be the happiest of his entire life.

The station was running as smoothly as possible, all its occupants working diligently as the good weather held. No major mechanical issues, no emergencies, large or small, and overhead the auroras swirled and spiraled throughout the endless nights. His brother was doing well, going willingly if grudgingly to Alphys for his next healing session, and Alphys began joining them at meals more often than not, sitting next to Undyne who fairly glowed her adoration. All the researchers were busily focused on their work and not a single complaint, petty or otherwise, found its way to Edge’s door.

That was well and good, but not the source of his happiness. No, that came from the cheerful smile of another skeleton Monster who stood at over 2 meters tall and probably weighed no more than 100lbs while he was soaking wet and wearing full outdoor gear, including the boots.

Likely Rus could calculate the actual weight in that brilliant mind of his, someday, Edge should ask.

Rus fit into the station like a puzzle piece they never knew was missing, both at the dinner table as he laughed at Undyne’s lewd jokes and in the lab as he helped Alphys with the delicate calibrations of her machines. When Edge visited Bonnie in the kitchen sometimes Rus would be there, chatting with quick flashes of his hands and even if he weren’t, Bonnie would still be working contently, humming tunelessly beneath her breath.

If Red chose to join the others in the rec room, the evening might end with the two of them in a round of horrible puns and insults that was better than a recorded stand-up routine and left any of the scientists there roaring with laughter, to the point that many came right after dinner hoping to find a good seat.

Then there were his own nights with Rus. It wasn’t simply the sex, delightful as it was, it was also the time afterward. With the curtains drawn back from the window, the aurora cast tangles of complicated light across them, filling the room to the brim. Edge could hold Rus in the circle of his arms and listen as he talked. About his work, about gossip around the station, whatever caught on his clever mind. If Edge were genuinely interested, he could ask questions and if he weren’t, he could simply drift and listen to that rich voice washing over him. And if he wanted Rus to be quiet, well, there were ways to handle that as well and his voice was just as lovely when he was moaning out Edge’s name, his bared bones lit in the soft glow of the southern lights

All of those things packaged together were like an unexpected gift, lovingly wrapped and brought to Edge here at the end of the world.

But was a simple piece of fruit that made Edge realize he was in love.

Edge was only just returning from taking the Glaciologists out to Station #5, a trip that took several hours to get there and back, and left him mostly sitting in the cab of the Cat, half keeping a watchful eye over them as they worked and half on the kindle he’d brought along. By this stage, he could generally trust the scientists not to endanger themselves needlessly out of ignorance or stupidity, or a combination of both, and it gave him a rare chance to catch up on his reading.

When they returned, the scientists had their heads all but glued together as they discussed results, leaving Edge on his own to take care of the vehicle before heading back inside. Before he could make it through the door, a slim body crashed into his own, almost sending both of them into the snowdrifts. Edge caught Rus automatically, sputtering protests and laughter as one as he was smothered in kisses, Rus’s mouth icy cold against his own.

Despite the layers of outdoor gear and gloves, when Rus practically tried to climb him, Edge only caught him under the knees and hefted him up, saying teasingly, “Are you having trouble walking today?”

“if i say yes, will you carry me?” Rus grinned, but he didn’t give Edge a chance to reply, squirming free despite Edge’s attempts to hold onto him. He tugged on Edge’s arm urgently, pulling him towards the door. “come on!”

Edge frowned and followed along, out of the arctic wind into the warmth of the vestibule, "What’s wrong?"

"nothing is wrong,” Rus whispered loudly, “but alphys has this whole place hotwired and it’s a secret!" He made a show of looking around furtively, winking at Edge as he pulled off his boots and coat.

