#she might not be his running mate but its been suggested

[moomin279]

Trumps running mate shot her own puppy? America he cant win im begging

[the-kr8tor]

End of Beginning

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 18.7k

Synopsis: When the world seems to come to an end, life starts. Death looms and a virus has taken over. Life as you know it has ended and all you ever want is to see him again.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW pregnancy, vomit mention, TW blood and gore, CW injury, TW violence, CW death, CW guns, suggestive content, zombie apocalypse AU, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst.

Navigation

You stare intensely at the two little red lines on the plastic stick. Heart beating out of your body while the muffled sounds of the party rattles the locked bathroom door. Your breath hitches in your throat, mouth dry and hands shaking from the mere sight of the three pregnancy tests having the same result— positive. There's no doubt about it as the double lines are as clear as day.

“Fuck.” Yuri says the exact same word you have in mind.

“F–Fuck.” You breathlessly say, voice trembling while you haven't moved an inch from where you're standing in front of the sink.

“What're you gonna do?” Yuri asks beside you, hand placed right on your shoulder as you start wobbling in place, afraid that you might keel over on the harsh tiles. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“I–I’m not sure.” You roll the simple silver band around your pinky finger. One that was given to you by Hobie a long time ago.

Finally lifting up your eyes, you stare at yourself in front of the mirror. You look disheveled, hair a mess from the concert. Your clothes still smell faintly like bile and the floor of a pub. The eyeliner around your eyes is smudged, and lips bare from all the wiping you had to do after getting sick all over James’ parents’ bathroom. You feel like a bloody mess.

It was Yuri's idea to run to the chemist's and buy different packs of tests for you after she walked in on you heaving out your dinner. Damn Yuri and her smart ass.

“I thought it was food poisoning from the shawarma we ate.” You deflate, tears threatening to spill over as you sit on the toilet.

“That place near the post office?” Yuri sighs, leaning against the cold tiles as her voice echoes around the bathroom that's as big as your living room.

You rub your palms all over your face, elbows placed atop of your knees as your body folds over itself in an attempt to calm down. There's a rock in the pit of your stomach, face clammy and lips wobbling. The soles of your feet feel numb, ebbing up to your legs and further towards your chest until it reaches your shaking hands. Your leg keeps bouncing up and down, as if it has a life of its own. You don't hear your best friend calling your name as blood rushes in your ears.

“Hey,” she kneels down in front of you, bare knees freezing from the tiles but seemingly not caring for the sensation as her kind eyes stay on you. Her leather skirt pools around her, a blob of black framing under her. “You okay?”

“Y–yeah, it's that place near the post office.” a tear slides down your cheek, and you're quick to wipe it away.

Yuri holds onto your knee, stopping the bouncing of your legs as she cups it with her palm gently and looks into your eyes. “Please don't tell me it's James'”

You pause, staring straight at her with a glare. “Bitch.”

She laughs, the sound bouncing all over the walls. “Mate,” her hand grasps your own, fondly rubbing at your sweaty palm. “You and Hobie have been together since the dawn of time. trust me, after our trip to the beach, I know it's his.”

You crumple in place, a smile slowly appearing on your lips as you hide your face. “God, you'll never let us live that down.”

“Seriously, we had to wear our noise cancelling headphones.”

“Stop!” Chuckling, you feel a bit lighter from her teasing. Just a tiny bit.

Yuri mirrors your smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “What are you worried about, hm?”

You sigh, “you know what I'm worried about, Yuri.”

She shrugs and makes a face. “No, I don't, so don't waste both our time and just tell your best mate.”

Rubbing your eyes with your index finger, your entire body starts feeling the pin pricks all around you. “I just—” she patiently waits for you to gather your words. “What if he doesn't want it? That he'll leave me all because of…” you wildly gesture around your stomach.

“Are the hormones getting in your head already?” You give her a stern glare. “Babes, remember the time you accidentally broke his favourite vinyl?” You nod, wincing at the memory. “And that one time you dropped his guitar while attempting to clean it?”

“Please don't remind me, I have nightmares of breaking more shit.”

“Well, you might not remember that he never got mad at you.” Yuri smiles, taking your clenched hands and holding it in place. “He even placed the vinyl in a frame and made it look fucking cooler than before with its shattered pieces. And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the motherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck.”

You chuckle, tears sticking to your lashes.

“All I'm saying is, he's not gonna fucking leave you because of this.” She beams at you, eyes shining from the bright light of the bathroom. “If he does, then I'm gonna help you raise that kid. But before that I have to bury him and you're gonna help me find a quiet and secluded place for him.”

You laugh, head falling down on Yuri's shoulder. “You really think so?” Your voice is small as she rubs your back.

“I know so, babes. Besides, this is his fault too.” You sniff and she holds onto you tighter. “And I know Hobie, he takes responsibility for shit he does. The one thing he truly loves in this world besides his guitar is you.” She whispers, love rolling off of her as she comforts you. “I've seen the way he looks at you, and that's not the look a man gives to someone he's ready to up and leave because of a baby.”

Your heart steadies in place as your mind flickers back to his face. Yuri's right, all those years of being in love with him, and the many years of being together would tell you that he won't bolt away from the product of all those years of loving each other. But there's that one thing you're worried about too.

“But—” you start and Yuri lifts your head up, scrunching your face in her hands.

“No buts!”

“Yuri,” you say, despite your squished lips and cheeks. “The band is just gaining traction, what if this—”

“I'm going to stop you right there.” She stands up, boots thumping on the tiles as she helps you stand up from the toilet and grabs a tissue to clean up your tear stained cheeks and messy mascara. “This won't stop us, and we'll learn to juggle it with you.” Gently patting your eyes, she smiles softly. “Don't forget, you're part of this band too.”

A smile manages to wiggle itself on your face with Yuri's bright encouragement. She does have a point, and you can't help but imagine Hobie kissing your baby's chubby cheeks, or the baby having his smile and his eyes. And the thought of him cradling them to sleep while the baby’s little lashes flutter close. He'll be a good dad, but at the same time you don't want to spring this huge news on him when his career is just starting to propel him and the band. You don't want to be the one to hold him back. Yes, you have options, but this is the product of your love, *years of that love. Maybe you'll be a good mother, for now, you have to be brave and tell him.

“I just manage the gigs, you guys can live without me.”

“Tell that to our lead guitarist.” Nudging your shoulder, she places you in front of the mirror. “We've got your back, alright? Do you think a baby will stop him from making music?”

“I don't know, Yuri. But thank you.” You nod appreciatively, swallowing thickly at the woman standing in the mirror. Will you still look like this in nine months? Will you be happy with your decision in nine months?

“Just tell him, or he'll be able to sniff it out like his surprise birthday party last year.” She gently shakes you in place, trying to get a smile out of you.

“I'll tell him, don't worry. He deserves to know.” You whisper as someone knocks on the bathroom door, their muffled words telling you to hurry up.

“Good, because it's his fault.” Yuri grabs another tissue and wraps all the tests and places it in your palm.

“Not entirely.” You chuckle out, and she makes a disgusted face.

“Augh, I swear you two are like fucking rabbits.”

You snort as you pocket the pregnancy tests. It feels vaguely heavy inside the front pocket of your jeans.

“You ready? Or do you need one more hug?” Yuri opens her arms, expecting for you to wave her away, but instead you step into her arms, embracing her. She hugs back wholeheartedly.

“Thank you, Yuri.”

“Anytime, lovely.” She kisses your temple, wiping away the kiss mark. “I can't wait to buy baby shit for whatever spawns out of you.”

“I can already tell you'll be a great aunt.” You say with a hint of sarcasm.

She scoffs, “of course I will be!” Wrenching the door open, you're met with James’ disgruntled face. “Jeez, do you need to pee that bad, Jameson?”

“Yes! Move!” He pushes Yuri out of the way and she shields you away from his elbow. “Why do girls always go to the loo together!”

The two of you shuffle away immediately before you get a sight of something that will surely make you hurl once again.

“Christ, it's because of all those beers he's been chugging.” Yuri walks next to you, eyes roaming around for the familiar punk’s back to bring you back to him.

“And to think that he has an army of groupies.” You find that your hand unconsciously meets with your stomach, protecting it from the rambunctious party goers.

The party is in full swing as you and Yuri go down the long winding stairs of James’ parents' mansion. Drinks are passed around, amber liquid sloshing out of the glasses and cans. Speakers play one of the band's songs, a loud punk anthem that adds fuel to the already on fire party. Expensive Arabian carpets now smell of beer and piss, crisps crunching down on your shoes, impossible to step around it when the place is packed with sweaty and dancing bodies. It's a miracle that nothing is broken or else James will never see the sun again after his parents see the aftermath of their million euro home.

“There's Ned!” Yuri guides you towards the makeshift bar which is actually the kitchen's island where bottles upon bottles of liquor sits on its previously pristine marble.

“Where the fuck have you two been? Hobie's practically going insane looking for you!” Ned exclaims as he pours you and Yuri a glass of gin.

You scrunch your face at the drink, stomach churning from the smell alone, and Yuri saves you by taking both glasses and chugging each of them without gagging or missing a beat.

“Whew!” The glasses clinks as she places it both down. “Thanks, Ned, I was getting thirsty!”

Ned blinks, and looks impressed at the feat. He sighs, ponting at you. “That was for her, I'll just pour you another one.”

“No!” You and Yuri collectively gasp.

“I mean—” you start, “I've been feeling sick lately, remember? I don't think drinking will help my stomach.” Yuri nods her head enthusiastically, agreeing with you.

“Right, I did tell Hobie that the shawarma place near the post office had a health violation last year.” Ned looks at something behind you, or someone.

A familiar arm loops over your shoulder, the comforting weight keeps your stomach from doing flips and hurling what's left of it onto the marble kitchen. His front is right behind you while his free hand has managed to wiggle itself into your backpocket.

“They said they're under new management, Ned.” Hobie chuckles out, warmth seeping through you.

You look over your shoulder, only to be met with his amber eyes that look almost golden under the light. He smells faintly of after concert musk and your own perfume that he keeps saying is his lucky charm. Smiling, he cups your chin with his palm, giving you a chaste kiss.

He scrunches his nose, smiling at you. “Did you brush your teeth?” His face then morphs into concern, brows furrowed and hands squeezing your side, fingers grazing your stomach. “We can go home if you feel too sick.”

“I did, don't worry I didn't use anyone's toothbrush, I just used my finger like a caveman. And please don't be a worry wart, it's nothing I can't handle, Hobs.” You lean against his shoulder, feeling infinitely better now that you're in his arms. Now that you're looking at him as he gazes at you with so much affection, you start to think that your worries feel silly.

“I don't think they had toothpaste back in the stone age, love.” He nuzzles your temple, nose tickling your hairline.

“Archeologists beg to differ.”

“Yeah? You an archaeologist now?” He flirts back, palm still cupping the back of your neck and thumb rubbing along your jaw. His rings are cold against your warm skin, comforting you further.

Yuri and Ned roll their eyes and tries to ignore the public display of affection while mixing in drinks and then downing it in one go. Like a couple of exasperated parents.

“I could be if I wasn't too busy being your manager.” You hold his hand as he kisses the tip of your nose. “And fluoride existed during the olden times, y’know.”

Hobie leans back, brows knitting together before a smile etches on his handsome face. “Really?” He says with a lilt in his tone. “This your way of sayin’ bye to the band?”

“Nope, someone's gonna miss me too much.” You whisper against his cheek, kissing him lovingly.

“I'm sure Ned will live.” Hobie laughs, embracing you as he sways you to the music.

“Don't bring me into this, bruv.” You and Hobie laugh at the look on Ned’s face.

Yuri stares at you and smiles, wordlessly telling you to tell Hobie the news. With a deep inhale, you twist around to cup Hobie's face and look at him with a serious expression. The glint of your ring urges you to continue.

“Can we go somewhere quiet? I need to tell you something, Hobie—”

“Oi, have the lot of you seen this?” James comes running in, flip phone in hand as he shoves the screen in each of your faces until Hobie takes it.

“That you finally washed your hands after taking a piss?” Yuri crosses her arms over her chest as she closes the distance and peeks over your shoulder.

A shaky and grimey video plays a scene of someone blowing out their birthday candles inside a restaurant. The celebrant claps while the guests cheer for them. It's all normal and happy at first then the camera zooms in on the background, right on the window where a man who looks like he's drunk, staggers and limps towards the restaurant window. Then a sound of an oncoming car skids to a halt but too late to stop in time. It hits the man dead on as he flips and flies over the car until his face meets and grinds on the asphalt, leaving a blood trail. Chaos ensues as the shaking of the camera moves towards the streets while onlookers yell and try to call for help.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate, what did I tell you about showing us these kinds of videos.” Ned groans then leaves to go tend to the makeshift bar again.

“No, no, just watch!” James pleads, shoving the screen in front of the band's faces but Ned just shakes his head. “It's bonkers!”

“C’mon, bruv, you can't jus’ show us shit like this.” Hobie moves the phone away from you, but you chase the screen with your eyes as you see the last bit of the video showing the man standing up like nothing happened.

Hobie tries to close the phone to save you from the sight but James snatches it and continues to show it to everyone else. Hobie tries to manoeuvre you away but with James' increasing insistence, Yuri takes one for the team and yanks it out of his hand and pockets it.

“No phone for you until you shut the fuck up about it!”

“Yuri! That's bullshit! That's mine.” James reaches for his phone but Yuri dodges him. “You're not my mum!”

“You tried to show us some live leak shit! No, absolutely not.” They fight like siblings while Yuri swats his roaming hands away.

“The bloke stood up like normal and his eyeball was hanging out of his sockets!” Their arguing falls into the background as Hobie leads you towards the corner of the kitchen.

“You alright, love? Not too queasy?” Hobie rubs your stomach, still unbeknownst to the growing life inside of you.

Taking his hand, you let it rest on your belly. “I'm fine, nothing I can't handle.”

He smiles, squeezing your hand and chuckling. “That's my girl, always so bloody tough, eh?”

“Yeah, that's me, tough as nails.” You nervously chuckle as if you weren't about to burst into tears a few minutes ago.

“Now, what were you about to tell me?”

“I—” you're suddenly out of words. “Can we go somewhere quiet first?” The raging bass of the music is starting to give you a headache, shaking through your skull.

“This serious then?” Worry flickers in his mind, and you know that he's trying to remember if he did something bad. “Did I do somethin'?” And you were right.

You shake your head, palms splayed over his chest whilst you lay down the lapels of his spiked denim jacket. “You didn't do anything wrong.” Your voice is gentle yet it wavers a bit from your own worries.

What if you don't do good for this kid? What if being a mother isn't for you? What if— your attention flits over to a staggering figure appearing from the hill. The shadow gets closer towards the house as you see them through the ceiling to floor windows of James' home, the glass is just situated behind Hobie. Everyone seems to not notice the person as it sprints on the grass. Their head dips back, as if the speed they're running at has their own head lolling backwards from the momentum.

“Is this because of me accidentally leavin' puddin’ on the table and having ants…”

Hobie's voice fades in your ears as your eyes stay on the figure that's coming towards you.

They're quickly gaining speed.

“Love?”

The party goers don't seem to notice the guy, continuing to dance and drink about all merrily. Your body freezes in place, mind going haywire, electricity running down your fingertips and stomach flipping upside down. It's as if your senses warn you of the figure, as if your innate fear response is acting upon itself.

Hobie cups your cheek gently just as the man gets closer, barefooted, shoulder bent at a harsh angle and blood dripping from his eyes.

Then more appear right on the hill, running like they've injured themselves, moon shining down behind them, bathing their shadows in silver light. They look like regular people, except for limbs that flail around, and mouths agape— the blood smeared all over them has your senses telling you to run.

Your breathing stops.

In a blink, there's a horde of them coming your way.

“Oi, you alright? You gonna be sick?”

“Run—!” As you say it, a loud smash can be heard as the first figure you saw comes crashing inside the house. People scream and dodge broken glass.

“Shit!” Hobie shields you away immediately, arms enveloping around you.

“What the fuck?!” James yells, trainers stepping on glass. “My parents are gonna kill me!”

Everyone looks at the body laying on the floor, around him lays plastic cups and crisps. He bleeds slowly into the marble floor, staining it with a puddle of warm crimson. You swear you saw smoke appear from within.

“Someone call an ambulance!” An acquaintance of the band yells as everyone else pauses to stare wide eyed at the still body.

“F–Fuck!” Yuri curses as she takes out her phone from her pocket, fumbling with it in a panic that causes the phone to slip from her grasp and onto the puddle of blood. “Shit.”

She takes a step closer to take it back, and you quickly yank her away. Everyone's attention is on the lone body, but yours are on the oncoming crowd that are running down the hill.

Yuri and Hobie follow your line of sight, gasping in place as they see a dozen or so figures running at breakneck speed.

The rest follows as the guttural groans get louder.

“What the fuck—!” Just as Ned says it, the lone body twitches on the floor and lifts his head up, revealing a grotesque slashed face with shards of glass embedded in his rotting flesh. Blood dribbles from his mouth, strings of drool and crimson leaving his cut lip. His veins pop out, black and blue. “What the fuck!”

You grab a knife from the bar, and you tug Hobie away. “Everyone, run!”

Glass smashes underfoot as everyone rushes to get to the exit.

Yuri holds onto your arm whilst Hobie takes the front. He holds onto your hand in a tight grip, shoulder smashing into the panicking crowd to get you out of there.

Bodies are packed into the doorway as people try to get out. Screams ring out behind you, screams that will haunt your dreams as tearing flesh accompanies the horrific sound.

“Fuckin’ move!” Hobie squeezes himself out in between panicking bodies, hand still grasping around yours. He yells your name, eyes set in a panic as blood splashes across the walls and expensive paintings.

You don't dare look back at the carnage as you manage to get out while your hand is around your stomach protectively.

“C’mon!” Hobie yanks you away, no time for gentleness as he leads you towards the car. “Fuck!”

The two of you run on the yard, the street filled with cries as people funnel out of the house. Neighbours come out of their houses, porch lights flickering on.

You notice the lack of hands around you as you look back at the house. “Yuri!”

Hobie pauses for a second, looking for the rest of his band in the midst of chaos and screams. Faces whizz by, but none of them look like them. With his heart plummeting down to his stomach, he continues to run and snatch you out of your worried stupor.

You stagger on your feet, the cold February air nipping at your cheeks. “What about the others?!” You cry out as Hobie unlocks the car and practically shoves you inside the passenger's side. Face unreadable. “Hobie!” He slams the door shut and goes around the hood to get inside.

He takes a breath for a second, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, and eyes wild as he stares at the rearview mirror.

You grasp his hand, fingers trembling around his palm. “We need to wait for them.”

Swallowing thickly and with a shaking hand, he inserts the key in the ignition and starts the car.

“Hobie, we can't fucking leave them here!” You cry out, head turning towards the house where you see limping and bloodied bodies exit the place.

More and more come out, all covered in crimson, eyes eerily wide, and jaws permanently set ajar, mouths frothing and dripping with blood. They sniff the air as a few of them pick apart the stragglers left writhing on the grass.

“What—What the fuck are they?” Hobie watches as they rip and tear into bodies like they're wet paper. Limbs fly about, severed arms and legs fling out before landing on the former pristine grass.

“I—I don't know.” Your hand grips the knife tightly. “Do you see them?” You whisper, afraid of being heard by the creatures.

Hobie roams his eyes around, frantically looking for the band. He licks at his lips, sweat dribbling down the back of his neck. “...no, do you—?!” A fist bangs against the window, the face belonging to it seems familiar, whoever it was, they break his window with ease after a couple of punches. The tattered arm reaches inside, trying to grab at Hobie. “Fuck!”

You scream, and Hobie, in his panic, steps on the gas.

“Hobie!” The car speeds off into the suburban streets but whatever or whoever it was they still hold onto the side of the window, groaning, eyes bleeding and trying to bite at him with his golden teeth. “Fuck off!” You yell, holding onto the grab handles above to propel your legs over Hobie and kick them out of the car.

They fly away, body rag dolling, skidding into the asphalt and leaving a trail of blood.

You huff, heaving back into your seat as Hobie glances worriedly at you. “Are you okay?” You ask, adrenaline filtering through your veins.

He checks himself over, and finds nothing of note. “Yeah,” he reaches for you, palm cupping your cheek. “You?”

“I–I think so.” You look down at your shoes, finding specks of blood staining your trainers. The hula girl on the dashboard dances to the hum of the car, completely unbothered.

“What the fuck is happening?” Hobie asks as his attention turns back towards the road, carefully steering in through the neighborhood.

“I think what James showed us…” you try to catch your breath, hand placed on your stomach. “...is that— it's happening here too.”

“Love.” He exhales shakily, trying to even out his breathing and expel out the panic. “I think that was the pub owner.”

“What?” You look back, only to see the grand houses fading away. “Who?”

“The fuckin' guy who tried to grab me.” He gestures behind him.

Your face morphs into horror as realization flits over you. “What the fuck.” Looking back again, you only see the dark road. “That can't— he was at the party with us!”

“Do you think it's contagious?”

“What?”

“They looked like they were sick, like fuckin'— like rabies.” He waves his hand wildly.

“Rabies?”

“I don't know— all I know is that he was bloody fine the last I saw him.”

“If it is contagious, we need to know how you get it so we can avoid it.” You sit back down, hand still holding onto the small knife you grabbed from the bar. He nods, eyeing you from his peripheral.

The car grows quiet for a minute as you and Hobie ride towards the city.

“We left them there.” You say solemnly, eyes staring straight at the buildings in front of you.

“They're alright.” Hobie says matter-of-factly, hands clenching around the wheel.

“Hobie.” You say his name with tears in your eyes.

“I know they are.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it three times before letting go. Another minute passes in heavy silence. “If…” Hobie starts, heart heavy. “...If we get separated—”

“Hobie—”

“Jus’ in case, love.” He pats your thigh lovingly. “Jus’ in case, we meet back at the houseboat. And if that doesn't work or you can't get there…” he inhales shakily, afraid of losing you in the chaos. “D’you remember that cabin we rented out last year for our anniversary?” You nod, hand reaching for his elbow. “We'll meet there, right? Tell me you understand, love.”

“I understand.” You say with haste. The frantic look in his eyes has you reaching for him, hand placed in between the headrest and the back of his neck as he leans against your touch. “We'll be okay, Hobie.”

He swallows thickly, fists tightening around the steering wheel. “You come first, remember that, y–yeah?” His voice cracks as he runs a rough palm over his face. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”

Just as the words escape his lips, the car passes by a burning building on the side of the road. The embers flicker in and out, flames illuminating the darkened road in its yellow glow. The fire devours the whole place, warmth felt through the windshield, kissing your cheeks. You and Hobie share a heavy look, recognizing the place as the same diner you two had your first date together. It doesn't bode well, and it doesn't help with your churning stomach.

“Love.” He calls you softy, grasping at your hand that rests on your stomach.

You didn't even notice you were holding onto your belly until he touched you. “Yeah?”

“You alright?”

Hobie turns the car further into the highway as you two come across more cars than before, all leaving the city unlike you and Hobie.

“Y–Yeah.” You lie through your teeth, eyes watching as an ambulance whizzes past you towards the city. “What’s your plan?”

“We need to go home and then sail on the houseboat. I bet whatever those things were can't bloody swim.”

“Hobie, the houseboat can't handle waves from the sea.” You say as you instinctively knead at his nape.

“I know, love, we'll stay close to the rivers—” He abruptly stops talking, eyes following an empty bus stopped on the road. It looked normal at first, but when you stare into it longer, the bloody handprints on the windows make your skin rise. “We'll be fine.” His tone says that he's not just reassuring you but also himself.

A helicopter passes by above you, blades whirring and fading away as it goes out of the city. The familiar streets are filled with people, all lugging bags and their children carried on their backs as they try to leave the place. Your palm curls around your shirt, a pit in your stomach weighing heavily.

“I think we should turn back.”

“Back to where?” Hobie doesn't mean for his tone to be harsher than it was. “There's nowhere else.”

You almost jump in place when a jet plane whooses past, leaving behind a trail in the clouds. “Somewhere that isn't crowded.”

“We're in London, love, everywhere is crowded.” Hobie stops the car as you two hit traffic. “The world is endin’ and there's still fuckin' traffic.” He honks the horn in frustration, muscles straining under the harsh push.

The sound rings in your ears as you look around you. Pedestrians have a solemn look in their eyes, clutching at themselves. A few limp in place, ankle swollen or leg bleeding from the worst day in their lives. Your mind wanders back to Yuri and the others, wondering if they're alright, or if they're injured and limping like the strangers around you.

Hobie turns on the radio, flipping through the usual music channels to get to the news. The sound of the emergency broadcast has you and Hobie covering your ears from the shrill sound. He lowers the volume down from the last music jam you two had on your way to James'.

The radio cackles for a moment, signal fading in and out as static cackles. “Stay….home…danger…bite.”

“Useless piece of shit!” He punches the radio, suddenly, instead of the broadcaster's voice, an ear piercing boom can be heard from your right. The knick-knacks on the dashboard fall on the floor. “Fuck!” Hobie instinctively puts his arms around your head, shielding you.

The explosion reverberates, shockwave echoing through the city as it hits the car and breaks all the windows and windshields. Glass shatters around you whilst screams erupt all around the streets.

“What was that?!” Your ears ring, a piercing sound deep inside your ears. Hobie says something, mouth opening and closing but you don't hear him through the shrill deaf tone. “What?!”

He grasps at your face, pointing at the black smoke billowing from the distance. You follow his finger, seeing fire and brimstone, the heat from it searing your cheeks. “—we need to go!”

You stare back at him, eyes wide at an oncoming truck heading your way. It runs through cars like butter, flipping metal and ripping flesh. You don't have time to run, so you embrace him— The only way you know how to protect him.

—

Hobie wakes up with a flaring pain on his temple. Skin aflame as gashes and scratches mar his flesh. His vision fades in and out, and his throat dry as he swings upside down in his seat.

Panic sets in immediately, blood rushing to his head. The car is a mess, trinkets that were on the dashboard are now strewn across the car's ceiling. Glass shards littered around, and metal folded and creaking as he moves. He yells your name, throat stinging, chest heavy as he looks beside him.

He only sees a splash of crimson on the seat.

“Love!” He cries out, rough and bloodied hands trying to push away several metal rods piercing in between him and the passenger's seat, fencing him out. It almost split the car in half.

“F–Fuck! C’mon!” Looking through the cracks, he spots an opening before him and a trail of blood. That's probably where you must've gone.

His hand trembles as he feels through the seatbelt and releases it with a click. He falls down harshly, body folded against himself. Breath wheezing, he inhales through the pain.

The thought of you injured and alone was enough fuel for him to squeeze himself out of the window and into the street. Glass nicks his body, scraping against his skin. He bites his tongue, hands scruffed and bleeding.

Hobie falls knees first into the asphalt, body aching and various cuts bleeding on the cold grey ground.

With a deep inhale, he pushes himself up, palms splayed, and feet boosting himself up. His muscles scream in protest as blood dribbles from his brow down to his lashes. He finally makes it up, standing on unsteady feet.

Hobie goes back to the car, arms reaching towards the backseat where his guitar case lies. His fingertips brush along its rough leather until he manages to get a hold of it. He yanks it out of the back, a miracle that it's even intact after the crash. There's no care when he takes it out of the car, case smashing loudly against the broken shards of glass and banging on the metal door. As long as he has it back, he doesn't care about the damage.

There's a sudden animalistic groan in the distance.

On trembling legs, he turns around. His whole body freezes as he sees piles upon piles of cars littered around. Death lingers in the place, rotten flesh and drying blood wafting over his nose.

You have to be alive. You have to be.

As he starts to stagger around the car to climb over the debris and over to you— he falls back on the hood from the sharp pain stinging on his cranium; hip hitting hard on the metal. The sound bounces off the concrete street, and he hears the sudden shuffling of feet, then running footsteps.

Hobie lifts his head up, seeing a crowd— no, a horde sprinting towards him as they appear behind the flipped and broken down cars. All gnashing teeth and bloodied fingers trying to rip him apart.

Without a choice, he bolts away in the different direction you might've gone.

—

Warmth kisses your skin as you lay on the soft mattress. Face squished on the pillow as arms wrap around your body.

“Morning, Hobie.” It was all a bad dream then, nothing but a nightmare fuelled from watching a horror movie before bed. You run your knuckles over his cheek, he still doesn't stirr. “I know you're awake, Hobs.”

You take his cheek, palm resting along his jawline. He feels cold. “Hobie? You okay?” Sitting up, you try to shake him awake. “Hobie? Are you sick?”

His body immediately flings up, sheets flying off his body as his hands wrap tightly around your neck. The amber eyes you love are now a pair of bloodied rubies in his eye sockets. Blood drips from his lips, skin bubbling and melting off his skull. Blue and red veins snake along his flesh, curling around his eyes and lips.

“H–Hobie!” You claw at his hands, ripping away his skin, feeling it crust under your nails.

He chokes you firmly, and you gasp awake.

Your eyes meet with carnage, fire and smoke hitting your face as a breeze passes by. The once normal London streets look like a car junkyard. A throbbing ache spreads through you as you see the hula girl on the floor, crimson splashed on her ukelele.

“Holy shit, you're finally awake!” The least likely person you thought you'd meet up with taps your cheek. James' face is drenched in sweat and blood, shirt caked in drying blood as he shakes you awake once again.

“J–James? How?”

“I need to unclip you, okay? You're gonna fall.” Before you could say something or even wait for your mind to wake up fully, he cuts your seatbelt off with a knife and you fall headfirst into the car's ceiling. Pain blooms on the back of your neck as you feel aches and pains all over. “There, we need to fucking move, Y/N.”

“No, where's—!?” You twist in your seat, sitting up and weakly pushing him away as you turn towards the driver's side. Hobie is still strapped in his seat, sitting upside down, arms dangling from his sides. He's unconscious but breathing.

“Hobie.” You try to squeeze your hands in between the metal crammed in the car that divides your side from his. The beloved car has seen better days. “H–Hobie, fucking wake up!” The tips of your fingers brush along his shoulder, feeling his warmth against your skin. “Please!”

James yells your name, tugging you away. “We'll get him out! But we need to hurry, they're coming!”

“Who?” A low rumbling groan echoes out from the chaos. In your headache, you finally remember what happened.

“You need to get out of the car and I'll try to get him out. You won't go far with your leg.”

“My leg?” You look down, gasping as a large gash runs down your hind leg. Blood trickles from the wound as shards of sharp glass sticks out of it. “Oh f–fuck!” Immediately, pain shoots up. A blinding pain that has you grasping at James’ shoulders and biting down your lip.

“Yeah, I know, calm down.” James pats your back and brandishes the same knife you took from his house. “I'm going to jump over the cars and cut him loose, okay? Stay here.”

You nod, biting down your yelps of agony. Your hand wanders down to your stomach out of fear for the life inside.

James leaves your side, grunting and grasping at his bleeding arm. You watch him carefully as he tries to find a foothold on a side mirror attached to something that doesn't even look like a vehicle anymore with its crushed metal and shattered glass. Ageing blood drifts in the air, clotted and drying while screams and screeches echo all around the city. There's a low rumble of helicopter blades somewhere, and sirens fading in and out.

James still struggles to climb up over the pile of cars. You turn your head, glancing at Hobie in hopes of him waking up from his dreamless sleep. There's drying blood trickling on his temple, lips split and bloodied. Adrenaline makes your hand shake, his words echo in your mind— “you come first.” He'd want for you to not just sit there wait for him to wake up, so with a determination to survive in your eyes, you reach upwards to grab a scarf you know you've placed inside the console. Things tumble out as you open it, polaroids, keys, guitar picks and the blue scarf you've been looking for.

You hear James' grunts as you gingerly pick up a picture of you and Hobie on a random day at the beach. That day was freezing cold with the waters nipping at your skin, but you two didn't care as you chased each other on the frozen sand. With trembling fingers, you hide the picture inside your jacket pocket.

“F–Fuck.” You bite your tongue as you take out pieces of glass out of your leg. A tear slides down your cheek as you remove the last one that was buried deep inside your muscle. Inhaling, you flick your eyes towards James who's halfway up the pileup. “Okay.” Cinching the cloth tighter and tighter around your leg, you breathe in through your nose, mouth clamped shut to prevent a shrill cry from coming out. Tying it neatly, you finally take a deep exhale of air.

“Shit!” James yells, foot slipping off a bloodied hood of a car as he tumbles down on the hard ground. He groans, sitting up and cradling his behind.

“You okay?” You ask, swallowing down your fear as you quickly glance at Hobie, who's still unconscious. If you take too long to get him out, the blood rushing to his head won't be good. “James.”

“I'm good— fuck!” An arm suddenly reaches from within a crushed car, skin mangled, black blood oozing from the wounds. James crawls backwards into a car, the loud bump and his screech could wake up the whole city.

“James— shit!” You clamber out of the car, leg immediately shooting up a wave of pain that has you almost curling against yourself. With another look at Hobie, you limp towards James and help him up. “We need to get Hobie out!”

“Yeah—” his eyes turn wide at something behind you. “Fuck me.”

As you look over your shoulder, you see a wave of people clambering out of the destroyed cars and appearing from the side streets. The moon gazes behind them, a spotlight on their shambling bodies and shadows dancing on the pavement as their hands open and close, trying to grasp at you.

With your heart stuck in your throat, you grab a piece of metal laying at your feet. Its sharp edges sting your palms as the smell of the rusted iron meets with your nose. You look at Hobie, eyes tearing up at him sitting there alone and defenseless. You murmur an apology before smacking the metal against the hood of a car.

“Over here!” You scream, throat burning and legs inching towards an opening towards the alleyway.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” James tries to grab you, but you nudge him away.

“Getting them away from him!” You hammer away at the cars around you while you limp towards the alley. “James, come on!”

The rotting corpses follow you as you and James shimmy in between a downed car and a truck. Their running footsteps thud in tandem with your heart, metal pokes and scratch you but you carry on with gritted teeth.

You make it out of the pileup, immediately turning around to grab James by the collar before one of the shamblers takes a hold of him. Their fingers graze his back, almost ripping his shirt apart.

“Come on, you fuckers!” You yell, banging the metal rod around the walls whilst James guides you backwards.

The corpses struggle to get out of the small space, pushing at each other as bodies quickly pile up over the cars and spill over the cramped alleyway. A few hit the ground in a crunching noise, but the rest pay them no heed as they jump over their heads, stampeding over them while they desperately try to get to you.

“We need to run!” James grabs your arm, quickly looping it over his shoulder to help you bolt away. “I've got an idea!”

Before you could fully turn away, you see a glimpse of Hobie in between the piles of bodies and metal. He sits there, undisturbed and safe.

“Go!” With tears in your eyes, you sprint away despite the searing pain in your leg.

—

Hobie quickens his sprinting, wind whizzing past him as he almost tumbles towards the docks. Wood creaks under him, heavy boots thumping against the old wood and water logged planks.

It looks like he outran the corpses, but he can still hear them heaving out a throaty groan like they're in pain. He's not taking any chances as he quickly makes time and jumps over the side of his houseboat the second he sees its well loved façade.

“Shit, shit, shit.” His knees hit the deck and an almost blinding pain lights his joints on fire.

He grasps at his knees, body laying against the cold wood. Despite the pain, he unties the rope tether from the dock, using his muscle memory and ignoring the fear to quickly untie it. The ropes fall down into the waters, sinking down into the depths.

With a deep inhale, he crawls towards the welcome mat that he still remembers you got for him as a housewarming gift. That was before you were dating, but he already loved you back then— still does, a lot more now. Turning it over, he grabs the spare key and climbs back up, using the doorknob as leverage.

With his hands shaking, he opens the door in hopes of seeing you waiting for him patiently inside.

The door creaks open, and he's only met with dead air and darkness.

Hobie bites the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down as he makes his way upwards and towards the steering wheel. The framed pictures of you two and the band whizzes past him in the dark, all smiles and laughter etched in each photograph. He makes it up to the wheel, immediately inserting the key in the ignition as the whole boat lights up like a damn Christmas tree.

The bloodied and bloated corpses appear from the street, shrieking as they see him standing in the boat before racing towards him.

Hobie doesn't steer the boat just yet, eyes roaming around the docks, hoping, wishing that he would see you sprinting towards the houseboat you two shared.

But with every inch the dead comes close to him, he has no choice but to sail away without you.

He promises to find you, even if it kills him.

—

Your lungs burn from the running, feet sore and feeling like you're sprinting on hot coals. It's torture, pair it up with your nausea and your various wounds, you feel like you're better off as the dead’s meal. And yet, you still run with James leading you towards a pub.

His shoulder hits the double doors, bursting it open and pulling you through it and locking the doors with a propped up chair all in quick succession.

You stand in the middle of the room with a wild look in your eyes as you see a handful of people peeking out of the bar.

“Get out!” One whisper yells at you, and James finally joins your side.

“Absolutely not, mate.” He shakes his head, taking your hand, he leads you towards the back of the place. “I own this bloody place.”

You whip your head towards him with shock. “What?”

“Technically my dad does.” He whispers to you as he continues to lead you to an office while the survivors follow you with their heavy gaze.

“And here I thought JJJ only had that radio show.” You say as you close the door behind you to shut off the stares.

James rummages through the desk, trying to find something as you roam your eyes around the sparse room with a few accolades framed to the walls and its business permit. Behind the oak table lies a large cabinet with a lock on it. And to the other side of the wall is the back exit. There's not even a framed picture of his family in it, not even of James.

“One thing about my dad is that he loves yapping, drinking, and…” he grins, showing you a ring of keys. “Guns.”

“Guns? That's—”

“Hard to get here? Yeah, he had to pull some strings.” He immediately turns around, crouching down to unlock the cabinet. “The real deal is at our house, and you already know what happened there, this is just a small part of his collection.” A muffled curse escapes from his lips as he tries to find the right key in the dozen or so keys.

You look at the window from the office, seeing the survivors beginning to stand up and staring at you with curiosity. Without missing a beat, you close the blinds with a quick tug. You can't risk it, not when you've seen too many apocalypse movies with Hobie. Fuck, Hobie, your heart squeezes at the thought of him. You should get back to him using those guns, saving him like in the movies.

“How'd you find us, James— shit, have you seen Yuri and Ned?” You lean against the table as a wave of pain ebbs through you. Your hand grasps at your stomach, trying to calm yourself down.

His hands pauses, “...no, no I haven't. We got separated too. We all ran out towards another house to get help but when I looked back they were both gone. Then I jacked a car to get to the city— to my mum and dad, hopefully. That's when I saw the pileup and your car.” He clears his throat, sniffing and wiping his face with his sleeve. “I'm sure they're fine though, this is Yuri and Ned we're talking about.”

“Yeah, I hope so. I'm sure your parents are fine too.” That means Hobie is all alone out there. “James, we need to get back to Hobie.”

“I know, boss.” He says your nickname that he dubbed to you when you took on the mantle of being their manager. “No man left behind, I promise.” The cabinet finally unlocks, revealing a pump action shotgun and a pistol. “Thanks dad.” James grabs the backpack next to the gun, filling it up with as much ammo as he could put inside. “Help me with this.”

You nod, quickly kneeling down to shovel in ammo. Your leg hinders you to fold it, but despite the stabbing pain, you still crouch. “After we get Hobie, we'll hop onto the houseboat then we'll go out and find Yuri and Ned.” The boxes of bullets rattle as you shove it inside.

“Solid plan.” He takes the shotgun and loads it in with shells. You gawk at his expert movements. He shrugs, “of course he taught us how to use these things.”

“Perks of being friends with the royal family I guess?”

James makes a face, nose scrunched up. “Never went to their hunts, dad said I would've pointed it at them instead.”

You chuckle, “that's probably true.”

He smiles, handing you the pistol. “You know how to use it?”

“Uh, point and shoot?” You take the weighted gun in your hand.

James takes the gun and shows you the safety, “right means pew pew, left means no pew pew.” He then takes a cartridge and loads up the pistol and shows you how to load it yourself. “Just pull this back right after and you're good.”

“What if it jams?” You ask as he gives it back to you.

“Like in the movies, huh?” It's your turn to shrug. “That rarely happens with a gun like this. But if it does, you run like hell, okay?”

“Okay.” You inhale, letting your hand acclimate to the weight. “I never thought that there's this side of you, James.”

“I was really into watching doomsday preppers when I was younger. I guess the doom mongering kinda stuck with me.”

You chuckle, “we're kinda stuck together until we find them. How do you feel about that?”

“Fucking lucky that I got the fittest member in the band.” James jokes, nudging you as he puts on the backpack. He stands up, giving you a helping hand that you take.

“Not going to be fit for much longer.” You groan as your knees creak from under you.

“C’mon, you're not that old.”

“I don't mean it like that.” You inhale, “I'm pregnant, James.”

“Shit, is Yuri the father?”

You push him playfully. “Fucker.”

“Congrats? Shit timing though.”

You shake your head with a small smile. You feel lighter now that you've told someone else. “The worst fucking timing. I haven't told him yet— I was about to but then you know.”

“Yeah, the fucking dead rises again.” He walks over to the backdoor, unlocking it.

“Should we help them?” You gesture towards the window and the bar.

James sighs then nods. “Yeah, actually we should—!” The door opens and out comes a stumbling wall of decaying flesh. He immediately fires at it head on, blood and guts spraying at you and the walls as your ears ring from the loud shot.

You take James by the back of his collar, tugging him backwards into the bar as the loud shot has brought more visitors to funnel into the office.

You yell ‘run,’ but you can't hear your own voice.

James points the barrel behind you as more and more appear. You quickly open the pub entrance, flinging away the chair as chaos ensues inside.

Your hearing comes back just as the screams start.

James tries his best to help, shooting at anyone who comes close to the survivors but he can't protect himself and them at the same time. He's backed against a table as he reloads. Fountains of crimson splashes out of the bodies as the corpses rip and tear into their insides.

A few escape, pushing past you to get out into the streets. But most fall into the jaws of death.

Soon, the oaken floorboards and marble bar is covered in guts and bone.

“James, we need to go!”

James struggles to reload with his shaking fingers, with a deep inhale, you point and shoot at a corpse who came too close to him. He cradles his ear, wincing at the sound as he retreats towards you. The body staggers back, but your bullet missed the head, ear no longer there.

You take the opportunity to pull him out just in time as bodies pile up and spring over to you, you see a glimpse of one of the survivors with a huge chunk taken out of their face, twitching and writhing on the floor before they stand up and bite at the air with their bloodied teeth.

You don't have time to ponder what you saw as you and James run towards the docks.

Your leg aches but you carry on with the pain, you feel blood seeping through the measly bandage while you run. James holds onto your elbow, making sure you don't lag behind as you blindly shoot behind you.

James leads you back to where he found you and Hobie, his feet skids to a stop but when he looks inside the driver's side, Hobie's gone.

You almost cry at the sight. But you hold onto hope. “The docks!” James immediately understands as he lets you lead this time.

Muscle memory guides you towards the side streets where you and Hobie use as shortcuts to get home faster. Shoes thudding against the pavement, shots echoing in the dark as smoke and fire billows all over the city you call home.

The smell of the river has you running faster.

Muscles screaming to stop, you heave as you bolt over to the houseboat. Only to be met with nothing in its place.

“What the fuck?!” You scream, gun tightly around your hand. “Where—?!” Turning around, you roam your frantic eyes across the familiar dock, but the red paint of the houseboat is nowhere to be seen, only the rope that was tied around it is left floating on the water.

“Where is it?!” James yells, reloading his gun before making quick work of the corpses that fall down with a bloodied thud.

With a heavy heart, you pull James away and back into the streets. “It's not here!”

You're half relieved and afraid of what might've happened to him. Hobie might've woken up and went to the houseboat in hopes of meeting you there. But he had to leave, you know he wouldn't have any other choice in the matter if he chose that. But another half of you thinks that he perished along the way, that the houseboat is now floating along the Thames with its captain writhing and stumbling inside the very place you both cherished.

You shake the thought away, focusing on surviving for him and for the life inside you. He's alive, you know he is.

“Over here!” James pushes himself inside a broken metal fence, helping you squeeze inside as the horde catches up to you. You feel the heat of their bodies against your back as they desperately try to wrap their rotted fingers around you.

He pulls you, shooting at any stragglers as your destination gets near. A tall building stands before you with its shiny windows that reach high into the sky, and rotating doors that remind you of a fancy hotel.

“Keep running!” He yells, arm still holding onto you for dear life.

“Fuck, my leg!” You almost stumble, but James comes back to you and grabs your arm and places it around his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, we're almost there!” He yells, panicking as he bares half of your weight for you.

The two of you pass by a pub that's filled with screams of terror echoing out instead of the sound of music that you're used to. The windows are painted in crimson, splotches of blood marr the historical walls inside like spider lilies spread across the glass. There's still people in there, fighting for their lives as you see a flash of light and hear a loud bang that has your teeth rattling inside your mouth.

The horde splits off towards the sound, leaving you with a dozen corpses heading your way.

Your adrenaline filled heart flips as you see the name of the pub, and it's the same one you were in just mere hours ago with Hobie.

“In here!” James pulls you back into the present, pushing you towards the rotating doors and into the empty lobby.

You make it inside just in time before the dead get to you. James grabs the metal rod in your hand, using it to lock the rotating doors by placing it in-between the glass.

“It's not gonna hold on for long, we need to go up!” James grabs your hand, yanking you towards the stairs. “Seventh floor!”

You don't have enough time to gaze upon the expansive lobby with its marble floors and crystal chandelier. It seems as though the place lies untouched by the calamity outside.

Your mind goes on survival mode, running, dodging bared teeth, climbing up the stairs, shooting, kicking a corpse away from your ankle. And then sprinting upwards towards the winding stairs.

James couldn't risk it with the elevators, knowing that it could get stuck in between floors or worse, the dead lurk and wait inside.

The condo door is in sight, just when James trips and falls face first into the harsh ground. You look at the crawling corpse, who's rotting hand is wrapped around his ankle.

Without wasting time, you take your foot up, stomping down on their skull in a sickening crunch of brain matter and bone.

Eyeing down your deed, with its mess marked on the once pristine floors, James pulls you away and towards the door. Within a second, he inputs the code on the panel and the door clicks open. He pushes you inside and shuts the door with haste.

There's banging outside the door, and you're left standing in the hallway with James pushing a bookshelf towards it as a barricade.

You don't notice him calling your name as you stare at your bloodied shoe with brain matter sticking to its heel.

“Hey.” James grasps your arm, panting and eyes wide awake. “I need help with the door.”

With a firm nod, you take your mind off of what you have done, and whilst you push shelves against the door, you could only wish that Hobie's alright and he made it to the boat in one piece.

—

Hobie's stuck alone in his boat. With nothing but the waters and the fish to keep him company for two months, he sails towards the north where the cabin, the designated meeting place, lies. His hand tightens around the wheel, lips chapped, scruff scratching him, and bags dark under his brown eyes. He feels as if he's going sea crazy out here. Hundreds of worries have appeared in his mind, and most of it consists of you and your whereabouts.

Without the knowledge of you being alive and breathing, he keeps seeing you in his dreams. The last two months have been a nightmare for him. And it has gotten worse with every day that passes without you by his side. Now he knows why Yuri and the others always joke that they shouldn't separate the two of you lest the other won't function or go stir crazy. He only hopes that you're doing better than he is.

His eyes seem to circle around the sticker of your face on his guitar, right where you accidentally scruffed it. You two always talked about sailing the whole world on the houseboat, ignoring the fact that the boat can't withstand the harsh waves of the ocean. But it was a good dream nonetheless. If only you could be here with him, it's not sailing around the world, but the water at night would be a sight to behold for you.

The waters around the country have gone wilder by the week, he sticks to the beaches and the coast where he can control the houseboat better. Where the water isn't too rough around the old ship.

The boat isn't built for seafaring, or even long journeys. If the houseboat collapses against the rough waves before he could get to the small fishing town you two stayed in, his hope would dwindle, but he'll stay determined for you.

He can already feel your arms around him when the reunion happens. Or is that his mind playing tricks on him once again?

At least he has enough provisions to last him a few more weeks out in the open. But in time, he has to go dock the boat and scavenge for food. He doesn't need to load up with gasoline when the houseboat runs on solar. Thank fuck he built that before shit hit the fan.

The virus seems to have wrapped its teeth around the world. Marks of death lay waste to every city he sails by. Piles and piles of bodies, half burned by the very people who once knew them, afraid of the walking death that could savage them too. Cities now lay empty or crowded by snarling corpses. Some were lucky enough to build walls around a small commune, but it was obvious that they didn't want newcomers with the mounted guns and patrolling armed forces around it.

With every port and dock he passes, he looks for you and your familiar face. He hopes that with every wave and tide he conquers, you're getting closer to him. But whenever he passes by a coastal town, or a beach he once visited with you, he could only see the dead awaiting for him on the sand, like old friends waiting to be reunited with him. Their eyes are long gone, white scleras and crimson irises staring him down with their maws agape, biting at air and inhaling through their rotten lungs.

The shamblers, he calls it, or them, the former humans that were sadly infected, can't swim, but they also can't drown. So swimming in the water poses a risk of getting bitten by one of them that are treading the sea floor. Hobie doesn't risk getting into the sea after a limp hand wrapped around his ankle when he decided to take a quick dip.

In the past two months since then, he misses you, misses the way he would wake up to your face, arms wrapped around him and protecting him from the harsh morning cold. He misses the way you would smile and laugh. He misses the sound of your footsteps walking around the boat, sometimes he hears it at night when he's in between sleep and the waking world. Missing you was an understatement, he longs for you, longs for you to be alive and back beside him. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but no one told him that the ache would be unbearable.

Hobie once hated the mundanity of life. The way he plays his loud music in the speakers, now he can't even turn on the stereo when every sound could bring the dead to him. Even the radio that he has taken for granted, one that you would always turn on in the morning without fail, now only plays static. Or the repeating sounds of the emergency broadcast over and over again. He sometimes wants to chuck it out of the boat and into the depths, but he remembers how much you loved the old radio and how you would sway to the music. So now he lets it play static, the sound keeping him company throughout the night instead of you.

The information pamphlet that the government tossed from an airplane glares at him from where he taped it on the side of the controls. Hobie still remembers the whirr of the engine above while the papers drift down like snow.

The drawings remind him of the ones in airplanes where they tell you what to do in case of a plane crash or how to put on your seatbelt. He feels like he's in a never ending plane crash heading to nowhere. The words ‘body fluids,’ ‘infected,’ ‘bites,’ and ‘ten seconds’ are engraved in his mind.

He once tried to call your phone in hopes of you answering it but he only heard your voicemail. In the rocky waters and the solemn sky, your voice echoes and presence felt through the speakers. He kept calling you after that just to hear your voice again and again until cell services stopped working.

He's utterly alone.

With a sigh, he steers the houseboat towards an empty dock. The wood creaks as he steps out, bag slung over his shoulder and rope itching against his palms. After taking a quick look around for danger, he ties the rope around the dock, securing his home before grabbing his hammer from his belt.

He stretches his arms and legs as if he's about to run a marathon, he probably would be after he tried to restock for supplies a few days ago. He can still smell the stench of rotten flesh and blood in his nose when a horde chased after him.

Like always he tries to find the evacuation area where you might be, or where other people might be. He would steer away from other survivors, but if there's doctors and a lot of people around, he's sure that they can be trusted. A gathering of people in the apocalypse could spell danger, but it could also be hope.

He treks along the empty street, nothing left but dusty shops, and abandoned cars on the road. There's no stench of death that lingers around the place, or blood splattered along the shop walls. Hobie guesses this town was one of the lucky ones to be evacuated before the virus got to them.

His hypothesis seems to be right when he spots a military vehicle abandoned on the side of the road. Peeking behind it, he doesn't find anything, not even a shambler waiting to bite at him behind the tarpaulin. He wonders what happened to this place.

Every place he encounters has him asking the same question, could you be here?

As he enters the large stadium, it's evident that it's long been abandoned.

Scattered boxes and tents lay where its occupants last left it. Needles and bloodied bandages are strewn across the painted floor and on the court seats. Hobie stands where the general seats would be, right in the middle of everything and with him having a good vantage point of the whole place. A breeze passes by, and papers fly ahead of him.

It’s completely empty, even if he scavenge for supplies in here he won't find anything.

Just as he's about to leave, he hears a clunking sound from the middle of the stadium. His hands hold onto the railings as he narrows his eyes towards the movement from behind the tents.

There, a couple of black clad strangers emerge from within, all holding onto their own blades.

Hobie immediately ducks down, hiding behind the wall and railings.

“This place is shit, there's nothin’ left!” One says, voice echoing.

“Keep your bloody voice down unless you want to wake the dead.”

“How fucking poetic of you.”

Hobie has managed to avoid the dead and the living, the dead a lot easier, but people are harder to get away from. He hasn't killed or maimed anyone, unlike the apocalyptic movies he had watched with you and the band. He tries to avoid it, staying away from staining his hands with red. The shamblers used to be human too, under all the rotten flesh and dead eyes, they once had a life, a family, someone that cared for them. So as much as he can, he only stuns them.

He has never encountered other people before, on his ship, the only faces he has seen are the ones in photographs. He always wondered where everyone went, if there's a huge ship somewhere carrying the whole world behind its metal back. Finding the strangers is comforting in a way, a way that he wasn't left behind to rot and survive on his own. That there are still people out there, living and breathing ones.

But it's clear that you're not here.

With a thudding heart, he slowly crawls on the dusty floor, gloved hand and knees dirtied by the muck and grime.

Hobie tries to not make any noise above the whistling wind and rustling trees. He avoids fallen bottles, and scattered paper plates. The voices fade behind him, the doors where he came from just in his line of sight.

He shifts left and right, crawling as he adjusts his belt. Your voice telling him that he needed a new one rather than the barely holding on rope echoes in his ears. He curses himself for not listening as he keeps adjusting the falling thing.

His breath quickens, pulse palpitating as he makes it to the door. His palm reaches for the doorknob, still kneeling down. But as he stretches himself, the hammer hanging from his belt falls.

Hobie gasps, fingertips brushing along its handle, trying to catch it. It falls down loudly on the floor, metallic clanging sounding like a death knell.

“What was that?!”

“Fuck.” Hobie, without wasting time, grabs the hammer and runs for his life.

The door swings open, the warmth of the sun greeting him. His boots thump loudly on the pavement, leaving his pursuers in the dust.

“Get back here!” They gain speed as their footsteps get louder, a cacophony of breaths and blades unsheathing. “He has supplies, get him!”