Bemused, Edge did the same, hanging them up as he always did despite Rus’s impatience. He followed Rus back to his room. More like their room; somehow in the past few days, Rus practically moved in, only going back to his own for a change of clothes. Edge’s once empty bookshelves were gaining astronomy magazines and star charts, along with pencils that weren’t his, riddled with teeth marks from their owner absently chewing on them. Even Rus’s work was migrating here, the bedside table was a mess of pages and notes in Rus’s chicken-scratch writing.

Not even a week before Edge would have firmly believed that chaos introduced into his carefully organized life would be infuriating, and yet, even the stray sock in the corner of the room only filled him with fondness, a sign that Rus was still here.

The moment the door closed behind them, Rus crawled up on the bed but instead of a leer or an invitation to an afternoon delight, he held up a triumphant hand. “check this out!”

When he opened his fist, in his palm he held up a small brightly colored globe. An orange, the dimpled peel very nearly the same shade as his magic.

“Where on earth did you get that?” Edge asked, astonished. Oranges were rare treat that they usually only had when the ship first dropped off the researchers. They didn’t keep well and generally the only citrus available on the station came in frozen concentrates.

Rus grinned delightedly at his surprise. “bonnie.”

Of course. Some time ago Bonnie ordered a couple tiny dwarf fruit trees and she’d kept them in her own quarters with a small hydroponics setup that Alphys rigged for her. That was well over a year ago, closer to two, and he’d forgotten about them entirely. Until now.

“she was so excited,” Rus said gleefully, “she said it’s the first fruits she’s gotten!”

“And she gave one to you?”

Rus scoffed as he began carefully peeling the small fruit, “please, like you’re surprised. we all know i’m her favorite. here.”

Truer words.

Rus held out one of the segments, white threads of pith still clinging. Edge took it from his hand, bone lightly grazing bone, and cautiously ate it.

Juice burst across his tongue, almost bitterly sour and as Rus ate his own segment, his pretty face puckered, his grin going into a grimacing wince and in that moment with shared taste of the fruit between them, Edge knew he loved him.

Unremarkable, really. It was nothing like the ridiculous movies that Undyne sometimes watched, loudly claiming they were Alphys’s choice when she was the one sitting there watching with a Kleenex clutched uselessly in one hand as her good eye streamed unhindered and her eyepatch glistened wet over a pretend couple onscreen proclaiming their love.

But there were no fireworks, no lightning flash, not even the aurora blazing overhead. There was only a soft pulse in his soul, a realization.

He loved Rus. Loved his smile and his laughter, the joy he brought into Edge’s staid life. Loved him as he complained, “oooh, sour!”, flopping back on the bed and rolling on the blankets in mock convulsions.

He loved Rus and said nothing, only took another segment of orange when Rus offered it, finishing off the tiny fruit between them.

Rus took the last segment, twirling the little crescent between his fingers. He stuck it between his teeth, tipping his head up in teasing offering, and Edge was not particularly worldly when it came to lovers, but he knew an invitation when he saw one. He leaned down, biting gently on his half of the orange piece and the sourness was tempered in the sweetness of the kiss.

“welp, that’s that,” Rus sighed as he drew back to chew the last bite. “bonnie asked me to save the peel for her cookin’ needs.” Rus carefully set it on the table and his grin turned slyly inviting. “you need to run off for anything important, boss?”

“It’s possible I have a few minutes left to spare,” Edge told him blandly. He let none of his roiling thoughts show in his expression, revealing nothing but uncomplicated desire.

“good thing i’m a minute man—oh!”

Because when the time came, he would need to let this brilliant light go. Rus was as bright as the sun, he needed to get back to the world, and leave this one of frequent darkness behind.

But until then, this was his, and Edge was going to hold it close while he could.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, he wasn’t the only one taking an interest in Rus’s future.

“So, you asked the fashion victim to stick around yet?” Undyne grunted. She was holding up the antenna they were installing for Alphys, a strange, spiraling device made of coils and scaffolding. After Rus’s adventure out in the snowstorm, Alphys devised a way to extend the capacity of their communication devices, her hope being that when she was finished, their cell phones would work as actual phones and not simply as text devices whenever they were close enough to connect to the wi-fi.