Hobie turns a corner, his destination still too far from him to see. His legs are starting to ache, chest aflame as he navigates the town that he thought would be empty.

“Shit!” He makes the mistake of looking back, finding three people now running after him. Wait, three?

A shambler joins the chase, eyes bloodied, arms trying to grasp at the couple.

“Behind you!” Hobie tries to help as they're too focused on trying to catch him.

Just as the man wielding a fire axe turns to look behind him, the shambler catches up and grabs him by the neck, taking a chunk out of his face.

His screams of agony would bring Hobie nightmares, but the guttural yell of grief from his companion would be etched in his mind forever.

“Wilson, no!” He cries, trying to help the other as blood sprays the pavement below.

The dead doesn't let go, maw properly set into his skin.

His pursuer cranes his neck towards the frozen Hobie, eyes pleading with him for help.

Hobie should help, could help. His mind is in scrambles as screams echo around the small town, waking the dead that hides in the forgotten homes. He swallows thickly just as the sound of running footsteps roar from further within the town. So he turns around, running away from the scene as more and more join in, hearing the screams of terror ebb out like a dinner bell.

He doesn't sleep that night, the faces of those strangers are painted behind his eyelids, faces contorted into pure fear. And yet he left them, had to leave them or he might've been caught with them. Died with them, died with strangers who tried to take his things and perhaps his life.

Hobie doesn't want to die amongst strangers, nor be forgotten and lost within the numbers of the dead. To be left for dead is his greatest fear, losing you was the closest he got to feeling that fear. If It's his time, he wants it to be with people he knows, people he loves, not wasting as a husk of himself in a place he doesn't know.

He lays awake in the same bed you once shared, the pillows still smell like your shampoo, and the room has lingering scents of your perfume. His eyes are heavy and lashes sticking to one another. The chipping paint of the ceiling morphs into shapes, the pub he played at, the band's faces, and you, smiling at him like always.

Closing his eyes tightly, he wretches the vision from his mind. He needs to stay sane. As he stands up from the bed, mattress creaking from his weight, he wraps your cardigan around himself, clinging onto it like a child's toy.

The ship rocks back and forth to the calm waves. Stars dotted along the sky while the moonlight stretches across the shining waters. Hobie sits on the deck, where you two would usually drink morning tea at, and where you'd be sitting when you're waiting for him to come home from a gig.

Everything reminds him of you, there's no escaping it, even if he doesn't want to. He doesn't know if it’s the only thing keeping him sane all alone, or the thing that's slowly making him bonkers. Either way, the memory of you keeps him company in the end of the world.

He brings his knees to his chest, chin propped up on it as his eyes follow a dot in the horizon. The moonlight shines on it whilst it moves on the water.

Fear grips him as it continues to move closer to his boat. The shadow moves from side to side, at the mercy of the waves.

Hobie stands up, putting on your cardigan as he makes his way up to the wheel. He steers the boat away from its way, now seeing it as a large cruise ship that's aimlessly floating on the water.

There's no light nor voices coming from it, only the familiar scent of decomposing flesh, and the sound of low groans.

He steers clear of it as he sees a face peeking from the side, eyes unblinking, red almost shining in the light of the moon. He swears he saw it grin at him.

As he swivels the wheel, he lets the ship pass quietly, letting it carry the dead on its empty voyage.

Hobie decides to get back into bed then, eyes too heavy, body too tired. His head lands on the pillow, sleep taking him into its calm arms.

—

Hobie wakes up to your thumb brushing along his jaw. He cracks an eye open, and your smile beams at him.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, me.” A smile spreads across his cheeks, your familiar warmth and scent felt through his bones. His eyes feel so heavy, and you're so warm that he could fall right back to sleep.

“You’re loopy today.” The pads of your fingertips graze along his stubble. “Are you tired, Hobie?”

“Yeah, love.” He breathlessly says, smile etched on his lips as the sun shines behind you, bathing you in warm light. “Where have you been?”

“I was waiting for you.” You tilt your head with a smile. “You sleep like the dead.”

He chuckles, hand grasping on your waist. “I was lookin’ for you in my dream.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle above the sound of wind chimes. “Did you find me in your dream?”

“I haven't, not yet.” He sniffs, and yet can't smell your shampoo or perfume.

“Maybe you should wake up then, continue your search?” You whisper, voice gentle as your hands cup his cheeks.

Hobie grins tiredly, eyes half lidded. “You're already in front of me, what is there left to find?”

“You have to wake up, Hobie.” Your fingers pinch his skin, nails digging into his cheeks as the sun is replaced by darkness. And the warmth in your eyes turn stark white.

“Ow, what?”

“Wake the fuck up!”

Hobie jumps off the bed, head hitting the hard wall of the houseboat as thunder rips through the wood while lightning flashes outside. He can still hear the last echoes of your scream in his ears.

“Fuck!” The whole boat shifts to the side, dangerously close to tipping. His things are knocked from their place, glass shattering and making a mess of the bedroom. If he doesn't get up to the wheel, the waves might break the boat in half.

He panics, grabbing his windbreaker, and boots in the other. As he climbs up the steps, he puts it on awkwardly over your cardigan and as best as he can with his shoelaces loose.

Rain battens down on the houseboat, wind howling outside. Hobie zips his jacket on, taking a breath before opening the door.

The water smacks him right on his face, sharp rain drops stinging his cheeks. He slams the door closed, bracing the wind as he shields himself with his arm.

“Shit!” The slippery floors made it hard for him to find a foothold while the waves shook and turn the boat all over like he's in a blender.

Hobie grips the side wall, trying to keep his balance to get up the steps to the controls. The waves splash and slap his body around, completely drenching him from inside and out.

The winds howl a dreaded tune, one that sailors would run away in fear. Dark waves loom overhead, sea salt on his lips, and seafoam spreading by his feet. All he could do is brace for impact.

—

The city in front of you is still burning. Skyscrapers that used to reach the heavens are now nothing but flaming metal and acrid dark smoke. James had warned you not to stay too long on the balcony when the air outside leaves less to be desired, especially in your condition. James has been pleasant company, but the life growing inside you has made it extra difficult to stay in a good mood. Especially when the one person you want to be next to you is missing.

It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else.

Your eyes glance over to the Thames, the water is dark and glimmering under the embers of the city and the moonlight. Despite the crackling of fire and low groans of the dead in the streets, the city is quiet, dead quiet.

You long for the days when the sound of a guitar rips through the morning hours of sleep. Hobie would always apologize with a smile, but you know he has taken the position of your personal alarm clock whenever he would wake up earlier than you. Nowadays you would wake up to James trying to pick up a signal from a CB radio he found during his runs through the building. He said it's to contact the rest of the band, but you can always hear him trying to call for his parents when you're in bed and alone with only the polaroid of him, and your baby to keep you company.

It's been two months since you found out, two months without Hobie. You try not to worry too much, telling yourself that he's alright and probably faring better than you and James. But you only do it for the baby, you know all that worrying would bear down on them. Even the prenatal vitamins James found for you from one of his neighbours wouldn't help if you kept on crying through the night with your chest sore while mumbling Hobie's name.

According to the pregnancy book you found, something that was probably owned by James’ mother, your baby is as big as a raspberry now. You already feel bloated and you dread trying to run away from the dead when your belly gets bigger with time. It also said that in three months the baby will be the size of a lemon, the thought makes you realize how long it has been since you've held fresh produce.

James' parents' condo is big, too big for just two people. You've been stuck within the four walls for months now when you can't step out of the building without the city's horde lunging at you. James and you decided to wait out the dead after you read in the government pamphlet that they like to travel in hordes and they tend to leave when there’s no one left to infect or eat. You've seen that the infected are beginning to thin out, but not fast enough.

The place isn't uncomfortable at all; it's probably the best place you could wait it all out in. It's all pristine white walls and modern furniture that must've been worth more than your houseboat. You've taken the guest room with its king sized bed and hundred thread count sheets. It has its own bathroom, and a bathtub to boot. And yet your mind keeps going back to the houseboat where you and Hobie were happy and content. You hate the fact that he's been missing for two months of your life, two months of the pregnancy where you imagined you two would lean on each other. Not spending it all with James, he's kind and patient, but he's still not your Hobie.

You try not to gaze at the river again, but you keep failing each time. The hot chocolate you made sits abandoned on a small table beside you as the wind blows against your cheeks. The scenery doesn't change, it hasn't changed in two months, but you hope and wish that one day the familiar red paint of the houseboat would appear on the waters with Hobie on it.

With a tight grasp around the binoculars, you take a peek at the waters. Your eyes roam around the same docks where you last saw the houseboat, like before, there's nothing.

James thought that giving you the binoculars would help quell your anxieties, but whenever you look through it, you could only see the faces of the dead staring back at you. You could only hope that you don't— would never see a familiar face among the horde.

The sliding doors to the balcony opens, and out comes James' head peeking through it. He gives you soft smile, blond hair tousled in the wind, and a beard needing a trim. The light from inside the condo spills out into the balcony. You always thought that the city's electric grid would run out within a few weeks, but it's still going strong.

“Hey,” he sighs, gazing at how you grip onto the binoculars and down to your growing stomach. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” you inhale, lower back aching and stomach feeling heavier than yesterday. “Just sightseeing.”

He steps out, still wearing his dad's hunting vest, and his mum's silver bracelet. “Anything new?”

You shake your head. “I thought I heard a gunshot from somewhere, but I couldn't find where it came from.”

James sits down next to you with a groan, hand reaching for the binoculars. “Let me try.” You give it to him, hand subconsciously twirling the ring around your pinky. “Where do you think it came from?”

“West, just by the park.” You cradle your stomach, the growing belly still feels alien to you. But at least now the morning sickness is gone, but your feet look bloated inside your socks.

James hums, looking through the binoculars with intensity. He takes it off his eyes after a minute, shaking his head and giving it back to you. “Yeah, nothing, just a few of the infected.”

“Why are you still in your hunting vest? You already got us enough provisions to last us a couple of weeks.”

He looks down at his appearance, “sorry, I can't seem to just shrug it off.” You know what he meant by it, and it's not the vest he's talking about as he cleans off the grime under his fingernails with his thumb nail. “Does it bother you? I'll take it off.”

You stop him from taking the vest off. “No, it's fine, keep it on if you like.”

Nodding, James puts the beige vest back on. “Is your leg still hurting?” he glances at your leg that's perched on the railing.

“Just sore, is all.” You inhale, thumb drawing circles around your belly. “Putting it up helps.”

“If I just knew how to treat it properly before—”

“You did a good job, James.” You reach for him, palm resting on his arm. “If it was just me I would've thought of cutting it off or something.”

He smiles, patting the back of your hand. “How’s Hobie jr?”

“Fine, just like yesterday and the day before that.” You chuckle. “How are you holding up, James? I should be helping you out there.”

Scoffing, James flicks the back of your hand playfully. “You'd just hold me back, preggo.”

“Hey,” you say with a laugh. “All I'm saying is that you need someone to watch your back. Or at least help carry the load.”

He looks at your stomach then over to your face with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Looks like you already took the load.”

“You little shit!” Slapping his arm, he lets out a feigned yelp. “I'm serious, I could really help.”

“If something happens to you I wouldn't be able to live with myself, boss.” James looks at the distance, eyes darting over to the river. “Besides, I can handle it.” He flexes his arm, smacking his bicep.

You sigh, watching him with a strained smile and shining eyes. You blame the hormones. “Okay, but when you move up another floor again, I'm coming with.”

He shakes his head, chuckling and taking your mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip from the lukewarm drink. “Yeah, no.”

“James.” You say sternly, “come on, what if you get trapped up there alone? Ned would kill me if I get his best mate killed.”

“First of all, I'm nobody's best mate. Yuri is yours, and Ned is Hobie's. Second, I have a fucking gun and have been doing this alone for weeks now. I'll be fine.”

Your tone grows soft. “You're my best mate too, James. So is Hobie's, Yuri's and Ned’s. You're our friend, and if it was anybody else in your position, I would offer the same, and fight you just as hard.” You lean close, arms over the armrest as he stares at you. “I don't want you to fucking die in here alone. Especially when I can still do something to help. Because in a few months I won't be able to.”

“Do you think they're alright out there?”

“Don't change the fucking subject—”

“They have to be okay.” James licks his dry lips, swallowing down the lump in his throat. You've had this conversation before, and it always ends the same way.

You nod, chest heavy and hands shaking. “They are, I know they are. They're tough, our band will hold on.”

He swallows thickly, looking away at you and instead staring at the dark drink. The previous conversation wedges in his mind. “I just— I think I just want to be useful, you know? Because I know this stuff, shooting and shit. So I gotta use it to protect you and the baby because that's all I know.”

You feel tears prick at your lashes. “You've always been useful, James. You're our drummer, the music's shit without you.” He chuckles, sniffing as he gazes at the ruined city. “We're a band, we protect each other. And I've seen you do other shit with expertise, shooting is not all you know.”

He turns to you, smiling gently. “I do make a really good pot of stew.”

“The best.” You smile back, tugging at his hand and holding it fondly.

His face turns solemn, eyes downturned at your intertwined hands. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Can— will you end me if I ever get bitten?”

“James—”

“I've seen them closely, Y/N, I know they're in pain. I don't want to end up like that.” His voice breaks at the end, thumb brushing along the back of your hand, staring down at it. “The pamphlet said you have ten seconds before you turn, that's plenty of time to reload.”

Your lips wobble, head shaking before you inhale deeply. “...Okay. If that's what you want.”

“Y–Yeah, I want that.”

“It won't get to that, I promise.” You don't know that, but you promise him anyway.

“Thank you, boss.”

“Can you promise the same thing for me too—?” Before you could finish your words, the lights shuts off, and you see the wave of darkness ebb through the city. “Shit.”

“I think we need to get to that cabin sooner rather than later.” James utters in the dark.

—

After weeks of waiting and preparing in the darkened condo, with some luck and a miracle, you and James manage to get outside of the condo and even get to ride in his parent's lexus.

You shut your door as quietly as you can, heaving and laden with sweat as you're covered from head to toe in thick winter clothes; so if an infected gets to you, their teeth won't be able to penetrate the cloth. Patting your stomach, the roundness of it is still unusual for you now that you can feel the baby move around.

James mirrors your befuddled look, sweat dripping off his brows and beard sticking to his chin in what could be an uncomfortable feeling. He nods at you, smiling as he grips the steering wheel. All the bags and guns are thrown in the backseat, together with a baby bag that James managed to find in one of the flats.

“We fucking made it.”

“God, I could fucking kiss you right now, James.” You joke, reaching over the center console to briefly hug him.

“I wouldn't say no to that.” He chuckles out, patting your back before turning on the ignition with a shaky hand. “To the cabin we go!”

The engine stirs up immediately, a thrumming sound of victory. James presses a button on a small remote, prompting the automatic garage door to whirr awake.

You laugh, but the sound of running footsteps behind you has your stomach sinking. Looking behind and over the seats, you see a whole horde of them gunning for you and James. It's the building’s residents.

“We need to go!”

“Seat belts!” James revs up the engine and without missing a beat, backs the car towards the bodies as blood sprays all over the windows.

Clicking on your seat belt, you hang on for dear life as James panics and turns the steering wheel around to face the garage doors.

“James!” You yell as more and more clamber their way to the sides. The car jolts, wheels squeaking but not moving as blood and guts fly about.

The sound of the garage door’s metallic clanking has more of the infected join in, the stragglers left by the rest of the city's horde. The sun peeks through the opening, shadows of the stumbling and running crowd managing to squeeze through.

“The wheel's fucking stuck!” James presses down on the pedals, but the car still doesn't move.

You yell when a banging sound erupts from the backseat. Right on the glass, bodies and faces are squished in between it, blood and ripped skin kissing the car's window.

“I need to get out and—” James panics, but before he could grab the shotgun from the backseat, you're already holding onto it. “What—?!”

The loud reverb of the shot stings your ears as the glass of the back window now lay shattered all over your things.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!” James yanks the gun away and you surprisingly let him.

You crawl towards the seats, ignoring the broken and bloodied glass, and quickly ripping the bag zipper open as you grab a molotov cocktail from the arsenal you and James prepared exactly for situations like this. You only have a few minutes before your opening closes and before the horde gets back up.

Without questioning you anymore, James helps you by fishing out his lighter, clicking it once until the cloth lit up the whole car.

Just like Hobie taught you, you toss it through the opening you made within a half second.

The bottle flies over the dead, their heads turn towards the heat and light as it lands directly at them with force, shattering the glass and spreading the fire.

The guttural screams would haunt your dreams, but when the car lurches and the infected gather around the warmth and leave the car be, you smile victoriously.

James drives off, car hitting the streets with a metallic slam and wheels smoking. He hoots and hollers, smacking your side ecstatically.

“You absolute beauty, you!” He laughs, fist slamming against the car's ceiling.

Buildings whizz by, grinning back at James. His smile flickers away as his eyes move down to your lap. You suddenly feel a stinging ache on your palms.

With bated breath, you look down, blood pooling all over his mother's mink coat.

“It's probably fine—”

“Stop the car!” You yell as the car skids to a stop near the bridge. Opening the door, you immediately bolt away from James and climb up the wall of the bridge, standing precariously on the ledge as you look down at the Thames.

The sound of the car door opening has you looking back at a concerned James, the gun in his hand means that you both have reached an understanding.

Big Ben looms over the distance, its clock face standing still just like the world has. Just like you have as you count down to ten.

Your laboured breaths rise above the sound of the rushing river below you. It's dark depths calling for you.

Five.

“It's okay, boss, I—I think you're fine.” James utters but the tears in his eyes says that he has the same worries as you. “Ten seconds have already passed.”

Four.

“T–The glass had their blood, James.” You show him your blood drenched palms. “It might take awhile.”

“It won't fucking take you. Get down from there please.”

Three.

“The pamphlet said it transfers through bodily fluids—”

“Get the fuck down.”

Two.

“I can't.”

James slowly inches towards you, gun holstered.

One.

Your breathing rises, blood dripping from your wounds. “I think—” James yanks you away by the coat’s hem, dragging you away from the ledge as you land against his chest. Your cries are muffled by his own coat.

He shushes you gently, holding you in place. “You're good, see? Still alive.”

“I'm sorry, t–that was pathetic.”

“Pathetic? Nah, just melodramatic.” He sighs in relief, leaning away as he holds you at arm's length. Patting your cheek, he sees your left eye twitching briefly before stabilizing. “Let's get the fuck away from here. We have bandages in the car, come on, boss.”

You wipe all your tears, nodding and trying to calm yourself down. “Okay, we have a reunion to go to.”

—

“So, tell me about this cabin?” James asks while a storm brews in the distance, dark clouds looming over the trees on your right. “We have four whole days of travelling, might as well tell me about it.”

“What?” You ask, head still not screwed on tight on your neck after what transpired a few hours ago. The bandage around your palms are rough against your thumbnail, incessantly picking at it anxiously. The ring around your pinky is stained in red, you should clean it later.

“The cabin, tell me about your time there with Hobie. The PG version please.” He chuckles, eyes straight on the road as he carries precious cargo.

Shaking your head, you look over to him while a pair of beaded bracelets dangle from the rearview mirror. “It was nice, we went there for our anniversary.”

“And?”

“And?” You scoff with a smile. “That's it, we spent time lounging around the place and in the morning we would go out to eat and sightsee.”

“You have a way with your words, boss.”

“What do you want from me, James?” You shift in your seat, arms wrapped around your growing belly. “A narration?”

James shakes his head with a growing grin, eyes flicking to you briefly. “No, I'm just making conversation to fucking get you out of there.”

“Out of my seat?”

“No, your fucking head, emo. You've been quiet this entire time.”

“Oh,” you sniff as thunder rumbles from a distance. “Well, thanks.” You can't tell him that his annoyance actually worked and kept you distracted for a little bit, or you'll never hear the end of it. “The cabin was just an hour away from the town. It was pretty, you know, in a cabin in a horror movie type of shit.”

He chuckles, finally victorious. “Why? Is there a permanent smell of carcass around the place, oh! Or like dolls hanging from the ceiling?”

“That’s fucked up!” You chortle, smacking his bicep playfully while he mirrors your smile. It's nice to be finally out of the damn building you've been stuck on for almost three months. “No, there was none of that, just a bunch of antique furniture that looks older than me and Hobie combined. I remember the guy who owns it described it as, ‘rustic’ and ‘remote.’”

“That place is definitely haunted. Like someone died in there or some fucked up ritual.”

“Oh, you think you can do better?” You jab his side, earning a guffaw from him as he flinches away, stomach ticklish.

“Uh, yeah!”

“Of course you can, rich boy.” You roll your eyes, legs folding to rest on the seat with you, arms wrapped around it as you perch your chin atop your knees. Thunder rolls around, grey clouds now looming over the highway that's littered with abandoned cars and luggage.

“We have a farm further north— a fucking rest house more like.” He sighs, eyes fond as he remembers a memory. “We used to go there every winter with the whole family, go sledding and shit. Until the whole drama happened between my dad and aunt.”

“I'm sorry, James.”

“Nah, don't be. I was a kid, barely remembered the whole tiff they had. I just miss my cousins is all.” He shrugs, clearing his throat as he continues to drive steadily. “There's a huge chance that they might be there, y’know the whole family and stuff.”

“You planning on going there?” You ask, voice turning soft.

“Yeah, I think so— well, after we meet up with Hobie and hopefully the others.”

You smile, hand reaching to grasp reassuringly at his bicep. “Sounds like a good plan, James. We'll come with you, as support and definitely not to test out the hundred rooms you guys probably have. What's the name of the place?”

“Mudwood manor.” You nod, taking note of the name. “Dad's gonna have a heart attack if he ever saw you lot. He's still not over what happened two years ago.” He chuckles, hand patting your own in appreciation. “Thanks, boss, for everything. I think I wouldn't have made it this far without you.”

You shake your head, tears making your vision blurry. You blame the hormones. “That should be my words, not yours.” James mirrors your expression, inhaling deeply to get rid of the lump in his throat. “If your parents ever saw you now, they'd be proud of you. I'm proud of you.”

He subtly wipes away at his eye. “You gonna name the kid after me now?”

Laughing, you pat his arm before letting go. “Maybe, I'm seriously considering it.”

“Shit, really?” He says with disbelief. “James Junior, wow.”

You wince, making a face. “Probably not with the Junior. Ew.”

The two of you laugh as rain now pours over the car, drenching the pavement. The sound reverberates through the metal, and the broken window doesn't help with tamping down the sound.

You look over your shoulder, finding that the tarpaulin that you hastily stuck on the hole is hanging on.

“Hey,” James pats your knee, eyes shining despite the dark clouds and pouring rain outside. “We’ll make it there.”

“I know.”

“Let me worry for the two of you, okay?” He glances at your stomach, your belly button is beginning to protrude through your shirt.

“Careful, you'll have worry lines.”

“Birds find worry lines fit, boss.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pinch his arm. “Focus on the damn road, Jameson.”

—

“Wake up, Hobie.”

Your voice yanks him from deep slumber, hard pebbled rocks digging into his skin as he rises from the coast.

He aches all over, arms throbbing, knees screaming in protest as he kneels down on the rough rocks. His heavy eyes roam around the beach, finding nothing but miles of the rocky coast with its boulders piled up high, edges smooth from years of waves lapping around it.

Rain bears down on him, ears ringing from the sound of rain hitting the hardened ground. His body shivers, eyes straining from the downpour.

A sound of knocking wood from behind takes his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he finds the remains of his houseboat, all shards of wood and glass, memories scattered and floating in the cold dark water.

A scream almost escapes out of him. Hand covering his mouth, as he keels over to the rocks, palm digging harshly into the beach.

It was his home and yours for almost ten years, and it was his only salvation, his safety while he was out treading the waters. And it was his one reminder of you. Everything in it had memories, both fond and somewhat awful, but they were his, and now it lays in the bottom of the sea. Picture frames floating with the seaweeds, shoes and clothes tangled around drifting wood.

But by some miracle, his guitar case floats in between two rocks, knocking against the other, in tune with the waves.

Hobie, with whatever's left of his energy, stands up on wobbly legs. There's scratches all over his skin, all searing pain that almost had him falling back down on his knees. And yet he continues on, legs weak, feet barely moving towards the guitar case.

Salty water hits his feet as he shivers, he treads on until the water reaches his waist. The cold and salt exacerbates his injuries, with clenched teeth and shuddered breath, he reaches for the only thing that's left of his home.

The thick leather brushes along his fingertips, hands wrapped around it as he tugs it closer to his chest. Hobie shakily hugs it, a sob pushing through his carefully built wall as he cries atop it like it's a casket that's about to be buried.

His head lays on top of it while rain pours overhead. And his tears are carried by the salty waves.

—

Hobie lugs around whatever's left of his houseboat. All shoved inside a tattered backpack that was once yours. Your charms still clink against the other, and pins still clinging on the fabric. His hand holds onto the guitar case, afraid of opening it and seeing the damage on his guitar. So he carries it around, a heavy weapon that contains his most precious memory. He can still see the sticker of your face on the guitar, he hopes that it's still intact.

He's drenched from head to toe as the storm persists on his back, as if fate is playing with him.

It's bad enough that he had to trek the rest of the way towards the cabin, but the storm keeps following him, as if it's pursuing him and hindering him from finding you. With each town he passes, he sees less and less of the dead. Some lay withered on the ground, chest cavity opened, guts spilled all over the pavement while they desperately tried to reach him with their skeletal hand.

They seem to be dying out, or the virus can no longer keep them upright, not when the host is already decomposing. And now it desperately seeks a new host, even when their jaws are barely holding on, skin blanched and bones bleached by the sun.

Hobie passes by countless evacuation centres just like the one he saw before, and they all sit there empty just like the others. Medical tents lay fallen on the ground, gurneys broken and beaten beside dirty syringes and bandages. Despite that, he checks all of them thoroughly for a sign from you, anything that would indicate that you passed through. But he has seen none.

He feels like the last man alive.

He scavenges and rests in empty houses, careful not to wake the dead that might be hiding within the deep crevices of the town. Every night, he lights a fire, small enough to warm him and not let out smoke that would signal other people that could hurt him for what little he has. Hobie knows how to survive, he went through it during his teenage years, and he never thought that he had to experience it all over again. The uncertainty of where your next meal would be, the dangers lurking around every corner; and not trusting other people to help you. His old self is rearing his head again, peeking through his flesh that you once affectionately held in your hands.

When he finds you, would you see the same person you loved? Would he see the same person in you again after everything?

Hobie's own mind is his enemy. Back on the boat he only worried about hallucinations or delusions that could plague him in the dark. But out here, where the dead lurk, everything and anything could kill him. Even his own head.

It's been a week of walking, through rain and the dead, he finally makes it to the same woods that he once shared with you.

The gates of the cabin squeak in the wind, metal gates swinging around as the breeze picks up, fluttering his lashes.

There's a walkway leading towards the house made out of pebbles, pebbles that remind him of the coast, the same grey shade as the clouds, all rounded around the edges. He roams his eyes over to the cabin, all oak and dark yellowed windows. A porch sits in front with a rocking chair that gently moves back and forth in the wind. The perfect place to rest at the end of the world.

A wind chime clinks from somewhere, and as he cranes his head to the left, there sits under a pile of strewn out branches and leaves, a car, one with a shattered window at the back and side mirrors ripped from the hinges. Bloodied specks dot around its silver paint, scratches and bullet holes mar what was once pristine.

Hobie swallows thickly as he opens the gate, there right above the squeaking metal, a loud shot can be heard from the inside. He jumps in place, hand tight around the rusty metal. Then a guttural cry, one that sends shivers down his spine.

He runs on the path, stones rolling down as he makes his way towards the cabin. His hand wraps around the doorknob, finding it unlocked.

Pushing it, there's resistance from the other side. And as he stares down, he sees a pool of blood slowly spreading over the floorboards.

Panic sets in, as he pushes hard on the door.

“Get the fuck away!” Another shot echoes around as birds fly away from their perches outside.

Hobie heaves and stares at the bullet hole on the door. It missed his head by a couple of inches.

With wide eyes, he stares through it, body frozen as he sees you in the dark with a gun pointed right at him. For a second he thought that he's dreaming again. But he wouldn't dream of something so horrible as he sees what's in your lap.

“Why won't you just die?!”

Hobie dodges before another shot takes out a chunk of the door. Flinging his body towards cover, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. “Love? It's me!” He can barely recognize his own voice.

“Oh god.” You cry, and a smacking sound can be heard. “I'm already going crazy.”

“No, you're not, it's me, love. It's Hobie.” He then calls your name, soft and filled with fondness that it has you dropping the gun on the floor, metal clanging on wood.

“Hobie?” But he can still recognize your voice.

“Yeah, don't shoot.” His whole body shakes with trepidation.

“Hobie!” Your sobs get louder as he opens the door, letting out the pungent smell of blood and letting in sparse sunlight that filters through the dark clouds. “Hobie?” He stands there, hand on the doorknob as he looks down at you and the body laying on your lap. Maybe you are going crazy. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Hobie looks down, staring eye to eye at a dead shambler with a hole right in his head that was blocking the door. Then he gazes back at you with James' head laying right on your lap, eyes closed, blood pooling down the bullet hole in his head and down your legs.

His hand trembles at the sight of his friend, eyes watering, painting you in water colours of blood and gore. Chest sore and stomach in knots, he closes the distance. His eyes land on you, bloodied yet alive. Then he looks down, the familiar ring around your pinky is murky and covered in red, and then he sees it.

“H–He asked me to. James, he— he saved me again.” You stare at him with wild bloodshot eyes, hands drenched in crimson as you tremble and fix the blond locks on his head. “He got bit. I'm so fucking sorry.” There's a huge chunk of his neck missing.

“Are you—?”

“No, it didn't get m–me.” You heave, barely getting your words out as you stare into his eyes.

He kneels down, hand reaching down and towards your stomach. “Are you pregnant?” His hand is warm, and he feels real. You feel real.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “I tried to tell you before—”

His arms engulf you, holding you close, breathing you in, death and all.

A/N: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[sthilarions]

I’m sick and haven’t the energy to develop this thought right now, but: Charles has Edwin magically lojacked. A tracker tattoo, tiny pale blue runes tightly laced together on his upper bicep. The tattoo is only a few inches wide but took nearly a full day, due to the delicacy of the work, and the quick-spoiling magical ink.

(Charles was worried about it hurting - he knows Edwin’s pain tolerance means he’d barely even notice a normal tattoo, but this ink is potent - but Edwin assured him it was totally fine, and didn’t flinch or twitch or react at all, during. He did, however, vehemently insist that Charles not get his own tattoo, when Charles suggested it a few years later, and Charles has some uncomfortable suspicions about why.)

When Crystal learns about the tattoo, she assumes it’s because of the same thing they’re using it for when she learns about it: Edwin has a habit of getting himself kidnapped. She thinks lojacking your partner feels a bit of an extreme response, given that surely there’s only so often even Edwin can be kidnapped, but, well, Charles can be kinda overprotective. And they explain that the tracking can only be activated by Edwin himself, which makes her worry less about it being a red flag situation.

That’s not the reason, though.

It became less of a problem, over the decades, though it still is sometimes, but in the early years it was a near-constant issue:

Edwin’s a bolter.

When he gets stressed, or upset, or scared, he runs. Faster than Charles can keep up. And, early on, he was stressed, and upset, and scared, pretty much all the time.

If it were just normal running it might be fine, but he’s got magic, too, mirrors that he started being able to run through long before he learned how to reliably get back, mirrors that he doesn’t always check before diving in. Even now when he should be able to find his way back he’ll sometimes panic and bolt too fast to look through the mirror he’s going to only to fall through and find it’s inaccessible from the other side - a mirror placed high on a wall or ceiling, or too damaged for two-way travel, or under saltwater.

So Charles has had to hunt Edwin down on other continents, in deserts and grassy plains, in haunted mansions, in London warehouses and backstreets. Found Edwin on the sea floor in the Mediterranean, once, having gone through the mirror in the captain’s cabin of a sunken ship.

Knelt down next to him, where he was sitting, on a mostly-rotted floor. “Hey, Edwin.” He was worried his voice might not carry, here, a couple miles under the surface, but ghost voices don’t depend on breath, anyway, and Edwin seemed to hear him just fine.

Edwin glanced sideways at him, then back to where he had been looking before. “Corallium rubrum,” he said. “Mediterranean red coral, also known as Precious Coral. Valued for its vivid red color throughout history, but has suffered from intensive harvesting in recent decades. There are hardly any sizable colonies left at depths of less than 50 meters.”

“Right,” Charles said, and shifted to look at the coral, settling from a kneel to a cross-legged sit, a few feet from Edwin. “It’s really pretty. They doing anything to try to bring them back?”

“A little,” Edwin answered. “They are extremely long-lived, so it is difficult to determine yet whether those efforts will be successful.”

The delicate, feathery white bits on the coral flickered and shifted constantly, which Charles hadn’t known coral could do, and he sat there, with Edwin, watching. The fragmented skeleton in the corner swayed a bit in the current. Finally he scooted towards Edwin and gently bumped their shoulders together. “You think you’ll be ready to go back soon?”

Edwin leaned against him, and nodded, and let out a heavy breath, which made the water swirl and the coral’s feathery bits twitch. “How did you get here? Are you - I know you don’t like deep water - “

Charles shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine, mate. This isn’t the sort of water that bugs me. ‘Sides, it’s not like I was gonna just leave you down here, yeah?”

Edwin nodded again, and pressed harder into Charles’s shoulder for a moment before bracing a hand against it to stand up. “Well,” he said, turning away from the coral to face Charles. “Let’s be off. How did you get here? Please tell me you didn’t use that favor from Turner just for this.”

Charles looked sideways at the skeleton as he used Edwin’s hand to heave himself up. “Of course not.”

“You did! Charles, do you have any idea…”

And Charles let Edwin’s scolding voice wash over him with the current, and grinned back at him, and led him home.

[rosachae]

lovesick opaleye | megan skiendiel x reader

��� song: can i call you tonight? - dayglow ⁍ genre: Hogwarts AU! fluffy. loser gryffindor!megan x ravenclaw!y/n. ⁍ a/n: rewatched the first movie and man, i just love the idea of megan being goofy. had this one in the works, so figured i'd finish and post. ⁍ wc: 5.4k ⁍ warnings: none that i can think of. ⁍ synopsis:

megan skiendiel, a socially awkward seventh-year gryffindor, stumbles across a secret involving a sick baby dragon and a well-meaning, bumbling groundskeeper who’s far too kind to turn away help. the only problem? megan has absolutely no idea what she’s doing. so she turns to the smartest ravenclaw she knows.

the gryffindor common room was nearly empty, save for the soft crackle of the fire and the two seventh years curled up in the mismatched armchairs closest to it. the hour was well past curfew, the other students having drifted off to their dormitories with tired yawns and unfinished essays. someone had left a chessboard halfway through a match on the table near the window, the black queen kept pacing back and forth like she was losing patience.

megan was halfway through her third stolen treacle tart from the kitchens, crumbs dotting her jumper, her legs swung over the side of the armchair in a fashion that suggested she’d long ago given up on dignity. lara sat opposite her, textbook open on her lap, quill tucked behind her ear, trying and failing to focus on the finer points of sopophorous bean extraction.

“you what?” lara blinked, squinting as if megan had just confessed to beheading a unicorn.

“i didn’t mean to!” megan said, through a mouthful of tart. “i only went to ask hagrid for advice, you know? about the niffler i’ve been working with. the little lad’s been getting all fussy lately and i thought maybe he needed a new trinket, something shiny and special, but i wasn’t sure what to give him.”

lara raised an eyebrow. “and instead you—accidentally—discovered hagrid hiding a dragon?”

“technically, i discovered hagrid hiding a sick dragon,” megan clarified. “there’s a difference.”

lara set her book down slowly, like it might try to run if she wasn’t careful. “merlin’s beard, meg.”

“i knocked!” megan insisted. “he just didn’t hear me, and when i poked my head in, he was halfway through the floo network—kneeling in the fireplace, talking to someone in dumbledore’s office, i think—and when i said ‘hiya’, he got such a fright he bashed his head on a hanging pan and yelped like a kicked kneazle.”

“did he say anything? about why he had a dragon?”

megan’s eyes gleamed, the way they always did when she was sitting on a secret just a bit too big for her pockets. “well, after he put out the fire on his sleeve and stopped panicking, he said dumbledore’d asked him to look after it. just for a short while. didn’t say why, and i didn’t ask. you know hagrid—said too much already, looked like he regretted it immediately.”

lara exhaled slowly. “and you told me?”

megan grinned sheepishly. “you’re my best mate. if anyone’s gonna get expelled with me, it ought to be you.”

lara groaned and leaned back in her chair. the firelight cast long shadows on the stone walls, flickering against the worn tapestries. “so what are you going to do?”

“he asked me to help,” megan said, quieter now. “the little one’s ill. he said it wasn’t eating properly, and there’s this weird shimmer all over its scales, like—like glitter, but not. it’s not in any of the textbooks, and you know i’ve read all the ones in the care of magical creatures section twice over.”

“since when do you turn down an excuse to break into the restricted section?” lara teased.

“i would, but—” megan hesitated. “you know reading’s not… the easiest. i get there in the end, but it’s slow, and i don’t want to muck this up. not when there’s a living, breathing dragon depending on me.”

lara studied her for a moment, then smiled that all-knowing sort of smile megan had learned to dread. “well. there is someone who might be able to help.”

megan’s stomach did something traitorous. it flipped like a pancake on a hot griddle. “don’t say it,” she muttered.

lara raised her brows innocently. “i haven’t said anything.”

but megan knew. of course she knew.

there was only one person in this castle who lara could possibly be talking about. one person who read so much it looked like she absorbed knowledge through osmosis. one person who brewed potions with the precision of an unspeakable, took notes in three colours, and had a voice that always sounded like she was explaining something worth listening to.

y/n.

of course it was y/n.

“she’s in our year. clever. kind. smells faintly of ink and lemon balm—”

“lara.”

“and she just happens to have rescued your potion in sixth year before it turned into a sentient blob and started cursing in latin—”

“i said don’t,” megan groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

lara beamed. “you’ve been enamored with her since the moment she touched your cauldron.”

megan groaned again, louder this time. but she wasn’t wrong. not really.

megan remembered it all too clearly. sixth year, late winter, cold in the dungeons. her potion a catastrophic mess of purple fizz and what she thought was a good idea involving powdered moonstone. snape had just started his usual round, already eyeing her like she was a flobberworm on his carpet, and she’d been seconds away from a detention so long it’d have carried over into adulthood.

and then—y/n. soft-spoken, quick-handed, calm like a winter pond. she’d leaned over, said, “you’ve just over-infused it. here,” and adjusted the temperature with a flick of her wand. no judgment. no fuss. just a quiet smile.

and somehow, even with her heart thudding like a hippogriff on cobblestones, megan had watched y/n toss in a twist—something small, deliberate, something that made the potion fizzle out with a hiccup and a dramatic puff of green smoke. just a little something to throw snape off, because he would’ve absolutely known immediately that megan didn’t do it herself. she was far too messy.

megan had passed. barely. but it was enough. the worst part of the debaucle, however, had to be the way y/n smiled at her afterwards. not a smirk. not a tease. just warm and soft, like she saw something worth seeing.

safe to say, megan had been doomed ever since.

“so,” lara said, all casual, “you’re going to ask her for help.”

megan stared into the fire, its gold glow making the shadows dance along the common room walls. she chewed on her lip.

“maybe,” she said. “but not because i’ve got a thing for her.”

lara snorted. “sure.”

“it’s because of the dragon.”

“right.”

“and maybe the thing. a little.”

megan had never been more aware of how often someone could be around and still utterly unreachable.

y/n was everywhere that week. tucked in corners of the library with parchment spread like wings around her. walking with manon and sophia through the courtyard, laughing at something too clever for megan to understand from a distance. perched in the great hall, always surrounded by ravenclaws with opinions too large for their own tables.

manon she recognized immediately—ravenclaw quidditch chaser, fifth fastest in the school, and the reason megan had ducked just in time during last week’s match when a bludger came flying through the stands. she still had the grass stain on her jumper. and sophia—sophia wore her prefect badge like it had been pinned there at birth, always polished, always impeccable. she was the one who confiscated exploding ink in ancient runes last month and offered the culprit a sternly-worded study schedule in lieu of detention.

and then there was y/n. quiet, composed, radiant, unbothered. every time megan even considered talking to her, she suddenly forgot how mouths worked.

“just ask her,” lara had said, for the third time in as many days. “she doesn’t bite.”

“you don’t know that,” megan had argued. “she’s a ravenclaw. they read everything. she probably invented a spell for efficient biting.”

still, megan tried. kind of.

she loitered near the arithmancy corridor. circled the greenhouse after herbology like a lost niffling. even sat at the very end of the gryffindor table during breakfast, dangerously close to the ravenclaw end, pretending to read the daily prophet upside-down while y/n chatted two seats away.

there was one near-success. megan had caught y/n alone for a moment, manon and sophia flanking her behind just several feet away, but it was enough. she sat on the far side of the great hall, a mug of tea cradled in her hands, her usual fortress of books conspicuously absent. megan had approached. slowly. like one might approach a hippogriff, if said hippogriff had excellent cheekbones and a devastatingly kind smile. y/n looked up just as she reached the table, and immediately her eyes lit up. that smile, warm and curious, touched her lips.

megan opened her mouth. but, it wasn’t anything intelligent that came after.

“so… do you come here often?”

pause. megan almost shat bricks. she fought the urge of facepalming herself, internally cursing whatever compelled her to ask such a dumb question. what in merlin’s flaming trousers was that?!

behind y/n, manon choked into her juice silently. y/n, to her credit, looked amused. a soft laugh slipped out, gentle. nothing cruel like megan half expected, nothing she knows a slytherin would have given her. 

“i do,” y/n said after a moment, that same smile still curling her lips. “for the past seven years, actually.”

megan stammered something about porridge. or possibly the weather. maybe both. then she turned on her heel and walked away with the mechanical stiffness of someone who’d just miscast petrificus totalus on themselves.

she was halfway up the marble staircase when she hissed under her breath, “i’m a menace to society.” and that, she thought, was the end of that.

but hogwarts had a wicked sense of humour.

two days later, megan found herself in filch’s office. or more specifically, sneaking into filch’s office. which, in hindsight, was mistake number one. daniela avanzini’s stink pellet had been confiscated in charms, and megan had sworn on her pumpkin pasty she’d get it back. it was a matter of principle. and possibly revenge.

she meant to cast accio.

instead, she cast depulso.

filch’s desk exploded in a small but theatrical burst of ink, old quills, confiscated dungbombs, and a surprisingly elegant set of enchanted dentures. megan shrieked. bolted. tore down the corridor with filch’s furious howling echoing behind her and mrs. norris hissing somewhere too close for comfort. she took a sharp left—then a right—then another left—then, in a moment of desperation, vaulted through a tall arched window beside the entrance hall, not quite realizing it led directly out into the courtyard below.

“oof—bloody hell—bugger—”

thud. megan lay sprawled in the damp lawn of the courtyard, winded and blinking at the clouds above her. she considered simply staying there. becoming one with the moss. maybe she could claim to be part of a herbology project.

above, the window creaked. filch and mrs. norris peered down at her, unimpressed. filch squinted. and then, miraculously, he chuckled. chuckled. he walked away without another word, an aura of ‘serves you right’ in his pleased saunter. megan sat still, a short groan tearing from her throat, lost in a daze of processing what she’d done. she’s snapped out of her stupor when a voice sounds nearby.

“that was… a lot.”

she turned her head. and of course—of course—there was y/n, sitting with a book in her lap, looking down at her with a mix of surprise, concern, and an expression that could only be described as politely suppressed laughter.

y/n stood, closing her book with a soft snap. she approached, hesitating just a moment before extending a hand. “are you alright?”

megan blinked up at her. everything slowed. the haze of embarrassment, the grass in her hair, the sting in her elbow—none of it mattered. it was y/n. kind and radiant and real, her hand outstretched like this wasn’t the most mortifying thing to ever happen to megan in her seventeen years. she reached for it.

“i’ve been better,” she admitted, letting y/n pull her upright.

y/n gave her a quick once-over. “nothing broken?”

“just my dignity.”

y/n laughed. megan might’ve died and gone to heaven.

“not your first dramatic exit, i take it?”

“not even my first this week,” megan muttered, brushing herself off.

a leaf flew from her sleeve and hit y/n in the shoulder. megan cringed, apologetic, however y/n just smiled and flicked it away.

“so,” y/n said, “was that all just for fun, or…?”

“actually,” megan said—before she could lose her nerve again—“i was looking for you.”

y/n blinked, a little surprised. “me?”

“yeah. i, um. need your help. with something magical. and weird. and possibly not entirely allowed.”

y/n tilted her head, intrigued. “go on.”

“i can’t really say what it is. not yet. but i need information. and you’re, like… really smart. and good at things. and nice. and—books. you like books.”

“i do like books.”

“so… would you maybe help me?”

y/n studied her, thoughtful. and then she nodded. “alright. where do we start?”

__

they slipped into the library just after supper under the very flimsy excuse of “last-minute studying.” or, well, that’s what megan muttered to the fat friar when he caught her pacing outside the entrance like a wind-up toy with a broken gear. the truth was—she was nervous.

not about the library. and not even about what she was going to ask y/n. but about being with y/n. for longer than three minutes. without combusting into a tragic little firework of feelings and sweaty palms.

this was their first real thing. not a pass in the corridor. not an accidental brush of hands during herbology cleanup. a proper, intentional, capital-T Thing. together.

as soon as they stepped through the library doors, madam pince’s beady eyes lifted over the edge of her spectacles. they landed on y/n first. and, of course, they softened in their own pince-way. pince gave her a nod, almost respectful. like y/n was some kind of sacred academic artifact. then her gaze slid to megan. the scowl appeared instantly. forged in stone. eternal.

megan flinched on instinct. she knew exactly why.

it wasn’t her fault. not technically. she hadn’t meant to send an entire stack of spellbooks flying into madam pince’s head last month. she’d just wandered in, sneezed—violently—and that was that. her whole body jolted like a hexed marionette, and the books collapsed like a game of wizarding dominoes. right onto pince’s noggin.

the memory still gave her phantom sneezes.

but y/n, calm as ever, simply offered the librarian a polite smile and started toward the back tables. megan followed in her wake like a very guilty, very lovestruck puppy.

“no funny business,” pince barked from across the room, breaking her own strict silence policy as if it were nothing. she simply did not trust the gryffindor. not even in the slightest

“no ma’am,” megan winces, already holding her hands up.

“and no sneezing!”

“that was one time—”

“the entire shelf collapsed!”

“technically,” megan muttered, “it fell with passion.”

y/n bit back a laugh as she nudged megan gently toward a quiet corner, where the light fell in warm pools across the wooden floor and the smell of old parchment hung thick in the air.

megan flopped into a chair and waited for pince to disappear behind the tall shelves before leaning forward, elbows on the table. “okay. how much do you know about dinosaurs?”

y/n blinked. “you mean the ancient muggle reptiles?”

megan grinned, wiggling her brows. “no no—i mean dragons.”

y/n leaned back slightly, brow raised. “ah. the wizarding dinosaurs.”

“exactly,” megan said. “but like, the real ones. not just textbook death statistics.”

“those statistics are there for a reason.”

“sure, but hear me out—maybe they’re just really misunderstood.”

y/n narrowed her eyes, clearly skeptical. “they breathe fire.”

“so do some gryffindors after too much pepper imps. that doesn’t make them evil.”

y/n snorted, but said nothing. and then, megan started to ramble.

it began with a casual thought about care of magical creatures, but spiraled—spectacularly—into a half-breathless monologue about how dragons got a bad rap, how it was all human error, how maybe if people stopped poking them with sharp things, they’d be less inclined to torch everything in sight.

“they’re just animals,” she said, hands waving to emphasize every point. “scary, sure, but also majestic. and a bit lonely. like… ancient. wise. brilliant, really. if they weren’t so busy being hunted or chained up, maybe they’d be—i dunno—more like companions. or partners. or, like, big winged—”

she stopped abruptly.

y/n was staring at her. not in confusion. not in judgment. but rather, interestingly enough, in awe. megan felt her face flushing when she noticed. she could’ve sworn she detected the faintest sliver of something soft behind her eyes.

“what?” megan whispered, blinking.

“nothing,” y/n said. then, a little gentler, “you’re cute when you ramble.”

megan short-circuited. she made a sound like a deflating balloon and buried her face in her arms.

y/n giggled. “so, what exactly are we looking for?”

megan peeked up. “dragon anatomy. possibly illness. definitely not for a test. totally not suspicious.”

“totally.”

they found a thick, worn copy of fires and flares: an in-depth look at draconian digestion tucked between two mislabeled transfiguration manuals. it looked older than the castle itself, bound in cracking leather with dragon-hide edges that shimmered faintly when touched. y/n handled it with expert care. megan fumbled it like it was made of treacle.

“right,” megan said, shouldering her bag. “now comes the hard part.”

“what’s that?”

“sneaking this past madam pince without shoving her foot up our rears.”

hagrid nearly dropped his teacup when he opened the door.

“blimey,” he rumbled, blinking down at the both of them. “yeh brought company.”

“this is y/n,” megan said, gesturing quickly. “she’s nice. and also very smart. please don’t worry.”

y/n offered a polite wave. “hello, professor.”

“just hagrid’s fine,” he beamed, already stepping back. “well, don’ just stand there—come in, come in.”

the hut was warm, the hearth crackling with a low fire, and the smell of cinnamon toast wafted in from a plate sitting on the table. fang wagged his tail sleepily near the corner, but his ears perked up when y/n walked in.

“she’s good with dogs,” megan whispered proudly.

hagrid scratched his beard, a little awkward. “’fraid it’s not dogs i need help with this time.”

he led them around to the back of his hutt, just near the fireplace, where a medium wooden crate was partially obscured by a heavy wool blanket. inside, curled like a sleepy ember, was the sickly form of a very small, very iridescent dragon. its scales shimmered with a pale, opalescent gleam—faint blue and green along the spine, and silver near the wings. its eyes were half-lidded, breath coming in slow wheezes.

y/n’s expression shifted instantly. from calm, to cautious.

“oh,” she said. “that’s… not legal.”

“not permanent!” hagrid hurried. “jus’… holdin’ him. on a favour. dumbledore’s orders. very hush-hush.”

“of course,” y/n muttered. “why wouldn’t it be.”

“he’s not been eatin’ right,” hagrid said, rubbing the back of his neck. “wanted meg ter take a look. but maybe yeh could help too.”

y/n crouched near the crate. the dragon lifted its head weakly. she didn’t flinch, though megan saw the way her shoulders tightened.

“this is an antipodean opaleye,” she murmured. “young. male, i think.”

“aye. haven’t named him yet. didn’t seem right.”

“so?” megan asked, voice soft as she watched y/n crouch near the crate again. “what’s the verdict?”

y/n glanced at her. “i’m no dragon doctor but he’s clearly not well. looks like some kind of mild respiratory infection? probably from the cold. these dragons are used to warmer climates—he shouldn’t be this far north, not without enchantments.”

hagrid scratched his head. “blimey. knew summat was off. poor lad’s been coughin’ like a cat with a hairball.”

“what have you been feeding him?”

“oh,” hagrid said. “er… i may’ve given him a bit o’ mutton stew.”

“of course you did,” y/n muttered, standing slowly. “he’s too young for raw meat. his jaw hasn’t developed fully.”

megan elbowed her gently. “you do realize he’s doing his best, yeah?”

“his best could’ve exploded this hut.”

“but it didn’t,” megan said, grinning.

hagrid cleared his throat. “right, well. hate ter leave yeh girls with him, but i’ve got a quick errand in diagon alley. just a meetin’—nothin’ yeh need worry about—strictly confidential—dumbledore business—oh, i shouldna said that—”

“go on, hagrid,” megan said, already waving him toward the door. “we’ll be fine.”

“just for an hour or two,” he said, shuffling for his coat. “keep the fire goin’, and don’t let him out the crate. oh—and mind the tail. he’s swingy.”

he left in a thunder of footsteps and the door thunked closed behind him, leaving a slightly nervous silence in his wake.

megan, of course, bounded straight to the crate.

“alright, you little biscuit,” she whispered, crouching beside it. “time to make a new friend.”

the dragon—small, shimmering, and vaguely sneezy—lifted its head at her voice. it let out a breath that sounded a bit like a deflating kettle, then rested its snout back on its forearms.

“pip,” megan said suddenly. “he looks like a pip, doesn’t he?”

“you’re naming him?”

“someone’s gotta. you can’t just go around calling a dragon ‘the dragon.’ that’s cruel. what if he has an identity crisis?”

y/n stood, stepping away from the crate. she leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching her.

“you really like magical creatures, don’t you?” she asked.

“mmhm.”

“even the ones that could eat you?”

“especially those.”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “and why’s that?”

megan sat back on her heels, tugging at her sleeves absently. “i dunno. they’re just… honest. they don’t pretend to be anything they’re not. if they don’t like you, you know. if they do, you’ve earned something real. and they’re smart, too. smarter than most people give them credit for.”

pip snorted softly.

megan reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny, glinting bauble—a broken earring she’d found outside the charms corridor. she held it out carefully. pip blinked at it once, then nudged it into his bedding with something like contentment.

“you know,” y/n said after a long pause, “there’s a reason dragons are highly classified creatures. the ministry regulates every known species. not just because they’re rare—because they’re unpredictable. they attack unprovoked. they hoard gold. they set things on fire.”

“so do some politicians,” megan said. “should we crate them too?”

y/n blinked, then laughed—genuinely laughed—and megan’s heart nearly stopped.

“okay, but,” y/n continued, brushing a loose hair behind her ear, “they’re also territorial. and deadly. and illegal to breed. i’m just saying… you have a very romanticised view of them.”

megan shrugged. “maybe. or maybe i just believe they’re capable of more than what the ministry says.”

“that’s very gryffindor of you.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“it’s not. just… idealistic.”

“and you’re a realist.”

“someone has to be.”

megan grinned at her, eyes crinkling. “we balance each other out.”

“do we?” y/n asked, tone teasing.

“absolutely,” megan said. “you’re the brains. i’m the charm.”

y/n snorted again. “you fell out of a window this morning.”

“with charm,” megan insisted.

pip let out a soft growl-sneeze, and both girls turned their attention back to the crate.

y/n moved a little closer, kneeling beside megan. their shoulders brushed.

“he really is beautiful,” y/n murmured. 

they sat like that for a while. no more arguments. just quiet understanding and the flicker of firelight casting gold along the floor.