It was something that had been discussed before and apparently, all she needed was a burst of inspiration to work it out.

“I have not, not that it’s any business of yours.” The conversation was paused as Edge used the hydraulic drill to fasten the base deep into the concrete slab that held the communications tower. Four screws the width of two of his fingers later, and it was done. Even the fiercest of storms wouldn’t shake it loose. He was less certain about Undyne and swatted her away when she tried to jostle it. She fell back, scowling down at him as he packed up the tools.

“Why not?” Undyne demanded. “Don’t know how it’s escaped your attention, but he’s pretty much the missing jelly from our peanut butter sandwich. He’d do good work here, boss, and we could use another set of hands.”

Edge only busied himself sweeping up the last of the metal shavings into a small tin and sealed it. “I believe I already said that it was none of your business.” Not that he believed anything so droll as ‘not her business’ was going to prevent Undyne from jamming her nonexistent nose in, but he had to try.

From her fierce scowl, he was concluding that the attempt was a failed one. “C’mon, boss, you can hire him on. You and I both know it ain’t about the money. The institute would put him on payroll if you asked and even if they didn’t, we could each kick in enough G to afford keeping him around.”

“You’re right, it is not about the money,” Edge agreed. Some of his irritation leaked in his voice as he pointed out, “Weren’t you the one advertising our relationship as a temporary distraction? In fact, I believe that was one of your major selling points.”

“Yeah, but.” Undyne sighed, shuffling her booted feet awkwardly like an oversized child. “Al really likes him, and she doesn’t take to people easy.”

“I know.”

“And you like him. I like him. Red likes him, fucking Bonnie likes him, and the only other person she’s ever liked is you,” Undyne said, watching Edge finish with the tools without lifting a bratty finger to help despite still having eight to spare. “So what’s the problem here? Once this crew clears out, between you and me, we could get him trained up. On the next rotation, he acts as a junior guide, only works in the local stations. He can keep up with his studies, work on his starry mumbo jumbo as much as he likes, and you two can keep up with your mattress tangoing, after Al adds a little more soundproofing to your room. Win-win, boss, that’s all I’m seeing.”

“There’s one problem with your plan.” Edge picked up the gear bag and headed towards the Maintenance building.

Undyne was on his heels almost immediately. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Rus doesn’t belong here,” Edge replied. The weather was clear and after the racket of the drill, his voice almost seemed to echo in the cold darkness. “We are here because this is the only place in this dust-forsaken world where we can live in peace. Rus doesn’t have to stay, he has his entire life out there to explore and despite your confidence in my skills in bed, I daresay he can find someone else with similar aptitude out there.”

“Aw, c’mon, boss!” Undyne whined.

Edge stopped and faced her, and even through his goggles and hers, she looked upset. Undyne was also not one who took to people easily, cementing proof that Rus was somehow an expert at worming his way into their corner of the world. It did raise a few odd warning bells, reminders of his brother’s concerns over Rus, over his brother who should be dead, warnings that Edge was not ignoring but not allowing to linger in the forefront of his mind. It could be suspicious, or it could be that Rus was simply a very likable person, his personality shone like the stars he watched so diligently. Certainly none of the others on his team could say that, Undyne and Alphys might have a sparkle but Red was more of a black hole and Edge likened his own temperament to a piece of concrete.

Frankly, he rather expected Rus to laugh if he were asked to stay and Edge wouldn’t blame him for it. Rus had less than two weeks left of his rotation and whatever fallout came from him being here, they’d know soon enough.

“Undyne,” Edge said, trying for gentleness. “he has a family, a career waiting for him out there. Staying here at the end of the world will leach that spark out of him.”

Undyne only bared her teeth in a razor grimace, “If you’re gonna talk about him like that, don’t even try to convince me you don’t want him to stay.”