__

they’d been spending more time together.

not always in the library. not always in hagrid’s hut. sometimes it was quiet walks around the lake, with their shoulders brushing and conversation drifting between nonsense and dragons. sometimes it was scribbled notes passed in class, ink-smudged and full of half-spelled jokes. just yesterday it was y/n sitting beside megan in the quidditch stands, scarf pulled up to her nose, pretending she understood the rules as manon zipped past overhead, a hufflepuff chaser hot on her tail.

of course megan noticed the glances. the way y/n’s friends looked at her—pointed, curious, smug. how manon wiggled her brows with absolutely no subtlety, how sophia giggled behind her hands. how lara, the worst of them all, blew dramatic kisses from across the great hall like she was in some kind of romantic play. megan rolled her eyes. every time.

 the truth was… she didn’t mind. she didn’t care.

she was simply enjoying herself. the time. the company. the girl.

she liked the way y/n’s eyes lit up when she solved something difficult. the way she tilted her head when she was curious, or how she’d go quiet—not awkward, just thoughtful—when she was really listening. she liked how y/n never made her feel small for not knowing something, never laughed when megan tripped over her words or misread a line or forgot what she was saying halfway through a sentence. and more than anything, she liked how being around y/n made her feel… steadier. like maybe she didn’t always have to fill the silence with a joke. like maybe it was okay to just be.

megan didn’t say any of this out loud. of course not. but it lived in the way her gaze lingered a little longer than it used to. in the way she started showing up to classes early,  just in case y/n did too. in the way she started carrying sugar quills in her pocket—y/n’s favorite—like it was no big deal.

y/n learned, in bits and pieces, that megan had tried to do the research herself. she just… struggled. not because she didn’t care—she did, fiercely—but because reading long passages and deciphering thick magical texts was hard. harder than it should’ve been. megan never said it out loud. she didn’t need to. y/n just knew.

she started reading things aloud when they studied. doodling diagrams instead of writing long explanations. pointing things out in books with gentle, quiet patience, like it was the most normal thing in the world. like it wasn’t a big deal.

megan noticed. of course she noticed. and she didn’t say anything either.

she just let herself fall harder.

eventually, after about six near-catastrophic experiments, they landed on a plan for pip. a potion. a tonic, technically. brewed to soothe his respiratory tract and reinforce his magical immune system. it required one semi-illegal root and two very expensive herbs. y/n brewed it in an empty classroom after hours. megan stole half the ingredients from snape’s cupboard.

“he definitely knows,” megan whispered as they made their way to hagrid’s hut the next afternoon.

“he always knows,” y/n replied, tucking the warm vial into her satchel. “we’re just pretending he doesn’t.”

hagrid opened the door before they even knocked. “girls!” he beamed, ushering them in with a wave of his enormous hand. “pip’s been waitin’ on yeh!”

the little dragon looked marginally better. still a bit sniffly, but more alert, with clearer eyes and fewer wheezes. he perked up when megan crouched beside him and gave a happy little huff.

“you’re going to feel loads better,” megan said softly, crouched beside the crate. “my ravenclaw brewed you a magic smoothie.”

the words tumbled out before she could stop them.

my ravenclaw. her mouth clamped shut a beat too late, like her brain had only just caught up with her heart. it wasn’t meant to be a claim. then she glanced sideways.

y/n hadn’t flinched. hadn’t stiffened or laughed or even blinked in surprise. instead, there was a tiny, knowing smile at the corner of her mouth. just enough to send megan’s heart skittering sideways. she turned back to pip with a flushed face and a half-choked breath.

“it’s not a smoothie,” y/n muttered, kneeling beside her. “and don’t let him drink it too fast.”

megan held the bottle steady while y/n carefully fed pip the potion in slow, measured drops. he scrunched his nose, blinked a few times, then settled back into his crate with a content sigh.

hagrid sniffled. “bless yer hearts,” he said gruffly, wiping at his eyes. “he’s been like a sack o’ sad potatoes all week, but look at him now.”

y/n smiled politely. megan beamed. hagrid nodded to her with a fond grin.

“yer girlfriend’s got a smart head on ’er shoulders.”

megan choked on absolutely nothing.

“she’s not—I mean—we’re not—I—”

but y/n didn’t even flinch. didn’t so much as glance in megan’s direction. she just tilted her head and said, smooth as honey, “thanks, hagrid.”

megan, meanwhile, went so red she could’ve powered a lighthouse. she kept quiet through the rest of the visit, nodded mutely as hagrid patted their shoulders and called them “a right clever pair,” and barely squeaked out a goodbye before they slipped out the door and back into the fading afternoon.

they made it halfway up the hill toward the castle before megan finally remembered how to breathe.

the path was quiet, the grass still damp from morning mist. birds chirped somewhere above, the air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and lavender, and megan was actively trying to avoid combusting on the spot.

y/n, mercifully, didn’t let her spiral in silence forever.

“you know,” she said gently, “i’ve been thinking about what you said. about dragons being misunderstood.”

megan glanced over, still sheepish. “yeah?”

“you were right.” y/n nudged her lightly with her shoulder. “they’re dangerous, sure. but so are a lot of things. doesn’t mean they don’t deserve patience. or care.”

megan’s heart skipped. “told you so.”

“don’t push it.”

they walked a little farther. their arms brushing. once, then again. y/n’s sleeves were pulled down over her hands, but megan still caught the quiet way she fidgeted with the hem of one.

“i’ve really enjoyed this,” y/n said, almost too casually.

megan blinked. “what?”

“us. this whole… project. spending time together.” her voice was soft, but steady. “it’s been… really nice.”

megan’s stomach did a backflip. “yeah. yeah, it has.”

a pause. a breath. then y/n leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek—quick, careful, but certain.

megan stopped walking. just—stopped. like someone had hit pause on her entire nervous system. her heart launched itself somewhere into her throat. her brain made a sound like a fizzing cauldron. and before she could even think about it—before she could stop herself—her mouth moved on its own.

“i’ve been in love with you since potions class last year!” she blurted, voice way too loud for the quiet path.

silence.

y/n turned to look at her, wide-eyed—but not shocked. if anything, she looked like she’d been waiting. like she’d heard something she already knew and was just happy to hear it out loud.  she stepped closer. close enough for megan to see the crinkle at the corners of her eyes, the blush rising on her cheeks, the spark of something warm and bright that had nothing to do with the sun.

“really?” she asked, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

megan nodded. “yeah. i mean. obviously.”

y/n laughed, quiet and bright and just a little breathless. then, without hesitation, she reached out and laced their fingers together, her grip warm and certain.

“finally,” she murmured, tugging megan gently forward.

and then—just like that—she kissed her. not on the cheek. not a quick, shy thing. but a real kiss. sure and steady and soft enough to make time tilt sideways. megan’s breath hitched. the world around her blurred into background noise. all she could feel was the press of y/n’s mouth against hers, the way her nose brushed lightly against megan’s, the way her free hand curled at the edge of her sleeve like she was afraid to let go. it was sweet. and it was clumsy. and it was absolutely perfect. megan felt something behind her ribs detonate in the best, most dangerous kind of way.

she kissed her back, eyes fluttering closed, every nerve in her body buzzing like she’d swallowed a snitch.

when they finally pulled apart, y/n was smiling. so was megan. helplessly.

they stood there for a beat, forehead to forehead, hearts racing.

“so,” megan said, breathless. “do we… tell the dragon first? or our friends?”

y/n snorted. “we’ll flip a coin.”

they kept walking, hand in hand, a little dazed, a lot delighted—like two girls who’d just wandered into the happiest kind of trouble. they walked the rest of the way back to the castle hand in hand. cheeks flushed, minds spinning, steps lighter than air, and absolutely no idea what they were going to tell their friends.

but for once, that wasn’t a problem to solve. not right now.

right now, there was just the girl.

[neuvistar]

poly jingren x reader has been on my mind 4 so longgg.. ITS SO BADD. please give me more thirsts or thoughts abt poly!jingren x reader i’m lovin them rn | hint of fluff, mostly nsfw

short lil thirst ! jing yuan + blade x fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), big dick jing yuan + blade foreal, reader implied 2 be shorter in height, degrading terms (whore, slut, etc), mentions of squirting, mating press + full nelson, SIZE KINK!! SIZE KINK!!, blade’s a lil mean but it’s ok bc it’s blade!, cum cum lots of cum (sounds funny but it’s okay </3) | overall suggestive content minors do not interact

poly!jingren who would have different tolerance of your brattiness. jing yuan having the highest patience for u n blade having the least! you always run to jing yuan whenever blade talks abt punishing u n he thinks it’s soso cute :(( he’s always protecting you, nuzzling against his chest with your arms wrapped around his huge body, ur so cute! a darling you are..

jing yuan always tried dodging the idea of you wearing short skirts in public, why? you would make his dick hard, easy. but, you decided it was a good idea to wear the shortest skirt known 2 mankind one day, paying him a visit at his office. imagine this, jing yuan would be at his office doing work at his desk n all of the sudden you walk in looking all slutty, a short skirt that just barely covers your plushy thighs and ass, he would brush it off at first up until you purposely drop the pen on his desk bending down to pick it up. once you stood up, you would already be bent over his desk. that’s what you wanted, after all. “are you trying to tempt me, dove? because it sure is working.” jing yuan has zero patience whenever you’re acting like a whore in public, he would plant kisses all over your back and pound into you like there’s no tomorrow, his big dick stretching you out :(( choked moans would leave your throat, rambling on about how rough he was being with you, and that people might hear you and walk in, but he didn’t care, infact that was the last of his worries. he savoured the feeling of your tight walls pulsing around his cock, cumming inside and cumming on your panties too! i hope u’ll enjoy the stickiness between your thighs <3 (he’ll snitch to blade too abt it, what a bitch)

poly!jingren would be protective over you, even though they’re a pain to be with sometimes due to their constant arguments and disagreements, dating them does have its benefits. they would stand on either side of you, one on your left and one on your right. geez, you look so cute compared to them, it’s like you were walking around with two dogs on your leash, reading to pounce at anyone who dares speak ill of you or touches you. speaking of size.. i feel like they’d both have a size kink, you’re just so short compared to them they can’t help but fantasize about bending you over and fucking you in different positions, i feel like they both each have their favourites on that.

jing yuan loves putting you in a mating press, he likes it becuz it makes him cum quicker! not even a few thrusts and he’s already cumming inside, loving how you squirt all over his cock. he would press your knees against your chest, folding you in half almost. he would gently draw circles on your knee while the tip of his dick kisses your cervix, he’s so sweet to you though.. whispering praises in your ear. he would catch you off guard sometimes due to how sweet he was with you, not noticing how much he came, staring down at the mess he made in your cunt w cum seeping out </3

blade would absolutely love folding you in a full nelson, bro has sm strength it scares you sometimes. he would hook his arms under your knees, thrusting his hips into you. “sucha’ whore for my cock, aren’t you? you like it when i fuck you hard like this, don’t you?” mmm also also maybe if he’s feeling it, i bet bro would let jing yuan would join too, but he wouldn’t impale you with his dick like blade is, no.. he would rub his cock against your slit, placing kisses on your legs. honestly, jing yuan is your saviour atp. cuz everytime blade folds you in a full nelson, he’s always concerned that he’ll break you, so he tries telling him to ease it up a bit with you <3

poly!jingren would have god like stamina and strength, great speed n strength comes w great consequences! whether it is in a non sexual way or not, i feel like their stamina n strength would be useful in your relationship, its a lil cute since ur kinda shorter in height n they would always tower over u n help i get things from the high shelf or cabinet, it’s so cute! <33 but yet.. it’s a lil scary in bed cuz they can last so long w u and fuck you until you forget your own name, but it’ll be fine!! you can handle them!

poly!jingren both probably didn’t realize they had a size kink until they got intimate with you, it was probably the last of their worries up until one night. blade would probably notice a cute little bump on your stomach, noticing just how small you rlly are compared to them, jing yuan would too! honestly they both just love how their huge cocks slide in and out of your pussy, the bulge on your stomach going down, up, down up, over and over again! you’re just so.. cute they can’t help but stretch your little pussy out a bit.

“cmon sweetheart, you got this. you’re so cute, mhm.. you can handle more right?“

“sure she can, she’s strong girl. if shes— mmp.. squeezing around us like that, i’m sure she can handle more.”

“mm.. mhm. i can see that.” jing yuan leaned down, bringing his voice down to a whisper, “do you like it when we stretch you out with our cocks like this, baby?”

“fuck yeah she does, look at her. she’s creaming on our cocks already. s’ messy.”

poly!jingren who would both try their best to be gentle to you, sometimes it backfires but you don’t seem to mind! what’s very true about them is they both don’t want to hurt you in anyway, sure they fuck you hard enough and punish you but their intentions r never to hurt u, they would always ask you if you’re okay, even if they see the slightest hint of discomfort or pain in your face. especially jing yuan, he’s rlly rlly sweet n same goes to blade but he shows it in his own way. u know that blade doesn’t mean half of the things he says (he knows ur a slut for their cock tho but that’s besides the point) n sometimes he can get carried away but he would apologize with a simple “sorry.” and ask you if he was too rough on you, both r sweethearts yk

[lwwife]

Hi, I read your first piece with Leah and really enjoyed it. I then saw you were asking for requests so figured I might as well give an idea I’ve had in my head. Basically its around Leah and a wealthy CEO/Buisnesswoman reader. Their relationship being loving but others seeing things in different ways. Where people/teammates end up assuming Y/n is a gold digger. Falsely accusing her of being such. I’d be curious to know what you think if this and see how it might play out if written.

Gold Digger

Fluff, angst, suggestive

Word count: 1489

-

Leah’s pov:

“Mate, please I really don’t want to go, I mean what do they even need me for? Im a footballer not a stock broker!” I whined to my manager Tyra.

“Leah trust me, you’ll love it, the CEO of the company is a huge advocate for women and girls in sports, it’s the centre of tonight’s event, she does a lot more work than just holdings, she’s trying to bring women’s sport into each company the corporation owns to increase growth” I continue to stare at her, still questioning why I have to be there. Tyra sighs, “and, leah, having successful women attending events to show those companies just what women are capable of can help a lot.” She pauses waiting for my response. “She asked specifically for you Leah” I raised my eyebrows, “she did?”, “of course she did you nut, you’re Leah Williamson, you’ve just won the biggest tournament in Europe, now get a grip and go get dressed.” Tyra walks out of the hotel room, and I sigh, maybe it won’t be too bad, I mean I do enjoy advocacy events, hopefully it’s not full of stuck up old rich men, Tyra did say the CEO was a woman.

-

The event hasn’t been too bad so far, I’ve been introduced to a few really interesting people who seem genuinely interested in what I do, “and this, is y/n y/ln, the CEO of y/ln holdings” Tyra taps me and gestures to a woman stood next to her. I grab on to Tyra’s arm to stable myself, i genuinely think my knees were about to give out. Tyra side eyes me questioningly. 

“Leah! Hi, wow I’m so happy to meet you and so beyond grateful you were able to come tonight, you have no idea how much it means!” Y/n exclaims, offering her hand forward, I stand still, gobsmacked at the angelic woman stood infront of me, smiling brightly, praising me. Tyra shoves me “ow!” I turn to scowl her, she subtly gestures to y/n’s hand still waiting for mine to shake it. “Oh shit” I mumble and y/n laughs quietly, I quickly embrace her hand in mine and shake it. I look up at y/n and meet her eyes, my mouth opens slightly at the feeling of her hand in mine and her eyes staring through me, I feel something electric run through me, and by the look on her face I think she does too. “Well Leah why don’t we take advantage of your presence here and let’s have a drink, I’d love to hear your opinion on some of my ideas for women’s football.” She smiles gently. I nod and smile back “I’d love to” she pulls my hand that’s still clasped with hers and leads me to the bar.

-

@leahwilliamsonn

Wow! What a night, thank you @y/ln.holdings ☺️

@y/ln.holdings: Thanks for coming Leah!

@user78930: ATE AND LEFT NO CRUMBS WOAH

@emilythompson76: Gorgeous!!

@bethmead_: 🔥🔥🔥

@keriawalsh: bloody lovely 

@alexscott2: 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

@y/n_y/ln: Hope you enjoyed your night😉

“Really?” I turn to y/n who is slumped up in my bed, sheets covering her bare chest.

“What!? Did you enjoy your night?” She smirks and moves closer to me. 

“Mmmh it was okay” I smirk back

“Just okay huh? Well we’ll have to do something about that, can’t you having just an ‘okay’ night” 

“Oh yeah? What are we gonna have to do?” I question her, eyebrow raised

“Why don’t I show you” she whispers

-

Y/n’s pov: (2 months later)

“Ugh, for fucks sakes” I mumble, after getting my 175th email within the last 10 minutes. I run my hands through my hair and lean back in my chair, letting out a much needed breath when I hear a knock on the door. “Miss y/ln?” My assistant Emily peeks through the door, “yes Emily?” I say, slightly more aggressive than intended, “Leah is here to see you ma’am”, “oh Emily for gods sake how many times have I told you to just call me y/n?!” She looks down “sorry ma’am-I mean- uh”, “send her through please”, Emily nods and shuts the door. 

-

“I know darling” Leah assures as she softly massages my shoulders while I ramble about work.

“And it’s just non stop, Richard will not stop hassling me about the stocks and Ryan! Oh god don’t get me started on Ryan, I swear to go all he doe-“

“I want you to meet my friends” Leah cuts me off. I pause and spin in my chair to face her, “what?” I question, making sure I heard her right. “I said I want you to meet my friends, my teammates. You’ve become so important to me y/n, and I love you so much, you’ve met my family and I’d love for you to meet my friends as well, I want you to be able to know people if you ever get the chance to come to one of my games or bring you as a date to a team night, you know how much Arsenal and the team means to me, I want the two most important things in my life to know each other” she says, whispering the last sentence. 

I grin up at her brightly, “god how are you real?” I question her.

“I don’t know to be honest I’m pretty unreal aren’t I” she smiles cockily.

I slap her arm and stand up so we’re face to face, I grab the back of her neck “come here idiot”. 

-

Leah’s pov:

“Baby calm down it’s okay” I reach for y/n’s thigh and rub gently to stop her shaking. 

“No babe because what if they hate me, fuck”

“Darling girl listen to me, they’re not going to hate you, I love you, and they will too, so let’s go in there and let me show off my sexy, smart, bossy girlfriend” I smile at her.

“Okay.” She says and takes a deep breath.

I lean forward and capture her lips in a reassuring kiss, “I love you y/n”.

“I love you too my love, I just want the people that mean most to you to like me, I don’t want to lose you” she responds and I simply kiss her again, this time a little harder, fuelled with passion at her words.

-

“Leah all we’re saying is to be careful” Keira says, I look around at my friends, Alex, Beth, Katie, Lia, and Keira all staring at me, huddled in a corner, trying to convince me to be careful with y/n. 

“You guys don’t know anything about it why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“We are happy for you mate we just want to make sure you’re being cautious” Alex responds.

“Leah things are different for us now, we just won the Euro’s, you don’t know what people’s intentions are with you”

“Oh for fucks same would you lot give it a rest, I’m telling you right now y/n is not a gold digger! That wouldn’t even make any sense” I storm off to find my girl, “what?” I hear them question behind me.

-

“Come on darling, we’re going” I slide me hand around y/n’s waist.

“Why baby? Is everything okay?” She looks at me concerned. 

“No, my friends are being stuck up assholes, I just want to leave” 

“Okay baby we can leave” I pull her by the waist to lead us out of the pub.

“Leah wait!” I hear Lia call out after me, the rest of the girls following her, “we’re sorry we just want to look out for you”

“No you lot are being entitled twats, you don’t even know what y/n does for a living” y/n turns to me confused.

“What are you all talking about?” She asks.

“Well darling, my dear friends here are accusing you of being a gold digger” y/n laughs to herself in amazement but quickly stops when she realises I’m being serious. 

“Oh you’re serious?” She questions and turns to my friends.

They all look down.

“Y/n is the CEO of a company dickheads, she doesn’t like to boast but she was in Forbes’ millionaire list, her family has run a business for decades which she’s now taken over, so if anyone should be accused of gold digging here it’d make most sense that it was me.” I say to the girls, whose faces have all suddenly turned apologetic.

“We’re sorry Leah” they all say amongst each other.

“No, it’s y/n you should be apologising to” 

“You’re right” Beth says, “we are so sorry y/n, we didn’t even make an effort to get to know you, fuck honestly we are so sorry, can we please start fresh?” They all nod in agreement.

“It’s okay girls honestly you were just looking out for her, but to make it up to me you’re all gonna have to buy me a drink” she winks.

-

@y/n_y/ln

A bunch of gold diggers

A/n: I loved this request! I hope I did it justice. If anyone has any feedback or anymore requests feel free to message, comment, or put in my asks! Hope you all enjoy :)

[acourtofthought]

can you genuinely say at this point in time, Elain wants lucien? I'm not asking for theories or headcanons. I am asking if you genuinely think that Elain in any way is secretly pining over Lucien, and what textual evidence supports that.

People have argued about her mentioning his name, but I don't think that has to do with romantic feelings for him, moreso basic respect for another. People have talked about a "half-step" which I must've missed bc I do not even remember that - but i don't think a "half step" necessarily conveys anything romantic.

I'm trying to form an opinion in this ship war, but its hard when I see a ton of misinformation from every side. The elriels have their own faults, but they can point to text now that shows Elain wants Azriel.

Can Eluciens do the same? I'm not trying to start a fight, I really just want to know what portion of each ship is backed by the current books vs. how much is just people theorizing they are end game and what they want to happen. And if the Elucien ship is purely just "SJM will always pair fated mates together" that's also fine and valid imo, I just want to know if there's anything in the books you can point to that shows Elain wants Lucien at this moment in time. I don't want to argue about hypotheticals and foreshadowing and what a rose symbolizes. I want cold hard words on the page.

Please note: I know just because it might not be there YET doesn't mean it's not going to happen. I want to evaluate the current standing of these books and the rationality of each argument. But to do that, I need people to be honest about what's there and what's not. I'm asking you because you run one of the more...logical shipwar blogs. But if you don't want to answer this - I also understand why.

At this point in time I don't think that canon supports Elain wanting anyone and that includes both Az and Lucien.

The only person Elain ever confessed having feelings for is Graysen. Real feelings. The "my heart belongs to you" kind of feelings.

Elain specifically said she did not want a male or a mate and those are categories Lucien and Az fall under, despite the almost kiss with Az in SF. It's been proven that a FMC in a SJM book can hook-up with a guy but not want a relationship with him (Feyre / Isaac, Nesta with fae who were not Cassian, Mor / Cassian, Mor / Helion) so Elain's actions in the Az bonus don't prove Elain wants him for more than a night of fun. In fact, the text in canon has her agreeing to "just a taste and that would be it". That's not a confession of long term commitment nor was there any to be found in any other interaction she's had with Az. Even crushes don't mean you're wanting forever with someone. Not to mention she was not written as looking towards either Az or Lucien in the 5 months after Solstice so absolutely no canon supports that she wants to hook-up with Az anymore. Elain's past actions from months ago (including those with Az) can't really be used as proof of canon of now, otherwise we should all be claiming she's still in love with Graysen since she never specifically stated she no longer has feelings for him. Nobody says that though, we use the canon of her no longer breaking down over Graysen to show she's moved past wanting to be with him and currently the canon suggests she's also moved past whatever she was about to do with Az on Solstice since there are zero signs to argue otherwise. There is also zero evidence of Az still wanting to be with Elain in any way now that we're 5 months beyond Solstice. 7 if you count HOFAS.

Right now I think the only thing canon truly supports is that Elain is showing no romantic interest in anyone, male or human. 5 months is a long time. Feyre left Tamlin then was mated to Rhys within 5 months and Elain was not mentioned as shedding a tear for Graysen in that same length of time, not mentioned as looking Az's way in that time, not having a reaction (good or bad) to Lucien in that time.

So to your question, canon does not support Elain wanting Lucien but it doesn't support her currently wanting Az. Canon also never supported her wanting to start a relationship with Az, canon doesn't support her wanting a mating bond with Az, canon doesn't support her having any desire to go forward with a forbidden love with Az.

Does that mean it's what she's actually feeling for Lucien or even Az? We can't say for sure because we don't have her POV but if we're truly basing this discussion off canon alone than Elain doesn't currently seem interested in anyone. It's not fair for e/riels to claim she still wants Az 5 months later as they have no evidence supporting it. It's only their headcanon that she does. Not to mention it's their headcanon she wanted to have a relationship with Az in the first place. They have zero evidence to show she'd be willing to seriously date him.

But as far as what I genuinely think (your phrasing)? I think Elain is struggling with the pull she feels towards Lucien and it scares her.

I don't think all Elucien's assume Sarah will pair Elucien together simply because they're mates. There are many layers behind what we feel.

I do think Elucien's use logic based on Sarah's writing and that logic tells us that characters don't simply ignore a mating bond. In canon, the bond creates a tug to the other that can never be truly forgotten. Based on that canon we hypothesis that there is a lot going on under the surface which is why she's hidden Elain's thoughts from us. She's the only main side character from the original cast who has never been given a POV and there's got to be a reason for that. Sarah was willing to share her almost kiss with Az but never her actual thoughts for Lucien who she suddenly began ignoring in ACOFAS after the events of ACOWAR and that seems a bit purposeful doesn't it? How a kiss isn't a secret but what she feels about the bond she says she doesn't want is?

While we've got no proof showing she wants Lucien, we were given so many examples of the author making an effort to show their compatibility. We were given a bunch of crumbs as to where Elain's future journey could take her and many crumbs placing Lucien in those same places. The author wrote Lucien (not Az) meeting Elain's father. We were given a bunch of scenarios where we're left wondering WHY Elain behaved a certain way towards Lucien especially after she defended him to Graysen, after she took a step as if she'd stop him from searching for Vassa, after she did follow he and Feyre instead of staying behind at her father's grave, after they were left together to wash up after the war, after she invited him to come back to Velaris but only after all that she began completely ignoring him for unexplained reasons. Based on Sarah's writing that pull and push typically means a character is struggling with her pull / desire for the other person and things aren't so one dimensional as "she doesn't like him!" If she didn't like him then why take a step as if to stop him? Why follow him instead of staying with her father's grave? Why peer up at him? Why invite him to Velaris?

We've been in this place before with a Sarah book. "Why did the character do that only to do an abrupt 180?" We saw it with Nesta, who was willing to die with Cassian in ACOWAR only to do the most 180's of all 180's by giving her virginity to someone else in the novella. To telling Cassian she wanted nothing to do with him though we knew she did. So Elucien's are only waiting to see how the author deals with Elain and her inner thoughts of Lucien. We don't think Elain's setup is going to be any less complex than Nesta's was. We believe the author is going to tell a story that is deep and meaningful. And while Elain's current setup doesn't prove this to us just yet, it is canon that Sarah has given that exact treatment to every single one of her mated pairs, whether the FMC was struggling with what she felt or the MMC (as we saw with Rowan and his bond with Aelin), so it would be silly for us to think Elain would be the only one who isn't given that same complexity.

While the textual evidence does not necessarily prove Elain has feelings for Lucien, I think it's valid for Elucien's to use textual evidence of Sarah's past writing patterns to predict the direction she's taking them.

I have no problem admitting that current canon doesn't prove Elain wants Lucien but I've never seen a e/riel admit that current canon, by the end of SF, also doesn't prove Elain wants Az. That canon never proved she wanted a relationship with him at all. Canon doesn't even prove she called his scars beautiful considering Feyre said she wasn't sure if she was referring to his Siphons yet they still hold on to that one.

Canon proves Elain loved Graysen though he was an asshole, canon proves that she was willing to hook up with Az with no proof of anything more, and canon proves that she shares a mating bond with Lucien that she'll never be able to completely forget ("it will be a bond that will trail her for the rest of her existence") though she's currently trying her best which results in weirdness for everyone. That is all the canon proves.

From a romance standpoint, only one of those storylines typically has staying power.

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 9

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series

A/N: were getting a lot of perspectives for this chapter. i have been sick for the past week and i couldn't upload this. i hope everyone enjoys

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @khaylin27 @0710khj @its-elias-world @vizzzashley @allisonwoods @taytaylala12 @miarabanana @ceciii-b @lindsayjoy444 @mploopssek @snakelore @toldyouitwasamelodrama @lordpercevalcharles

2012, Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit

If anyone asks, Mark was not looking for his sister. He was just merely concerned that Jenson is running around with a new press officer that seems to be too flustered to know what she is doing. He had an urge to ask the British man if Y/N has been sacked but he probably looks like a hypocrite if he criticized Jenson of his decisions.

He lets out a heavy sigh.

It was weird to not see Y/N during his home race. He knows that everything was a shitstorm ever since he removed her from her position and said a lot of awful things. The winter break gave him a lot to think about especially with the new emptiness in the Webber household. Mark was hoping that this home race will be a way for them to reconcile.

"Mate, are you alright?" Nico appeared out of the blue "You seem distracted"

"Oh you just caught me in a bad timing"Mark shrugged.

"For a second I thought you were looking for Y/N"Nico is not blind, he noticed the way Mark has been eyeing the McLaren garage "You should know that she will be missing this race"

"She'll miss it?"

Y/N never misses this race, its their home turf.

"Yeah, Lewis told me yesterday. She is currently settling to her new apartment in London and McLaren gave her some time off"Nico informs.

For Mark it was so weird to hear how he have been missing key important things in Y/N's life when he used to be so updated with every little detail in her life. He couldn't hide his emotions because he knows it was all his fault.

As someone who have been long friends with the two siblings, Nico had a sense of the regrets that Mark is feeling. He gave a gentle pat on Mark's shoulder.

"You should own up and apologize to her when she gets back"Nico suggested "For what its worth,you are still her brother and she can never hold a grudge against you"

"Even when I say stupid shit?"

"Even then"Nico was confident. The Webber siblings are thick as thieves just like him and Lewis, surely they can find a way to forgive each other.

"Here, Lewis will probably kill me but this is her new cell. Give her a message or a call"Nico offered.

Nico pulled out a paper and borrowed a pen from a nearby staff. He scribbled messily a set of new numbers with Y/N's name. Mark's eyebrows furrowed because it was another thing that he didn't even know. It was his fault again as he never tried to reach out to her again.

"I might get blocked"Mark weakly jokes.

"I mean I would block you too with everything you said to me"

That was a good thing about Nico, he is the type of person who will speak his mind and doesn't sugarcoat things. Nico heard from Y/N herself about the things Mark said and it was surely something painful.

"but you have to start doing something to earn her forgiveness" Nico added.

Mark could only hope for that. As the two drivers walked back to the media pen and talk about the start of the new season, Mark was still thinking about the number. The weight of the paper seems to be heavier than anything in this world right now. But nothing is heavier than the feeling of missing a very important person for this Grand Prix.

2012, Sepang International Circuit

By Malaysia, Y/N was back on track. It was another rainy session for the race and honestly it didn't surprise her anymore. Malaysia was quite known for the sudden switch of weather from a good hot summer to a turbulent wet race.

But the weather isn't the only giving mixed signals over the race weekends.

Y/N watches from the McLaren garage how Sebastian seems to be flirting with another reporter. She knew the man was quite charming as she have been a subject to her flirtatious and cheeky advances in the past. The growing popularity of Sebastian as a world champion seems to pave a way for him to be confident to do that to other girls.

There was this ugly feeling bubbling in her chest and she didn't like it one bit.

"You're staring" Jenson, ever the nosy one, commented "Keep on staring and you might burn a hole at the back of their head"

"I am not staring"

"Oh yeah, I stand corrected. You are glaring"Jenson corrects.

The female Webber only rolled her eyes as Jenson erupted in chuckles. She crossed her arms because she doesn't see anything laughable in this situation. Honestly, she pities Britta for this whole PR mess that Sebastian might intertwine himself into.

"Is he always like this" Y/N wondered out loud.

"Not so much"Jenson replied "I still think that I'm the biggest slag of the grid"

"No one can ever beat you for being a PR nightmare"Y/N agrees.

"Yep but atleast you are well compensated for all my troubles"

Jenson finds himself slinging an arm over Y/N as they share an umbrella together.

For onlookers, there is this certain chemistry between Jenson and Y/N. Even if they denied it several times, they are always seen close like this with one another that people cannot help but speculate.

The German driver who was previously enthralled into a conversation immediately saw the duo from his peripheral view. His face scrunched up from the closeness,do they have to stand so close like that? And what was so funny that they have to be laughing like that?

Probably the last straw for Sebastian was realizing how Y/N was not wearing a jacket. Given the rainy circumstances, she might catch a cold if she continues in that state.

"Would you excuse me a moment"Sebastian left the reporter.

He made a beeline towards the McLaren garage and took off his rain jacket. He knows that the Red Bull brand is all over the place but he'll be damned if he lets Y/N stay there without any warm clothes.

"Hey there Sebastian"Jenson greeted.

"You need warmer clothes"Sebastian ignored the greeting as he placed the jacket over Y/N.

"Are you insane? This is a Red Bull jacket?" Y/N was bewildered.

"You forgot your jacket, you need one and I'm lending you mine"Sebastian states.

"But I'm a McLaren employee, be rea-"

"I'm sure McLaren doesn't appreciate you missing out any races" Sebastian said

"But Sebastian-"

"I'm not taking that back"

"Sebastian!"

The Red Bull driver was off running with his umbrella. Of course, Y/N followed in suit with her newly acquired rain jacket and an umbrella borrowed from Jenson.

Jenson scratches his head as a bystander. He doesn't know how much longer does these two have to give mixed signals before they say something or do something. At first, this whole thing was cute but now its frustrating because its been years.

"Still no progress with those two?"Lewis asked.

"Not a thing" Jenson sighs.

2012, Silverstone Circuit

Heike Vettel has long resigned that she cannot control her son's decisions in life. From an early age, Sebastian was the one calling shots in his life and she would simply support his son's decision on things. However, if there was one thing that Heike wanted to dabble into Sebastian's affairs was in his love life especially when it concerns a particular Y/N Webber.

The first time that Y/N was mentioned in the household, Heike already knew that she was a very special lady in Sebastian's life. It was rare for Sebastian to talk about something other than racing so his constant chatters about Y/N piqued Heike's interest.

They don't go to races often so she haven't received the opportunity to meet the girl but an invitation email to celebrate Sebastian's birthday paved the way.

"This is such a wonderful surprise Christian"Heike noted as she enter the restaurant with the family.

The designs were simple but it was littered with bits of things that could be related to Sebastian Vettel. The designation of the tables has also been well thought of because Heike noticed some familiar childhood friends placed on the table.

"Thank you for doing this for Sebastian, my family is very grateful for everything"

The team principal grinned and raised his hands as if he is taking a step back from the compliments.

"I may have funded this restaurant reservation and your flight tickets but I'm not the one who planned this all together"Christian admitted.

"Then who did?"

"That would be the lady over there, Y/N"

Y/N was busy with her clipboard and she seems to be all over the place doing her last minute checks. She was just as organized and reliable as Sebastian told Heike.

"It was her idea from the start because the British grand prix is in a few days and its Sebastian's birthday" Christian further explained "She made sure to choose the food which is a lot of Sebastian's favorites, the invites, and making sure this whole thing is a secret"

"She seems to be an interesting lady"Heike muttered, gazing at the hardworking girl.

"You should get to know her before Sebastian arrives, he is quite fond of her" Christian urged.

She took this as a sign to get closer to the girl. Heike immediately made her way to Y/N and politely tapped her in the shoulder to get her attention.

"Miss Y/N Webber, correct?"

At first, Y/N seems confused but the facial structures was so familiar and her face suddenly brightened in recognition.

"It's so good to finally meet you Mrs. Vettel" Y/N hugged "I have heard so many great things about you and I'm so excited that you could join us"

Y/N was warm and bright, there was a certain aura that clearly makes her a likeable individual. Certainly, she was someone that Heike didn't mind being a daughter-in-law someday.

"Please just Heike, Mrs Vettel is too formal"

"If you insist Heike" Y/N smiles "Oh is there anything you need? I hope the accommodations are comfortable"

Caring and attentive, another factor that Heike pointed out in her head.

"I would just thank you dearie for being so appreciative and doing everything for Sebastian. This takes great effort to arrange and as his mother I really appreciate that"Heike explained.

"Heike this isn't even a fraction of what Sebastian did for me" Y/N counters.

But Heike knew. Every time that Sebastian was doing something for Y/N, he would run it through his mother to make sure that he could get a female perspective about his plans.

"I'm really glad he has you in his life, thank you"Heike reiterates.

As Sebastian's mother, she couldn't help but worry about Sebastian as he races in different parts of the world. She doesn't have any idea if he is being taken care of or if he has someone he can count on. But seeing Y/N in the flesh and confirming that she is everything that Heike had heard from the stories, she felt relieved.

A grateful smile graced Y/N's face as Heike pulled her in a hug.

Heike could only pray that her son finally grows some balls to ask the young lady out. She would literally smack Sebastian if he missed out the chance.

2012, Interlagos

It was another tough season for Mark and he couldn't even push for celebrations right now. He had found himself hiding behind the Red Bull garage to sulk for a bit before he had to go to the media pen and put on a face of sportsmanship to celebrate his teammate.

He opens his phone and his fingers refreshed the texts but no new messages were out for him.

Another frustrated growl comes out of him as he messed up his hair.

"Sebastian I have something to tell you"there was a whisper that floated around.

Mark could only squint as he made out a figure of a woman with his teammate. He have seen the girl before in the garage and Sebastian introduced him as a friend but Mark couldn't remember her name.

"Can't this thing wait Hanna?" Sebastian's voice was hushed like he didn't want anyone else to know about their conversation.

Mark knew that this was a private conversation but his curiosity is getting the best of him. He crouched lower as he tried to get a better view and hearing range of the conversation.

"I like you Sebastian and I have loved you for so long"

The usual confident and flirty Sebastian seems to be taken a back. He seems as frozen as Mark who is now regretting his decision to eavesdrop on them.

"I know I may be ruining years of friendship but I cannot hide it anymore, I really like you" she stated "You have always treated me so well and special so tell me I'm not the only one feeling that way"

"Hanna you are a nice person-"

And there was a pair lips of together. Mark finally decided that he has invaded too much of their privacy and left the couple to settle their own devices.

Meanwhile a group was huddled on the other side of the paddock. The drivers were like schoolgirls with the way that they are giggling.

"I'm being serious here guys, why are you guys acting like this"Y/N wanted to hide with a pillow. It was a bad idea of her to tell Lewis, Nico, and Jenson that she likes Sebastian.

"Honestly, we were making bets on when and who would be the first to confess" Jenson laughed.

"You bet on us?"

"Yes and let's just say we are 200 euros richer"Nico confirmed.

"Who else is on this bet?"Y/N groaned.

"Michael and Christian said that Sebastian would grow the balls. Martin also bets on Sebastian."Lewis enumerates "Don't worry, Niki and David believes in you"

If Y/N could only sink in her chair and disappear, she already would. She couldn't believe that everyone is up on their business all this time.

She could only just hope that she won't be as embarrassed as this when she finally confessed to Sebastian.

[anemonelovesfiction]

Use Your Words

Lo’ak x Fem Human Reader x Tsireya

Warnings ⚠️: Established Relationship (between Lo’ak and Tsireya), Virgin! Reader, Fingering!, Eating out! (Mostly) Voyeur Lo’ak! (Except you know he’s there, and he speaks)

MDNI 🔞

Reader (you) has a tendency to stare at and avoid Tsireya outside of a group setting, so she gets asked why she does this, but you can’t come up with a clear answer, so Lo’ak and Tsireya coax the answer out of you, but you avoid answering her, so her and her mate figure out a plan to get you to use your words

Translation Station

Olo’eyktan: Clan Leader

Marui: Home

Tsmuke: Sister

Tawtute: Sky Person (human)

Sa’nu: Mum, Mommy

Tsakarem: Tsahik in training

Irayo: Thank you

Marui: Home (in Metkayina)

Srane: Yes

Paysyul: Water Lily

Tewng: Loincloth

Yawne: Beloved

Syulang: Flower

Tswin: Neural Queue

Word Count: 5.9 k

My fingers worked diligently as they continued braiding the leather bracelet in my hands, weaving the braids tightly together to maintain its shape, my mind working a million miles a minute as I attempt to finish this bracelet while watching the beautiful goddess before me. Her hands coming to squeeze her hair from the excess water it was carrying, watching as the water dribbles down her forearms and drip off her elbows, eyes shamefully looking between the valley of her breasts and watching as the water glides down her cleavage.

I feel a heavy heat settling on my face right as Lo’ak comes into view to greet her, my eyes finding my fingers as they continue weaving through the bracelet I planned to give Tuktirey for her birthday, noticing that my weaving looked consistent. A sigh leaves my lips as I find a natural stopping point, wanting to pick back up at a later time to give my fingers some much needed rest, and possibly stop myself from continuing to stare at the teal woman several feet away from me.

“You stared at her for less time.”

I looked back up to see Neteyam side-eyeing me, a small smirk playing at his lips as he looks at me, eyes turning back on his own work, he was attempting to make a proper courting gift for one of the girls in the clan that had managed to capture his attention.

After his almost fatal attempt being deemed heroic by the Olo’eyktan of the Metkayina, most girls decided it was the appropriate time to flaunt themselves and their skills toward Neteyam, in hopes of being chosen as his mate and having the ultimate bragging rights. But very few had decided to keep their distance from him, one of which had managed to capture his heart, as she treated him with a kindness that wasn’t out of pity.

“Why don’t you tell them how you feel?” He asks as he snaps me out of my own thoughts. The beach was in perfect view from the marui we resided in, which is why Lo’ak had decided to run off the second he’d seen Tsireya coming up the shoreline, feeling myself ducking my head out of embarrassment as I came to realize I’d been staring at them again.

“Are you kidding me?” I scoff at his words, physically turning my body to face his to prevent myself from zoning out at the two on the beach, jealousy filling my body as I think of how easy it is for them to be together, regardless of how different they were from one another.

“What?” He asks at his own suggestion, stopping himself from working on his craft as he turns his head to look up at me, shrugging his shoulders as he notices nothing wrong with the question he’s asked, it warmed my heart that he thought of me as his family enough to not notice the obvious difference.

“It’s sweet that you think of me as your tsmuke, Neteyam, but you have to be honest with yourself and remember that I’m tawtute, not na’vi.” I stated.

“You might just be surprised if you put yourself out there.” He speaks while shrugging his shoulders, it almost sounded as though he’d been alluding to something but I couldn’t help the eye roll piercing through as I shake my head at the same time.

“When are you finally going to tell Ayari you like her?” I asked, flipping the script and watching as his once cobalt blue skin flushes with a purple tinge, a blush covering his features and I couldn’t help but let a smile cover mine.

“At least I’m working on it.” He stated simply before going back to work on his craft.

_________

“Pff,” I huff as I begin to think about Neteyam’s suggestion earlier, I had currently been walking toward Ronal’s healing hut with a heavy basket in my hands, struggling to carry it with all of the contents inside, but it was mostly my fault I’d been in this situation in the first place.

I had lot’s of plants whose healing properties were needed for the Tsahik and instead of placing them in my human sized basket to make two trips, I’d selfishly placed them in a pattern where none of them would get smushed, in a Na’Vi sized basket instead, using my hip to hold onto the bottom as my hands struggled to carry the sides.

I would have also been a panting mess had I not been stubborn, I refused to show anyone around me any weakness and had to pretend I was doing just fine, I’d gotten several double takes as the people had seen me walk around the woven walkway, the bouncing action making carrying the basket almost unbearable, but now that I was feeling the sand in my toes and the hut was in view, I couldn’t turn back.

As I approached the hut with the basket barely in my grasp I wondered how I was going to get through the curtains without taking the entire length of them in with me, but by some miracle, or Eywa selfishly listening in to the thoughts of my mind, they were split down the middle as a teal arm had held them out of the way, as I look up to excuse myself to whoever was above me I tense, the basket nearly dropping before my fingers flexed and grasped them harder.

“How are you carrying that?” Her voice was mixed with confusion and awe a she steps out of the way, keeping her hand on the curtain she had held and gives me a walkway toward the desk I usually set my basket on.

“You have decided to become efficient, Y/n.” Ronal was quick to spare a glance at me before settling her mortar and pestle down, she appears to have just finished cleaning it as she stretches, her hands placed on her lower back for some support, I’m sure her pregnant belly was heavy as she lets out a content sigh, I ignored her comment.

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting,” I replied almost automatically, not wanting to have ignored Tsireya’s comment as I answered her mother, but truly not knowing what to say to answer her question, but by the looks of it, it appeared as though she would be leaving soon either way, but I held my breath out of my own anxiousness.

“It is appreciated.” Ronal answered as she stands from the chair she had been sitting in, her sigh being an indication that she had been done with whatever task she had been working on, ready to begin the next.

“I will see you later, I must go meet with your father, Y/n can help you put the herbs away.” She is quick to answer and I can feel the hairs on my body stand at attention at her remark. How was I supposed to spend the entire afternoon helping Tsireya put stuff away when I couldn’t hold a proper conversation with her outside of the group setting?

“Alright Sa’nu,” She replies to her mother as I stiffly turn my neck over to watch as Ronal gingerly takes Tsireya’s cheeks in her hands, leaning down to kiss her daughters forehead, my cheeks growing hot at the display of affection between the two, my face turning back immediately as my hand reaches out to fiddle with the herbs and plants in the basket.

_________

I could only focus on properly picking the herbs apart as I placed the stems into one basket and the leaves in another, eyes scaling the stems gently before moving onto the next, ensuring that each leaf has been plucked off and each stem was bare.

The leaves from the herb I currently had in my hands were used in cooking dishes to enhance the flavor of the dish itself, kind of like a seasoning that was favored here, the stem, however, is ground up into a paste using an oil to help break it down. Since I was not the tsakarem I was not allowed to tamper with the mixings and makings of the medicine they used, but I could help around with organization, stocking, and plucking.

I’d been sitting silently as to not interrupt with Tsireya’s concentration, but it was proving to be difficult as I’d often find myself looking up to steal glances at the beautiful teal woman, grateful to Eywa that she had not captured my stare with her own, slight sweat starting to build on my brow as I nervously plucked along and settled the stem into its basket, feeling her hand touch mine as she had taken that opportunity to grab more stems for the paste she was making.

My hand is quick to move back but her light hearted laughter is what catches me off guard, I had not expected to hear such a melodious sound so early in the afternoon, my eyes curiously reaching up and feeling my body freeze as I met hers.

“If I didn’t know any better I would assume you disliked me,” She speaks as she places the few strands of stem she had grabbed into the mixture she held, moving the pestle along the shape of the mortar to grind the stem down.

I had no idea if I should fake a small, laugh, or think of a response to her words, kind of sitting there and staring at her like an idiot seemed to be the only option I had at that moment, but I wasn’t expecting her to end up looking back at me and watch her smile drop as I stared at her, was I being a creep?

“Is that why you don’t speak to me when we are alone?” She asks as if a sudden realization had hit her, her ears lowering slightly as she asks her question and I could only stupidly stare at her, uncertain of what to say.

“I guess I hadn’t realized I did that,” I hadn’t meant for those words to leave my mouth, it happened to be the first thought to run through my head, and unfortunately out of my mouth. I could see as Tsireya looks away from me, shaking her head slightly as she smiles, focusing on the paste before her.

“Lo’ak believes I am crazy for thinking you avoid me.” I could feel my eyes widen at her confession as she had stated it so evenly, no wobble detected in her voice. I could only swallow as her eyes meet mine again, the smile she had never leaving her lips, and I could feel my breath being taken away at that moment, a slight burn in my chest the longer I stared at her.

“I-“ I stop myself from speaking as I attempt to draw in a breath at the same time, feeling that burning sensation going away before clearing my throat.

“I don’t mean to avoid you.” I answered her again but felt my voice quiver and wanted to punch myself for having shown too much emotion.

“Why do you?” She asks and it felt like a punch to the gut and I hadn’t expected her to be this bold with her questions today.

“…” What do I say at this point, I avoid you because I like you, but I also like the guy I grew up with at the same time because my mind does not comprehend how to like just one person?

“I have to go-“ I mutter before standing abruptly and leaving the healing hut. Feeling as though the air from the hut was too hot, the sweat running down my forehead wasn’t helping cool my skin, until the breeze calmed me down as soon as I was out of the hut.

_________

“So this is where you’ve been hiding out, huh?” Lo’aks voice breaks me out of my concentration and I can feel my heart begin to race, I’d decided against going to dinner to avoid Tsireya once more, not wanting our conversation to pick up where it left off, especially if Lo’ak was around, that would be embarrassing.

But I’d also taken the opportunity to avoid Lo’ak as well, since I’d had an inkling that Tsireya may have told him what had happened, leading the two of them to confront me together, and that was a bridge I wasn’t willing to cross.

“Wasn’t feeling good,” I muttered past my lips without sparing him a glance, lying to him as I answered, finally realizing that my fingers had stopped braiding the bracelet I wanted to finish for Tuk, trying and failing to remember which strand went next.

“You’re lucky I pay attention.” He mentions as he squats in front of me, sliding something my into my lap, my eyes snapping up to meet his, moving my gaze to settle upon my lap and seeing a slice of fruit there, I couldn’t bring myself to concentrate, bracelet me damned, I’d lost my place with it anyway.

I could see his hands meet one another as he interlocks his fingers from the corners of my eye, I could feel his stare burning holes at the top of my head, feeling a heat rise up to my cheeks, choosing to not say another word as I couldn’t think of anything smart at the moment.

“Irayo,” I surprise myself by breaking the silence, not having realized I’d spoken until the heat rose to my cheeks once more.

“You look fine to me,” He replies to my previous comment about not feeling well. I could only stare up at him through my lashes as I attempt to scramble my thoughts for a reasonable lie.

“Think before you speak, Y/n.” He warns and I felt as though I had been caught in a lie- which I had been- I could only duck my head and avoided eye contact with him, unsure of what to do with my hands and kept them by my side, the juices of the fruit starting to stain my thighs as I left it there.

“I didn’t want to go to dinner.” I only feel some relief for revealing half the truth, knowing he was going to question me, not knowing how to respond to whatever question he’d have.

“Why did you not want to go to dinner?” He asks, one of his brows raising in the process, I could feel the shame start to swallow me whole as I bit my lip, not wanting to answer.

Because I was avoiding your mate didn’t sound like a practical answer, but his gaze was too intense to look away from.

“Because I wasn’t feeling goo-“ I started by going with the first thought in my head, not getting far enough to complete the sentence as he cuts me off with an eye roll and a stern voice.

“Try again.”

I scoff at his words and let a nervous laugh escape my lips, disbelief filling my features as I look back over at him, his face looking unamused.

“Lo’ak, I’m telling the truth-“

“So this is where you disappear to, I would have thought you went chasing after Tsireya.” Neteyam jokes as he enters the marui, and I couldn’t have felt more relieved that he’d walked in at that moment.

I could feel the anger radiating off of Lo’ak as I feel my shoulders relax, thankful that Neteyam had chosen that moment to walk in, I don’t think I could have faced telling him the truth.

_________

The cool breeze into the night had scattered across my skin as I sat on the beach with my toes buried in the sand. My hair had been flowing freely as each curly strand decided to dance in its own way, I allow a sigh to pass my lips as I stared out into the water before feeling the weight of a familiar hand drape itself across my shoulders.

I turn my head with a soft smile, he returns the smile but it does not meet his eyes, his brows furrowing as soon as he’s sat right beside me.

“What is it?” I asked without having to dive too deep into the question, knowing he was going to understand what I meant, I’m thinking his talk with Y/n did not go very well. I reach over to grasp his hand in mine and give him a reassuring squeeze.

“She avoided answering my question.” He stated somberly, I could see him tighten his jaw as soon as his mouth closed and I could feel his frustration.

“What do you think we should do?” I asked as I sat beside him, face turning back to the lapping waves of the ocean, the splashes calming me down enough to return my breathing to normal.

“Are you absolutely certain about this?” He asks as he lets my hand go, and places them on his head as his knees come close to his chest, his thoughts must be going wild right about now.

“I dreamt about the three of us together and it felt right, I believe it was a sign from Eywa, so I told my mother about it-“

“You told your mom?” His was in disbelief, his legs outstretched immediately as he looked at me with widened eyes, I would have laughed had it not been a serious conversation.

“She said she would keep it between us, and she is tsahik, she confirmed that it must have been a sign the great mother provided for me, but was very disturbed about it being a tawtute…” I trailed off

“But the true question is if she feels the same,” He stated, uncertainty filling his voice as he speaks, my heart hurting as I wanted to comfort him.

“I know she does.” I reassured him as I began to think of her avoiding me at dinner, had she not already had feelings for us she would have showed, without the fear of our conversation continuing, and she would not have run off in the first place.

“Well then,” Lo’ak seemed to have a sudden mischievous glint in his eye. “Whats the plan?” He asks as a smile starts to grow on his face.

_________

Learning to ride on the back of an Ilu was difficult. When I started learning, I had to be partnered up with someone who could connect to the beautiful creature in the first place, but everyone usually went too quick causing the water to shoot up my nose regardless. But whenever I rode with Kiri -or that one time I went with Tsireya- they made the Ilu move slower, and I felt like I could enjoy the breath taking scenery before me, and those were the moments I often cherished.

But I’d made the mistake of allowing Tuk to take me for a ride not too long after she had learned how to ride an Ilu, the others were taking a leisurely swim as they watched her take the Ilu out for a spin.

But the moment my head finally broke through the water, I was a mess, my mask had become dislodged -like it usually did when people rode their Ilu too fast- and water had shot up my nose, leaving a burning sensation behind as I attempted to empty the water from my mask before reattaching it to my face, a seemingly never ending cough taking over.

“Oh my-“ I’d heard Kiri through my coughing spell, attempting to take a breath but failing as another cough was in the way.

“Tuk!” I could hear Lo’ak’s accusatory voice as I felt someone lifting me out of the water, my body going limp against theirs as I searched for warmth, my coughing starting to calm down as the breaths were finally reaching my lungs.

“I didn’t mean to!” I could hear her whine, a soothing hand being placed on my back as it runs in gentle circles in an attempt to calm me down, finally feeling a deep breath and sighing as I had stopped coughing.

“Thank you,” I mutter at the person who was carrying me.

“You could have taken it slower,” Lo’ak was still going at it with Tuk and it actually caught me by surprise as he was usually laid back, I would have expected him to have been laughing along with Ao’nung.

“I told him to go slow!” Tuk whines back with her brother.