“I never said that I didn’t.” Edge started walking again, deliberately giving Undyne his back.

She didn’t take the hint. “Yeah, well, you might want to ask his opinion on that before you go on ahead and make it for him. Ask him!”

“No, because he might damn well be foolish enough to stay!” Edge snapped. “I want what’s best for him and I am self-aware enough to know that it isn’t me.”

“You sure?” Undyne retorted. She flung an arm out, gesturing to the endless expanse of icy landscape surrounding them. “All this snow ain’t exactly Alphys’s idea of a good time either, but she came with us and she stays.”

Where else could she possibly go, Edge did not say. No matter how truthful it was. Where could any of them go, they’d lived out with the Humans, tried on the idea of a normal life and found the fit to be an ill one. “I’m through discussing this with you, I told you, it’s none of your business.”

“It sure as fucking hell is my business if I have to sit for the next year watching you mope, you bony-ass, stubborn—” she trailed away, her held tilting to the side. Edge heard it, too, both of them turning to the north towards the faint rumbling sound overhead. Lights separated from the starry sky, a helicopter coming in fast.

“Who the fuck…?” Undyne muttered.

Red’s voice came out thin and filled with static over the walkie-talkie. “hey, boss, we got visitors.”

“Yes, we know,” Edge hastened his steps, tossing the tool bag into the Maintenance shed.

“already got the pilot on the horn. says they’re from the institute. he’s got the right landing codes. want me to send them in?”

“Direct them towards the helicopter pad,” Edge told him, “I’m on my way.”

Undyne was close at his side, her face drawn down in concern. “Since when does the Institute do more than send us a new list of researchers and take our supply list?”

“They sent me an email a while ago saying we might be receiving visitors,” Edge admitted, “but they never followed up on it. I’d honestly forgotten.” The unusual missive had gotten lost in the shuffle in the midst of his and Rus’s past argument.

The helicopter pad was as well-maintained as the rest of the station, kept clear of snow and debris despite nearly always being empty. It was generally only for emergencies, although Red threw out the occasional idle jibe that once his skull was healed, he was looking into getting a pilot’s license. As if Antarctica didn’t have enough dangers without his brother dive-bombing down from the sky.

They kept back, watching the sleek machine settle its narrow runners on the pad. The helicopter pilot only waved and did not exit, the side door sliding open and two figures clad in outdoor gear climbed out.

Next to him Edge felt the superheated surge of magic from Undyne, the air suddenly thick with ozone.

The bundled-up visitors coming towards them were obviously Monsters, one of them towering over the other who was not at all short. There were passing few Monsters of that size, less still with a nearly visible aura of power radiating from them, a sign of a boss monster.

They came to a stop a distance away, the larger Monster pushing up their goggles to regard them with eyes that were a deep, solemn shade of red.

“Hello, Captain,” Toriel said clearly. She inclined her head regally to Undyne.

If it was an attempt at diplomacy, it failed from the second word. Undyne puffed up like an angered sea lion, snarling out, “I’m not the one in charge here, you sanctimonious twat,” She heaved in a breath, spit flying as she growled, “and I sure as shit ain’t the captain of the guard, anymore.”

She took a step forward, eye and gloved hands already wreathed threateningly with magic and Edge held her back with a cautioning arm, though Toriel made no move to defend herself.

“Easy,” Edge murmured. He raised his voice, calling over, “What brings you to our station, your Highness.”

“I do, actually.” Her companion stepped forward and a pair of glowing hands formed out of magic appeared in front of them, moving in Hands to form the words even as Edge flinched back in shock at hearing a spoken language he barely recalled from childhood. It seemed somehow far away, like a voice heard in a dream. The other Monster pushed up their own goggles, revealing a be-spectacled skeleton face with narrow fissures running from both their sockets, each in the opposite direction as the other. “I’m looking for my brother.”

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell undyne #underfell alphys #arctic AU

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