“Do you feel better?”

I go rigid as I realize whose arms I’m and feel a sense of urgency to disappear, maybe even dive back into the water and swim away, but there was no use as she’d out-swim me.

“Mhm,” I answered as I nod my head that was still on her shoulder, feeling as my tummy filled with warmth as my anxiety started to sky rocket.

I could feel her hand leave my back, placing it on my bum to get a better hold on me, but I could have sworn it was done on purpose and feel my face growing hot, all of the loudness between Tuk and Lo’ak had gone away as all I could focus on were her hands on my bottom.

“Come on Tuk, just leave it,” I could see Kiri dragging her away from the corner of my eyes as Tuk sticks her tongue out at her brother, but that just meant I was left with Tsireya and Lo’ak. I bite back a groan as I wished Neteyam and Spider were here, swiveling my forehead onto Tsireya’s shoulder and closing my eyes, taking in a big breath and knowing what was coming.

“Are you okay?” Lo’ak asks me and I can feel my heart quicken in my chest off his voice alone, I’m certain I would have started shaking had Tsireya not been holding me, her body keeping me warm.

I could only nod my head against her shoulder not daring to look back at him wanting to remain hidden from their stares.

“Use your words,” Lo’ak coaxes, the water indicating he began stepping closer as it sloshes a bit, going still as I feel a four-fingered hand on my back.

“Srane,” I answered nervously, still hiding my eyes from the pair.

“Good.” He answers before taking his hand off of me, just when I think I’m home free I feel his hand underneath the chin strap of my mask, my face being pulled away from it’s hidden spot and coming to face his.

“Now tell me,” He begins as he slightly tilts his head to the side.

“Are you avoiding us?”

_________

Fangs found their way onto my neck as they scraped along my pulse point, goosebumps being left on my body as they dragged deliciously on my sensitive skin, my head lolled to the side as I allowed Tsireya to mark me as she wished.

I couldn’t keep my hands to myself and gasped as she started to suckle on my pulse point, my hands being woven into the ringlets of her hair as my nails felt her scalp, a soft hiss coming from her mouth as she dug her fangs into my neck lightly.

“Careful,” Lo’ak’s voice makes me open my eyes, mine making contact with his, my lip coming between my teeth as I attempt to focus on him.

“Maybe she doesn’t want me to be careful,” Tsireya speaks, bringing her hands from my cheek down my arm, goosebumps left in their wake as I shiver.

“Do you paysyul?” She speaks as she addressed me this time, but before I could even think of what to say, her mouth is back on my neck and a moan is escaping my mouth.

“See?” She teases him with her words as her lips trail down toward my collarbones, teeth lightly nipping the area and causing my skin to erupt in a new set of goosebumps, my eyes travel toward Lo’ak to see his jaw hardened as he looks at the back of Tsireya’s head, his eyes trailing over toward mine before settling a smirk on his features.

“Do you?” He repeats the question smoothly, it has heat rising up to my face and I felt guilty for not responding verbally, just a quick tip of my head as I closed my mouth, having wondered if I’d looked stupid for leaving my mouth open after moaning.

“Hmm.” He hums as he looks downward, his eyes moving up to look at me through his lashes. “What does that buy her, darling?” He asks aloud.

Before I could attempt to figure out what he’d meant when he said that, a stinging sensation burns my bottom as the sound of a slap resonates within the walls of their marui. A shocked gasp leaves my lips just as Tsireya chuckles, my hands finally coming free from her hair as I laid them next to my body to support myself, knees buckling a little.

“You have to use your words with us, paysyul.” She comments before kissing down my chest and reaching the valley of my breast, my top stopping her from being able to do that.

My eyes hadn’t left Lo’ak and I watch as he raises a brow at me, silently wondering if I had gotten past my shock and understood what Tsireya was telling me, I could feel her eyes staring holes into my head as well, I move my head towards her and feel my face heating up once more.

A flurry of unrecognizable shapes were felt across the skin of my waist as she impatiently waits for me to say anything, but my mouth had suddenly dried up, and my tongue felt like lead.

The top I wore was easy to take off, it was the same fabric as my tewng was, only big enough to cover my breasts, but it was tied on my backside, something I wasn’t sure she knew how to take off.

“Please take my top off,” I finally spoke, breaking through the silence and feeling her finger grasp the string tying my shirt onto my body, the fabric loosening its hold on me, I shrugged my shoulders and feel the fabric bunch up as it slides off of them.

She surprises me as she grasps the fabric and gently pulls it away from my body, the act alone making my nipples stand at attention as she discards the cloth, all without taking her eyes off mine.

“Go ahead.” Lo’ak instructs his mate and I feel as her arm glides up from my waist and onto my breast, giving it the slightest of squeezes, a surge of warmth traveling down toward my cunt. She smiles as her fingers grasp my nipple and give it a twirl.

My body twitches at her touch, her other hand coming up toward my other nipple and repeating the process, my gasp cutting through the silent marui.

“Why don’t you put her in your mouth, yawne?” Lo’ak suggests as he stands behind her, my eyes moving to meet his figure as he stands with his hands behind his back, his eyes on his mate.

Before I could even move my eyes toward Tsireya to watch her movements, I feel a sense of warmth wrapping itself around my breast, her tongue having flicked my nipple as her other hand continues to tease the other.

“Tsireya,” I gasp and buck my hips against the thigh she’d managed to wedge there, a moan ripples past my lips at the sensation.

I can hear -and feel- her hum of approval before feeling her hand abandoned the nipple she’d been toying with, taking her mouth off the one she’d been licking, and trading places, another gasp and low moan resonating within the walls of the marui.

Her tongue had flattened once she reaches my nipple before twirling it with the tip of her muscle, my hips wanting to feel the relief they did, but she had moved her thigh, a chuckle coming from her as she realizes what I’d tried to do.

“Please,” I whined pathetically before hearing Lo’ak hum, my eyes had shut on their own without my knowledge until I opened them back up to see him with a smirk on his face.

I’d already started panting from the attention Tsireya had been giving me, but I was desperate to feel more.

“What do you need?” Lo’ak’s voice was deeper than I’d ever heard it before, it had my arousal spiking as I let out a short moan in response to his question, he only retaliates by squatting down on his feet, arm reaching out to touch my thigh.

His big warm hand was suffocating my thigh, he could easily grasp it if he wanted, but he didn’t, and I could hear a whine coming from the back of my throat at the contact.

“Use your words, syulang.” He speaks clearly just as Tsireya pops off my nipple, my eyes falling onto hers as I’m sure I looked a mess.

“I want you to eat me out,” I gasp at the words coming from my mouth before seeing the beauty before me smile sweetly.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” She admits before her hand trails down toward my waist, tickling my sides as she does so, a light laughter bubbling from me and it helps relax my nerves, her fingers work quick and my tewng is off.

I could feel the heat rise to my face as my legs come to a close, her hands resting at my thighs and prying me open, a whine beating its way past my lips.

“Don’t hide yourself, you are beautiful, paysyul.” She mutters as she leans down toward my face, her head making contact with my mask, one hand coming up and tapping on it gently, letting me know to hold my breath, and once I inhale the mask comes off and her lips are in mine as she kisses me, my hands coming up toward her cheeks as her tongue swipes my lips.

I nervously open my mouth to give her access and am met with a sweet flavor on her tongue, she must have been eating fruit before whisking me up from the water.

I can feel her hand trail up my thigh and gently stuck her finger inside, her kiss muffles my moan as she sticks the entire length of her finger into my wet pussy, my legs closing around her arm as her tongue dances around my mouth.

“You feel incredible mama’s,” Lo’ak mutters in a breathy voice, but my brows furrow in confusion, breaking my kiss from Tsireya to look toward him, noticing his tswin is connected to Tsireya’s, he must have done that while I was distracted. I take the opportunity to slide my mask back on and take a deep breath, chest heaving slightly at the long breath hold I’d done.

“Oh,” Tsireya mutters as her finger stops its movements, she has a certain expression on her face that causes me to look down between my thighs.

“Look at you,” Lo’ak coo’s, a smile spreading on his face, but my eyes trail back toward Tsireya’s teal hand, a bit of blood was staining her palm, but it’s source was coming from me.

From our human biology classes that Lo’ak often snuck into just to hang out with Spider, he knew exactly what this blood meant, as the one learning about woman’s anatomy, I knew what this meant too, but Tsireya was surprisingly calm.

“How sweet to think you’ve been waiting for us all this time,” He snaps me out of my thoughts enough for me to feel Tsireya had started to slowly move her finger again.

I could feel my face heating up again, but for two reasons, because of Lo’ak’s words and because of the pleasure Tsireya was starting to bring to me.

“I think she can take another,” She stated rather confidently as she attempts to bully a second finger in.

“Easy baby,” He stated as she finally manages to shove her second finger in, my body clenching down rather harshly at the sudden intrusion.

“Ohh,” I groan as she gently moves her fingers inward, it seems like forever before she reaches the hilt, but once she does, I can feel a heat coiling in my belly.

“How does that feel?” She asks as she leans over to kiss my jaw, her fangs starting to scratch me lightly, her kisses driving me crazy as she continues moving her fingers inside of me.

“Ahh, ‘Reya,” I whine, her mouth back on my neck, suckling my pulse point as her fingers start to speed up. I could feel myself spreading my legs wider to give her easier access.

I open the eyes I didn’t know I’d closed up until that point, watching as she shuffles her body closer toward mine, I could feel her breath fanning over my cunt and all I could do was squeeze in anticipation.

“Go ahead.” Lo’ak’s voice cuts through my thoughts once more and I look downward, capturing Tsireya’s eyes with mine just before she leans down, placing my clit in her mouth and giving a small suckle, with that my head is thrown back and my back arches, bringing my cunt closer to her.

“Fuck,” Lo’ak grunts.

Tsireya doesn’t stop her ministrations as her fingers start plowing through me, her mouth starting to work on overdrive and I can just feel her smirk on my pussy.

“Please-“ I whine as I begin to grind my hips against her face.

“Please what?” Lo’ak stated rather harshly.

“Please make me come,” I moan as my hands come out from underneath me, placing them on Tsireya’s braids as I attempt to bring her face closer toward my cunt, humping her face -regardless of my knees buckling at this point- in an attempt to coax my orgasm out

“Thats hot.” Lo’ak comments and I finally open my eyes to witness him palming himself through his tewng, the tent in his loincloth being a big distraction to me, feeling as her fingers change pace and move quicker.

“Fuck!” I gasp as the coil in my belly tightens further, the feeling of comfort being brought to me through Tsireya’s ministrations, my fingers tightening over her scalp and letting my pathetic moans loose for the two of them to hear.

“Thats it baby,” he encourages the both of us with his words while continuing to palm himself through his loincloth, his hand working faster, the size of him being visible through the fabric and my mouth watering at the sight of him.

“Go ahead and come, syulang.” Lo’ak mutters and I couldn’t help but listen as my body writhes against his mates fingers and mouth, feeling absolutely high as I rode the wave of my orgasm.

I felt on top of the world the moment I gave in and came around her fingers, my cunt squeezing them for all their worth, becoming a panting mess as I come down from my high.

I look over to see a satisfied Tsireya coming up from my cunt, juices soaking her face, her fingers finally coming out of me at that moment, a bit of blood still covering them. I turned my face toward Lo’ak to see the prominent boner in his tewng, mouth watering at the sight of it before asking.

“Do you need some help with that?”

[invisible-lint]

Everything Could Be Okay: Chapter 3

Rhys x Tamlin's sister!reader

Summary: The mating bond reveals itself

Warnings: brief allusion to pregnancy loss again, nothing explicitly mentioned though!

Word Count: 2.8k

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4

You run down the hallway, ducking through a random door and shutting it behind you. You lean back against it, knocking your head against the wood. What is wrong with you? You cringe. Rhysand is probably thinking the same thing about you. For some inexplicable reason, you care what he thinks of you, and you’ve gone and made a fool of yourself. 

You look around the mystery room and smile. You seem to have found yourself in a music room. One side of the room is occupied by a large piano, while the other side is a seating area where people must gather to listen. You walk over to the piano, running your hand along the glossy wood of the instrument, breathing in its scent. You pull the bench out, sitting in front of the instrument. You gently press a few keys, happy to find out that it’s well maintained. You had spent much of your life in the music room in your own home, losing yourself in music. Your brothers had often joked that they always knew where you were, because if you weren’t out wandering the gardens, you were hidden away playing the piano. 

You stand, heading for a plush armchair and curling up in it. It was good to know this was here if you’d be spending so much time here. Perhaps you could get Feyre to sit in here with you so you could keep an eye on her. You yawn, exhaustion suddenly coming over you. You’re not sure you can remember where the room you were shown to is, and even less sure you want to try to find it, worried about seeing Rhysand again. So you stay curled up in the arm chair, comforted by the scent of the piano and let sleep claim you there.

When you awake, you’re covered by a blanket. You rub your eyes, wondering who had done it. You briefly wonder if it had been Rhysand, thinking about what he had done for you Under the Mountain. Even now, months later, you still thought about it. He had used his powers to give you pleasant dreams. It was so at odds with what you knew about him. A cruel male who was cruel just because he could be.

You stand and stretch, joints stiff from sleeping in the armchair. You glance out the window and determine you’ve probably missed most of breakfast. You might as well stay here for a little bit longer before going to find Feyre. You sit down at the piano, running a featherlight hand across the keys. You had no sheet music, but you’d been playing for so long you had plenty of your repertoire memorized. You close your eyes, launching into the song, muscle memory allowing you to find the right keys with no issue. You lose yourself in the music, playing song after song, time becoming meaningless. 

When you finally finish, someone claps in the doorway. You jump up, startled, knocking the piano bench over. 

“I thought when I found you in here that you had just found a random room to hide away in. I didn’t realize you were such a talented pianist. Although, I do believe I brought you here because you insisted on keeping Feyre company. Or was that just an excuse to get away from your brother?”

You take a deep breath, getting your temper under control before answering. “When I woke I figured breakfast was nearly over. So I thought I’d play a little bit and then find Feyre.”

“And why didn’t you want to come to breakfast? Are you avoiding me?”

“No.” Yes.

“Liar.”

“Am not!” 

He chuckles. “If you say so.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Well I do.” 

“Feyre is in the library, practicing her letters. While the two of you are here, she is going to learn how to read. You know, I’m surprised. I know you helped Feyre Under the Mountain, so why stop helping her now?”

“You know nothing.” You take another deep  breath, not wanting to have a repeat of last night.

“No? Enlighten me then.”

“I tried. I suggested to Tamlin that I help her learn to read and he shut me down. I thought she’d be more receptive if the idea came from him. But he didn’t think she was ready. So I dropped it. And then he proposed and Ianthe had her wedding planning. If you can even call it that. It was more like Feyre sits in the room while Ianthe makes all the decisions,” now that you’ve started, it's like you can’t stop. “How am I the only one in that damned court that can see she doesn’t want to marry him? I tried to get her out of it, told her that if she had changed her mind I would come up with some sort of excuse so she didn’t have to marry him. I was actually relieved when you showed up because then she wouldn’t be stuck with him and I could have more time to try to figure out a way to help her! She is so miserable there and she is going to end up trapped!”

“Just like you are?” It startles you out of your rant, and you start to bolt, embarrassed that you’ve overshared again, but Rhysand is faster, carefully catching you as you run by. He looks at you for a moment, frowning. 

“Why do you do that?”

“Run away when I’m embarrassed? I believe it’s actually quite a common response, actually.”

He looks up, as if asking the Mother to grant him the patience to deal with you. 

“That’s not what I meant. You lose your temper, say more than you mean to and run away.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I’m simply curious.”

“Liar.”

He chuckles. “Are you avoiding my question?”

“I don’t understand you, Rhysand. You act like this cruel, careless male, but then I catch glimpses of someone else.” You tilt your head to the side, examining him. “I don’t think you’re as cruel as you make people believe you are.”

“I still think you’re avoiding my question.”

You sigh, giving in, not entirely sure why. “Fine. If you’ll answer one for me.” He nods.

“Tamlin and I are both quick tempered. But while I’m more prone to verbal outbursts…” You fidget, not quite sure how to finish the sentence. Rhys tenses, rage filtering across his face for the briefest of moments. He looks over you as if looking for signs of injury.

“He’s never hurt me. Or Feyre. It’s usually taken out on the furniture.” You wince, thinking about it. “I can only think of what he may be doing right now…” He wants to ask more, but there’ll be time for that later. His instincts are screaming at him to reveal the bond so he can keep you in Night and protect you, but he ignores it, shoving it down. 

“Now I believe you get to ask me a question.”

“Why did you use your powers on me Under the Mountain?” If he’s surprised by your question, it doesn’t show.

“You seemed to need the rest. I could see the pain you were in, some of it my fault, and there was something I could do about it.” 

“But why?”

“Does there have to be a reason? Perhaps I had gotten tired of seeing so much cruelty in the 50 years I had been down there.” You chew your lip. There he is again, that male behind the mask of cruelty.

“May I ask you another question, or do I have to worry about you trying to run away again if you share too much?”

 You give a breathy laugh. “You may, but perhaps you could let go of me?” He lets go of you, taking several steps back.

“Last night you said you’re trapped and miserable in Spring.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a statement, not a question.”

He narrowly resists the urge to roll his eyes. One thing’s for sure Mor would love you if he ever got to introduce you to her.

“My question is was that always the case?”

You blow out a breath, fidgeting with the ring on your necklace. “It’s… Complicated. Yes and then no and then yes. Before I had Andras, my husband, I was. And then when I had him… That time was incredible. And far too short. And then after… I lost so much that it would have been hard not to be miserable, even if I didn’t hate it there.” Your free hand brushes over your stomach and you see as understanding, and for the briefest moment, pity shows on his face. It makes your temper flare. You are so tired of people looking at you like that.

“Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?”

You scoff. “You know the look. The look that everyone gives me when they realize everything that  I’ve lost!” You stalk towards him. He just watches you, surprised by this outburst. “I am so sick of that look! People find out and then they give me that stupid look! And then they know so they may not give me the look, but I can still see it there, just barely hidden.” You’re nearly chest to chest with him now, looking up into his face. “So don’t you dare start too.” 

He whispers your name, staring into your eyes. You’re not sure why you do it. If you’ve well and truly lost your mind, or if something about the way he’s looking at you, the way he said your name, reminds you of Andras, but you kiss him. He hesitates for a moment, knowing he should pull away, that whatever reason you're kissing him has nothing to do with him, but your lips are as soft as they look, and suddenly he’s kissing you back, one hand in your hair, the other on the small of your back.

 Just as suddenly as you had kissed him, you stop, backing away as if his touch burnt you. 

That’s the moment when the mating bond makes itself known to you, snapping into place. You sink to your knees, a hand over your chest, tears burning your eyes. He crosses over to you, slowly, eyes never leaving your face. He takes your hand in his, brushing his thumb over the back of it. You sit there together for what may be moments or hours. "You don't have to accept it. The bond. I understand it may be... You’re not ready to move on." You can hear the pain in his voice, see it in his eyes. You shake your head.

"It's not that it's unwelcome. Just... Unexpected. Andras... I thought he was my mate. I felt it when he died. So I thought.... I'll need time. I don't know how much, but I don't want to reject it. At least not outright."

"I can do that. I can give you time. I've waited for this, waited for  you, for nearly 500 years. And I'd wait 500 more if that's what you need." He presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"I'm not sure I'll need quite that long." You smile at him, giving an experimental tug on the bond, nearly gasping at the stars that light up in his eyes, knowing that you'd do nearly anything to get him to look at you like that again. You look away, stomach churning with guilt. 

“Don’t go back to Spring. Stay here.”

“I can’t. I can’t abandon Feyre.” He tucks loose hair behind your ear, and you resist the urge to lean into the gentle touch. 

“I understand… I don’t like it. But I understand. Just promise me something?” 

“Hmm… It’ll depend on what you’re asking of me.”

He smiles. “Promise that if anything happens you’ll reach out down the bond. And either I or someone else will come to get you. And then we’ll figure something out for Feyre.”

“Counter promise, because I can winnow myself. If anything happens and I feel the need to leave I’ll come here with Feyre and reach out down the bond to let you know.” 

“Counter promise accepted.”

“Good. Now I think I should go find Feyre.”

He nods. “Perhaps you should at least change first.”

“Is there something wrong with how I look?”

“No, you’re absolutely stunning. But you are wearing yesterday’s dress. And you slept in a chair.”

“I suppose you do have a point.” He stands, helping you to your feet.

“I am known to have one of those from time to time.”

“Rhysand?” 

“Call me Rhys.”

“Rhys?”

For a brief moment he swears he could die a happy male, just listening to you say his name. “Yes?”

“I forgot where my room is.” He chuckles, leading the way. You follow him, chewing your lip as you think. 

“I can practically hear you thinking, despite the fact that you have surprisingly good walls up. Would you like to share?” 

“Surprisingly good?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to decide if you should be offended. 

“Not a reflection on you, I'm surprised you were taught.” 

“Tamlin decided I should be after the night you killed our brothers and father.” He grimaces, not because he regrets killing them, but because of any pain it may have caused you. You stop, putting a hand on his arm to stop him.

“I know what they did. I saw the wings. I understand. As much as we butt heads, I have been better off with Tamlin as High Lord. My father was not a kind male and I hate to think of the kind of marriage I would have been forced into. I have never held any ill will towards you for their deaths.” Rhys lets out a breath he hadn't even realized he had started holding. 

“What about the garden?��� 

“I was angry about it for a long time. What I said to you Under the Mountain… I was being consumed by my grief. I had just lost so much and it felt like it was for nothing because we had all ended up there anyway. But I had stopped being angry at you for it a long time ago.” He nods.

“My mother and sister. Their wings…”

“My father had hung them in the study as trophies. When Tamlin became High Lord, he burnt them.” 

He nods again, blowing out a breath through his teeth.

“What were you thinking about?”

“How I'm going to tell Feyre.”

You're not entirely sure how you might describe the look on his face, but it's clear that wasn't the answer he was expecting. 

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” 

“No. In fact it's probably a terrible idea. But nobody else tells her anything. And I'm not about to start keeping secrets from her. Plus if we may have to suddenly leave and come here, it's better for her to know why instead of having to explain it after.” 

“I… suppose you have a point.”

You grin, teasing him with his earlier words. “I am known to have one of those from time to time.” 

He laughs, the sound making your heart soar. 

The two of you start walking again and he stops once you've reached the door to your room. You linger in the hall, not quite ready to leave him yet.

“Thank you.” 

“Of course. I couldn't let you sleep in the music room all week.” You laugh. 

“No, I suppose not. Although now that I know it's far enough away from the bedrooms that I won't wake anyone, I may be spending quite a bit of time there.” 

“I could leave some sheet music in there for you. If you'd like.” You smile, eyes lighting up, and he already wants to be the reason you smile like that again.

“I would love that.” 

“I'll put it on the piano bench then. I have an idea of a piece I think you might like.” 

“I look forward to learning it.” 

“I'll have someone bring you food while you get yourself ready to speak with Feyre.” 

“Thank you, Rhys.” Once again, he appreciates the way his name sounds coming from your lips. 

“Of course.” He hesitates for a moment, uncertain what to do, before lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to the knuckles. 

You open the door as he walks away, stepping in and taking a deep breath. “Cauldron boil me…” You walk over to the deep bathing pool and turn the taps, allowing it to fill up, taking your hair out of the slept on hairdo from the day before. Once the tub is full of steaming water, you turn the tap off and strip, stepping down, settling into the water. Mother above… How were you going to tell Feyre that Rhys is your mate? And worse. How are you going to tell your brother?

A/N: And there it is! Chapter 3! I'm already working on chapter 4, so that one will probably be out later this week as well as hopefully a few other things! As always, requests are open, so feel free to send those on in if there's anything you'd like to see! I noticed that some of my taglist didn't work last time and I've hopefully fixed it this time!

Divider is by @tsunami-of-tears

taglist: @lilah-asteria @readingislife2006 @acourtofimagines @mistymoocow @irelanrose @darker-december @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @loving-and-dreaming @bravo-delta-eccho @sidthedollface2 @oucereeng @jesskidding3 @panther-girl-124 @jiarkives

[quitealotofsodapop]

This idea would probably be for soft Boiled and slow boiled, basically any au where Wukong is MK's teacher and not his sibling or parent. Kaiju forms.

I personally headcanon the kaiju forms and projections in the show (Mei's dragoon and Macaque's giant war form) are more... projections of one's soul/true self. So... for those who are not aware, Wukong does canonically have one on the book. It's a giant limbed monkey and with multiple heads and arms. It so is canonically so terrifying that it had frightened both his enemies and his own people so badly he had been utterly heartbroken by the event.

Sometime between s4 and s5, Wukong is working with MK to help him get used to his new monkey form and trying to help him control it. The kaiju form MK took dueint the battle with Azure comes up and MK asks about it. When Wukong explains what it was, MK gets super excited to learn and wants Wukong to teach him except...

Wukong: Sorry kid, I can't teach you how to control your kaiju. You'd actually be better off asking either Mei or, ugh, Macaque!

MK: WHAT!? Why not!?

Yesss

Wukong canonically does not like his War/Kaiju Form.

The clearest idea I could gt of how it might have looked was from a toy site, I imagine in LMK verse its lot more solid-coloured and vaguely shaped;

In Jttw he loses all interest in his victory against Heaven when his Kaiju Form scares his own people - and if we add in the Brotherhood, Macaque as well.

We discussed in dms how Wukong's anger under the mountain was likely a mixture of despair (they lost and couldn't save their bros from punishment), pain (fresh from the Furmace yo), and self-hatred.

This newly unlocked form of his - this manifestation of his inner self, was so terrifying that his own people, his allies, his own mate fled at the sight of it.

Macaque did "run off" that day, hence part of Wukong's anger. But afterwards, after the fight, Macaque had to admit to himself that while Wukong's kaiju-form was terrifying it had also been beautiful. Beautiful and sublime like a star going supernova.

Macaque's own Kaiju can be separated from him as a shadow of himself, but he's secretly ashamed of his reaction to Wukong's all those centuries ago. When he does let his Kaiju form take over his real body, it becomes primal, impulsive and brutally honest. Something that honestly helps with how quick he is to dodge confrontation.

Mei's (and by extension Ao Guang's) "dragons" are literal manifestations of what their true forms may be. Mei could have her own American-Dragon-style dragon form she could flaunt if she worked at it. That or the energy is literally Ao Lie's spirit coming in clutch as a power-up.

Ao Guang's dragon-energy meanwhile looks like his lego set colouration, suggesting homebody just a big lazy to waste his true massive form on them.

So when Wukong and the gang sees MK's own Kaiju/War-form for the first time during his fight with Azure....

Wukong is like "NOPE! Not my expertise!" cus he literally only used his War Form twice in the entirety of the book - the Battle of Flower Fruit Mountain, and when him and DBK had a Kaiju vs Kaiju battle together later in the Journey.

When MK prods him about it, Wukong becomes... kinda cold and closed off, telling MK that he's better off talking to Macaque about it.

Macaque is still barely in the "anti-hero" category, so MK is a little hesistant to ask him for help (especially since one of Macaque's teaching methods included a rom hack).

MK even tries going to DBK on the matter first, but the retired-demon king has a similar negative reaction. Seems that even he didn't like the Bull he became when him and Wukong truly fought. It's why he even refused to transform when he was under true duress from LBD or the Brotherhood.

DBK does give MK advice on what a "Kaiju/War form" is though. DBK's mind had been clouded with anger when he was a younger man, so his became a pure-white charging bull that destroyed all in it's path. Sun Wukong does not care for his War Form since it truly scares him to use.

MK thinks that impossible! Why would the Monkey King be afraid of his own super-cool power?

Until DBK asks him something important; "Aren't you afraid of yours?"

MK's complex over learning that he's a "Harbinger of Chaos" hits immediately, and he runs off to seek Macaque's guidance.

Macaque is amused, if not a little surprised that MK ultiamtely went to him for help with his Kaiju form.

MK: "Trust me bro, you're like my third choice. I can't ask Mei cus not even she knows how her's works." Macaque: "Eh. I'll take it. I am curious why yours is so much more taller than mine though."

Hint: it's a self worth thing Macaque developed whilst under the Brotherhood that he needed to "limit the space he took up", he's still working on that.

Some fun mentor-and-son-figure kaiju training occurs, and MK eventually asks a bombshell question;

MK: "Hey when Monkey King said you ran off, what did he mean?" Macaque, stiffens: "I didn't run from the celestial army if thats what you're wondering." MK, remembering what DBK said: "Were you afraid of Him?" Macaque, pauses and sighs: "At the time yes." MK: "At the time?" Macaque: "MK, in that moment, I hadn't known Wukong even had a War Form or even knew what they truly meant. All I saw was this... demon where my best friend once stood." MK: "OH... I mean... that sorta explains why you guys were fighting under the mountain." Macaque: "Yeah. You can see why I called him-" MK: "I mean, I wouldn't know how bad I'd feel if Mei ran away from me cus of my power up..." Macaque: "...what?" MK: "You ran away from your best friend. That's not cool. Scared or not, that was your buddy in there. And if he saw you running or I dunno shadow portal-ing away, I'd get why he was so salty when you popped up later with a peach like nothing had happened. From his view, he was going through something new and terrifying for him too and you abandoned him. Twice if you never came back to check in on him." Macaque: "... you're a smart kid MK. Way too smart for me." (*Macaque portals away to make a long overdue apology*)

Macaque himself seemed to be having a similar revelation when he saw the fight in 3rd person in the Memory Scroll. That his own reaction was more of a build-up of frustration from his treatment in the Brotherhood rather at Wukong specifically.

In Short; these bitches needed a relationship referee to call a yellow car when they tossed their unrelated anger at each other.

Bonus: I love the idea of Wukong's kaiju form being HUGE, and MK's being the medium between him and Macaque. Also, cuddly giant monkeys made of light and shadow.

[tulipsforyourlips]

✧˖°. i found you ✧˖°. (5)

|| the sandman x dead boy detectives ||

SUMMARY: You run the dead boys detective agency along with your two best friends. And somehow two ghosts and a living girl make it work. Until you dream one night, of dream himself.

PAIRING: dream of the endless x fem!reader

WC: 1500

WARNINGS: mentions of blood (the usual)

PART 5 ✧˖°.

You were sitting on your bed, pondering over Dream's words or actually the lack of them from last night. Why was it bothering you so much who he loved or did not? He probably had gone through an army of lovers being so ancient. You knew there was Nada, Calliope, courtesy of Matthew's inability to stay quiet for more than two seconds, and now Hope. But there was something about the first time he had said her name, pure anguish coating every syllable, that had your heart retreating into itself.

"No mate there is absolutely no way I am leaving her behind." Charles' muffled voice sliced through your silent rambling.

"Charles you cannot be serious. We can't put the entire agency to a halt because of one client," Edwin wailed.

"What's the problem?" You peeped through your door.

That's when you saw Jesse's curled form on the couch and the overheard conversation bore logic.

"She's still here?"

"Yeah." Edwin's face wore a scowl. But as he sensed the oncoming taunting suggestion from you, he hurriedly added, "which I have no problem with of course."

"Sure mate," you smirked. "I will stay with her."

Charles lifted his eyebrows.

"Yeah I am feeling super tired anyways. You guys go ahead," you assured the lot of two.

"How do you manage to feel exhausted after sleeping 10 hours a day absolutely stuns me. You stun me woman." Charles relieved a deep breath.

"Aw thankyou love," you pouted.

"Alright, Hazel keep a watch on her. And if anything strange occurs, call us immediately," Edwin spoke. "You sure you aren't staying behind because of your mysterious guy?"

You gave a mock chuckle.

"No seriously Haz how are things going with him?" Charles wiggled his brows. "Which base-"

"Okay okay okay out! Both of you."

You dropped the book titled 'Hope' with a thud on the table in front of you. You were waiting for Dream to join you tonight and in the meantime, your inquisitiveness had gotten a tight grip on you. So you had raked the library to locate Dream's past lover's record successfully, you might add. Excitement swooshing in your entire body, you flung the book open. Nothing. White blankness stared at you. You flipped through the pages. Still nothing. Are you kidding me? How is this even possible? Lucienne had told you that any being, immortal or not, living or not, had a book dedicated to their dreams and stories. Before you could lose more of your mind on the enigma on your hands, you heard the flapping of Matthew's wings. You quickly put the useless book back in its place.

"Boss wants ya."

You gaped at the apparition in front of you. Consider a rhinoceros, but bigger and scarier and from a fairy land. He was partially covered in moss and vines loosely wrapped around his ears and horn. You pitied the humans back in the waking world whose dreams the animal had ever had a cameo in. You were just glad you weren't one of them. Now not so much as the whimsical rhinoceros slowly made its way in your direction. You stretched your arm in front of you. And closed your eyes in concentration. The sounds of heavy stamping grew louder. You can do this. You have been doing this for weeks. The literal fate of the world depended on you being able to do this. You opened your eyes. Yellow eyes speedily approached you. You got this. Blinding pain seared through your palm where the pointed horn of the creature tore through your skin and the acute scent of copper wafted into the air. Dream raised his hand to dispel his creation.

"No!" you shouted. "Don't."

"Haz-"

"I got this." You got this.

Blackness seeped into the periphery of your vision but you reeled your focus back to the huffing beast in front of you. He started towards you again, sand flying from the rear of his feet. You shut your eyes. Enough. You are chosen for a destiny far greater than yours, Dream's words from your first encounter surfaced in your mind when you had accused him of being a serial killer. So much time had passed since then, so much time putting your body and mind through vigorous training, so much time withholding yourself from your bestfriends, so much time with Dream, who had placed his faith in your hands, gentle and soft. A faint energy began buzzing in the core of your soul, spreading throughout, tickling every nerve in your body and roaring in your ears. You opened your eyes, the creature's angry black pupils crashed against your outstretched bleeding hand, almost. The second his bristly face came in contact with your touch, his pupils dilated and he skidded to a stop. Your hand glowed with the hum of energy that slowly receded back from wherever it had come from, inside you. The animal leaned into your touch before pulling back and leaped away to from wherever Dream had summoned him. Dream. You tilted your head to where he stood, his lips twitched upwards all so ever slightly, a ghost of a smile. A fire ignited in your heart, from where it trickled down your insides, painting them warm, at the sight. He walked towards you and the wave of adrenaline rush that had kept you distracted from your punctured hand that was reddening the sand below, died down. Before the blood loss could take its toll on you, Dream's calloused yet silken fingers wrapped around your wounded hand. His touch though cold, lit your skin on fire. He rubbed sand over your hand. The blow of the pain simmered down to a dull ache. He severed the contact between your skins, leaving behind an abrupt chill. It was as if your body was calling for his hand again, craving for his touch.

His perfect lips parted, perfect? you perverted brain get a grip, "Hazel? Hazel?"

Shit. Were you staring? "Yeah,"

"How is your hand?"

You looked down, a black cloth was tied around it. How long were you zoned out?

You might have cared for the throbbing pain still lapping around it if you weren't reveling in the ecstasy your triumph had wrought. "It's better. Thankyou."

"You did well tonight, mortal."

"Shut. Up!" You turned towards the newly joined raven on your shoulder. "He can hand out praise?" You asked incredulously.

"Unsolved mysteries of the world," Matthew replied.

Dream's lips fought a smile.

You fisted blades of grass within your fingers as you sat alongside the Dream lord in your favourite place of all the realms. The darkness was slowly fading away, a hint of pink dotting the mountain edges. It would soon be time for you to wake up.

"Dream,"

Morpheus turned his attention to you. You didn't like the intensity of it. 

"Yes mortal?"

You hesitated.

Dream's gravelly voice jeered, "How many questions do you have?" Amusement danced in his eyes. 

You sighed and laid down your head on the soft grass. "It was you, wasn't it? That day at the sisters' house. You saved me from Aura." You finally gave voice to the doubt solidifying in your mind.

"That isn't a question Hazel."

"Why?"

"Because you are important to the survival of the realms." 

You felt a brush of disappointment at his answer. What were you expecting? That made a perfect explanation for why he had saved you. This partnership was not forged out of any preference or want. You were chosen for this. He was stuck with you.

"So what happens now? With the nightmares under control- Why did you even create them in the first place? Just some merry dreams would have sufficed don't ya reckon?"

"Nightmares serve a crucial purpose. They are merely meant to reflect a man's worst fears so he can face them."

"I wish I could say makes sense."

"Don't trouble your puny mortal brain with the rules of the universe," he said in a teasing tone.

Your laugh was gradual but it came. He was getting better with his jokes. You felt Dream watch you intently. He had begun to open up. You had managed to writhe little information about his past but whatever you had, the Corinthian, Roderick Burgess, Rose Walker, he had given it up willingly. Do you ever get lonely? You had asked him your first time in the Dreaming. Even though he hadn't replied to you then, you had come to know the answer. He was just as eager for company as you were for his.

"Well back to the concerned topic, with the dreams now learning to trust again, what happens now?" You asked.

The sun had emerged from the diving nook between the mountains. Its rays spilled honey all around you. 

"We will decide tomorrow." Were the last words of your dream as you were tugged back into wakeness.

[enigmaticexplorer]

Fake Mating Bonds: The Similarity Between Rowan/Lyria and Elain/Lucien

This post was inspired by @violetasteracademic who pointed out the similarity when discussing fake mating bonds between Azriel's ACOSF bonus chapter and Empire of Storms. You can read it here!

I've decided to take her breakdown a step further and 1) compare Rowan and Lucien, and how they regard Lyria and Elain, and 2) rely on these canon scenes to suggest that the mating bond between Elain and Lucien is fake. None of this is novel. It's been around for years, and most people who've engaged in the fandom probably know all of this. But I like having page numbers to reference, so I thought this would be helpful.

This post contains spoilers for TOG, ACOTAR, and HOFAS.

(KOA: Chapter 5 - pages 62-63)

She’d [Maeve] gone into his head to trick him into thinking Lyria was his mate, had fooled the very instincts that made him a Fae male…. Why Lyria had been so frightened of him for those initial months, why it had been so damn hard to court her, even with that mating bond, its truth unknown to Lyria as well. She was gentle, and quiet, and kind. A different sort of strength, yes, but not what he might have chosen for himself.

(ACOWAR: Chapter 24 - page 249)

Touch her, smell her, taste her— The instincts were a running river… But there she was. His mate. She was nothing like Jesminda. Jesminda had been all laughter and mischief, too wild and free to be contained by the country life that she’s been born into…. She had chosen him. Elain had been…thrown at him.

What Rowan and Lucien Think About Their "Mates'" Personalities

To start, let's look at how Rowan and Lucien think about Lyria and Elain, respectively.

Rowan describes Lyria as gentle, quiet, and kind—all three are attributes he respects. And yet he admits that they're not characteristics of a mate he would have chosen for himself. He knew that Lyria's personality wasn't his preference, and it's even implied (refer to the last line from the section above) that he questioned why Lyria was his mate.

Similarly, Lucien describes Jesminda as laughter, mischief, wild, and free. He claims that Jesminda had chosen him—regardless of station—but Elain had been thrown at him. Through this comparison between Jesminda and Elain, it's implied that 1) Elain does not have the personality traits Lucien admired in Jesminda—personality traits he would have liked his mate (his true love) to possess, and, therefore, 2) Lucien doesn't see Elain as a mate he would have chosen for himself.

Both Rowan and Lucien make it clear that their "mates" had/have unusual personality traits—traits that oppose their preferences. [Note: Lyria and Elain's traits/personalities (being quiet, kind, gentle) are not depicted as bad traits. They're simply not the traits these males prefer in a partner.]

Lyria and Elain's Reactions to Their "Mating" Bonds

Now that we've established similarities between Rowan and Lucien's thinking about Lyria and Elain, respectively, let's look at how both female characters react to the bond.

Rowan tells us that Lyria was afraid of him, initially. And while Rowan admits to eventually coming to love her (same chapter, bottom of page 62), Lyria's fear—due to the unnatural state of their bond—made their courtship difficult. The text implies that 1) she avoided Rowan and 2) only once he proved himself a decent male—and because of the tug of the bond—did she give into him.

Similarly, Elain remains disinterested with Lucien. I don't think it's implied that she's afraid of him, like Lyria was of Rowan, however, she is uncomfortable around Lucien. She avoids him, and she only interacts with him when her family forces her to. And her interactions are polite, nothing more. Their "courtship" is difficult and problematic with Elain not wanting to entertain Lucien's attention/forced affections, and Lucien being uninspired to truly pursue her. [An aside: I don’t think that Lucien deserves applause for giving Elain space. A male not forcing himself on a woman is not admirable—it’s the bare minimum of human existence (in this case Fae existence).]

It seems that both Lyria and Elain had/have an instinctive knowledge that something was/is wrong with their bond—both females avoided/avoid their "mates" unless forced to see him. An unusual characteristic considering that we're told a mating bond overpowers your base instincts and should have compelled them to at least show some interest in Rowan/Lucien.

Males Portraying Mate-Like Behaviors with Their Fake Mates

I've seen a few posts circling about how Lucien feels so strongly for Elain and because he portrays mate-like behaviors towards her, that means they're end game.

In the KOA passage, we learn that Rowan felt mate-like tendencies for Lyria. He claims the mating bond that Maeve constructed "had fooled the very instincts that made him a Fae male." The very instincts.

We also see these mate-like behaviors described earlier in the series.

(HOF: Chapter 35 - pages 303-304)

"When you lose a mate, you don't..." A shake of the head. "I lost all sense of self, of time and place..." "For ten years, I did nothing. I vanished. I went mad. Beyond mad. I felt nothing at all. I just...left. I wandered the world, in and out of my forms, hardly marking the seasons, eating only when my hawk told me it needed to feed or it would die. I would have let myself die--except I...couldn't bring myself..." "I had nothing. No one. At that point, I hoped serving her [Maeve] might get me killed, and then I could see Lyria again."

Even though Lyria wasn't his real mate, Rowan still felt that pull to her. He believed—thanks to his fae male instincts—that she was his mate, and when she died, he spent ten years mourning her. Ten years barely eating. Ten years spending most of his time in hawk form. And he took the blood oath to Maeve with the hope that he would die and reunite with Lyria.

Remember: Lyria wasn't Rowan's real mate. And yet he still displayed all of those mate feelings and behaviors. So much so he nearly died because of his grief.

Similarly, we see Lucien display the same feelings/thoughts for Elain—hence his internal monologue in ACOWAR to touch her, taste her, claim her. However, as we've learned from Rowan's experience, male's portraying mate-like behaviors and feelings is not confined to real mate bonds. These instincts can be—and have been—bastardized and abused to create fake bonds.

So, even though Lucien displays some mate-like feelings/behaviors for Elain, it doesn't mean that Elain and Lucien are real mates. Even then, his willingness to stay away from her and give her space (again, I will not applaud him for not forcing himself on Elain), is at odds with how a mated male acts around and towards his mate. Compare Lucien to Rowan—Rowan couldn't stay away from Lyria and he actively pursued her, even though she wasn't his real mate.

Based on these comparisons, we can safely theorize—and assume—that a fake mating bond exists between Elain and Lucien. Elain does not act like a mated female (I will not judge Elain for wanting to kiss Azriel, and I will always support female characters choosing their own love), and even though Lucien shows some mate-like tendencies, his willingness and ability to avoid Elain, and compare her to Jesminda, is unusual for a mated male.

The real question is: Who or What created the fake mating bond between Elain and Lucien?

I'm inclined to believe it was the Cauldron. From what we learned in HOFAS, the Cauldron was "warped" by the Asteri.

(HOFAS: Chapter 19 - pages 195-196)

...the Daglan captured it [the Cauldron] and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction.

The Cauldron is not a benevolent or good Thing. It causes both creation but also destruction. And it's not farfetched to theorize that the Cauldron—like Maeve—created the bond between Elain and Lucien. However, there's not enough canonical evidence to truly suggest that it was the Cauldron that created their bond.

That being said, canon has made it clear that 1) a fake mating bond can exist, and 2) mate-like tendencies are not definitive of a real mating bond.

[lilac-witch]

If My Wish Came True, It Would've Been You - Azriel x OC

CHAPTER TWO: ONCE UPON A TIME, THE PLANETS AND THE FATES AND ALL THE STARS ALIGNED

word count: 816

synopsis: All it takes is a bit of courage, and a leap of faith, to come one step closer to salvation. Something the Inner Circle are in desperate need of.

warnings: none.

main masterlist | series masterlist

"How sure are we that this is going to work?"

Cassian's words cut through the air like a sharp breeze, breathing new life into the roam. The life being a weeks-old question.

Could they really make the jump to another world.

"There's no telling," Amren stated bluntly. "All we can hope for is that those books haven't been gathering dust in Rhys' library over the centuries for absolutely nothing."

Azriel watched the small female. The way he had watched her for the last fortnight, nose buried in book after book, desperately searching for the answers they so desperately sought. Amren had been nothing short of miraculous, gathering a plethora of possibilities to help them make the journey to Midgard.

"Do you have everything you need?" Rhys asked, his arms folded, shoulders stiff with unreleased tension.

"I believe so," Amren replied, glancing at the stash atop the oak dinner table, including but not limited to an assortment of dried vegetation, bird feathers, odd-coloured liquids and bones from a source Azriel hoped he'd never come to know. "All that's left is to decide which lucky males and females get to cross the boundaries of space and time."

No one moved, and rightfully so. They had no idea what to expect of the world Bryce Quinlan hailed from, other than the atrocities she'd shown them.

"I'll go."

Azriel watched as Cassian's eyes widened in horror at Nesta's statement. His brother shook his head, muttering to his mate under his breath, begging, pleading that she reconsider.

"Enough, Cassian," Nesta snapped, eyes blazing with those all too familiar silver flames. "I said I'm going, and that's final."

Azriel sympathised with his brother. If it were his mate, he would do anything to keep her someplace out of harm's way. But Nesta was not his mate. She was a warrior. A Valkyrie. She would let no male take her power away from her.

"I should go as well," Rhysand breathed, wincing slightly at the thought of having Nesta as a travel companion. "I suggested this plan. It's only fair I present it."

Feyre was easy to read when in the company of friends and family. Her face was an open book. Azriel knew the idea of being separated pained his High Lady, and his High Lord, especially so soon after Nyx's arrival into the family. But Feyre knew what needed to be done to ensure a safe world for their son to grow up in.

The youngest Archeron sister nodded. "I'll stay, ensure the court continues to run smoothly. Cassian should stay as well. We don't want the Illyrian camps to fall into disarray."

Cassian opened his mouth to object, but one scathing look from Rhys had him clamping his jaw shut with a huff. In any other situation, the action might have been funny. But there was nothing funny about potentially bridging the gap between life and death.

Mor was the next to volunteer, saying something about wanting a first-hand glance at what a night out looks like on another planet, but Azriel's mind had wandered elsewhere. He couldn't help but feel like something was edging him to join this 'little' expedition. Like a rope had been tied to his wrist and was tugging him along a path.

Azriel's shadows skittered as he announced his decision. He'd go to Midgard.

"Well if my favourite Night Court duo are going, it must be a sign that I join!"

Azriel cursed under his breath, turning to see Helion waltzing through the entryway. He'd chastise his shadows later for their lack of vigilance.

"What if it's a sign to stay away?" Mor drawled, challenge gleaming in her eyes.

Helion gasped dramatically, a hand finding its way to the centre of his bronzed chest. "Why, Morrigan. You wound me."

Rhys cleared his throat, putting an end to the dramatic skit. "It's settled then. Nesta, Mor, Azriel, Helion, and I will find Bryce Quinlan and the solution to all of our problems."

Rhys turned his gaze to Amren. "Whenever you're prepared."

Azriel took his place beside Rhys, observing the vicious black-haired female drop the various ingredients into a mortar and pestle, grinding the contents into a coarse powder before adding some form of liquid to create an obnoxious yellow paste.

"You'll only need a thumbnail's worth," she said, passing the bowl to each member of their group. "Place it on your tongue, and swallow when you're ready."

The five of them said their goodbyes, heard the silent prayers for safe travels and formed a small circle. One glance around the room could be their undoing, could be the reason their mission failed. One selfish reason to stay and live out their days in as much happiness as possible.

"Well," Mor said, glancing owlishly at the disgusting paste. "We always did say to whatever end."

"To whatever end," they agreed.

And then they took the leap.

Oh my gosh guys, I'm so sorry it's been so long. I've been trying to grapple with an increased workload, and writer's block on top of everything. Thank you for being patient, and I hope you can continue to be. This is a bit of a filler chapter for the next to come, but I hope you enjoy it in any case :)

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the Tag List!

Tag List: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @talesofadragon

[djdizazter]

SHADOWPEACH BIO KIDS PART 2

Wukong stood there, gawking at the two small forms. In his mind he knew something about this was…wrong. The fact that the babies before him were where he was born, where MK and Yue had been born. But, he couldn't just leave the babies by themselves.

Wukong gently picked up the baby closest to him, and cradled it to his chest. The baby stopped crying and opened its eyes, one gold, and one violet.

Wukong sucked in a breath. He looked over at his mate, “Mac. Do you know what this means?” Wukong's eyes teared up “We're their family.”

Macaque had picked up the other baby, and was cradling it. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Wukong, we can't take care of them. They don't even belong to us.” He said looking down at the child in arms. “They might look like us, but…”

Wukong's tail twitched in irritation “If we can't take care of them, who can? Yue has her hands full with Xiao as is, Mk is always running noodle orders or training, and I'm pretty sure Pigsy and Tang wouldn't appreciate us dumping another set of twins on them.”

Mac took another look at the child nestled in his arms, quietly sleeping. He sighed. “Well, when you put it like that Peaches, guess we have no choice.”

Wukong beamed and strode over to his mate and planted a kiss on his mouth, “Guess we're parents now.” Wukong chuckled

Mac smiled at his mate, “Guess we are.” Mac looked at the baby in Wukong's arms, and then the one in his. “They're going to need names.”

Wukong thought for a moment, before looking at the sky that had begun to lighten above them, the faintest hint of starlight still hanging in the sky like dew on a spider web.

“Let's call them Xingguang and Yuxuan.” Wukong said, looking back down at his mate.

Macaque tilted his head, “Starlight and Dawn?” He huffed “Did you just get that off the top of your head?”

Wukong shook his head. “It just feels…right Mac.” He threw his mate a mischievous look “Unless you have a better suggestion?”

Mac thought for a moment before huffing. “I guess Xingguang and Yuxuan are fine.” Macaque shivered as a chilly morning breeze blew over the mountaintop. “Let's get them inside, it's freezing”

Wukong followed his mate back to Flower Fruit Mountain through the portal, and they laid the now sleeping twins down on Wukong's bed.

Mac sighed “We're going to have to find something for them to sleep in, and food…and clothes…oh stars, do you think they'll need formula?” Macaque whispered to Wukong

Wukong waved a hand to dismiss his and his mate's doubts, “Mac, we'll figure that out tomorrow, alright? Let's just get some rest for now, and talk about all the logistics tomorrow.” Wukong laid down gently next to the twins, motioning Mac to do the same.

After a heartbeat, Mac laid on the other side of the two sleeping twins and put his head on his pillow.

As the sun was rising on Flower Fruit Mountain, it also rose on another stage of Macaque and Wukong's lives.

Wukong stirred awake when he felt movement next to him. Xingguang was starting to wake up, her two tails twitching. Wukong looked over at Macaque, surprised to find him snuggling a still very asleep Yuxuan.

Xingguang's eyes opened, and she immediately started chirping and crawling towards Yuxuan and Mac. Wukong just chuckled and scooped up the small monkey.

“Let's let your brother and, ” Wukong still couldn't believe he was saying this “Dad rest for a little while more.” He whispered as he got up and walked into the kitchen and started looking for food to feed Xingguang.

“Now what's a good starter food…” Wukong thought out loud as he dug through his cupboards

“Peach!”

Wukong stopped dead in his tracks and snapped his head down to look at Xingguang, who was pointing at the bowl of peaches that Yue had given Wukong as a present.

“Peach!” Xingguang said excitedly, making Wukong blink in shock.

Masterpost

Part one

Part 3

[1800naveen]

ACOSF 1-5

Chapter 1:

“Feyre wants you at the house.” “Which one?” Nesta said, frowning at the foot he’d wedged in the door. “She has five.”

WHY DO Y'ALL NEED FIVE MANSIONS??

Cassian said at last, “Feyre is High Lady. She’s busy running the Night Court.”

High Lady of Velaris but ok.

He took the invitation to survey her: long bare legs, an elegant sweep of hips, tapered waist—too damn thin—and full, inviting breasts that were at odds with the new, sharp angles of her body. On any other female, those magnificent breasts might have been enough cause for him to begin courting her the moment he met her. But from the instant he’d met Nesta, the cold fire in her eyes had been a temptation of a different sort.

I hate men.

There had been some days in the past year when she hadn’t even bothered to take the time. Some days when she’d climbed into the icy water, not feeling its bite but that of the Cauldron’s dark depths as it devoured her whole. As it ripped away her humanity, her mortality, and made her into this.

"Nesta and Elain are so lucky!" Are they? Are they really?

It had taken her months of battling it—the body-tensing panic that made her very bones tremble to be submerged. But she’d forced herself to face it down. Had learned to sit in the icy water, nauseated and shaking, teeth gritted; had refused to move until her body recognized that she was in a tub and not the Cauldron, that she was in her apartment and not the stone castle across the sea, that she was alive, immortal. Even though her father was not.

Her and Elain deserve better. Ianthe and king of Hybern, burn.

Even their gods-damned father had a portrait on the wall along one side of the grand staircase: him and Elain, smiling and happy, as they’d been before the world went to shit.

Not the deadbeat getting a painting.

“Though I bet it’s hard to look good,” Amren went on, “when you’re out until the darkest hours of the night, drinking yourself stupid and fucking anything that comes your way.”

Why is this short bitch speaking? HYPOCRITE, Y'ALL BEEN DOING THIS FOR YEARS!

Rhys said, “You are going to stay. You are going to listen.” She let out a low laugh. “You’re not my High Lord. You don’t give me orders.” But she knew how powerful he was. Had seen it, felt it. Still trembled to be near him.

MOTHER NESTA🙏🏾

“Keep your self-righteous do-gooder nonsense out of my life.”

What did Catelyn Stark say?

Chapter 2:

The eldest of the Archeron sisters had a talent for getting under everyone’s skin.

Me and Nesta twinning🤞🏾

Cassian had been eating an early breakfast with them this morning when Rhys had gotten the bill for Nesta’s night out. When Rhys had read each item aloud. Bottles of rare wine, exotic foods, gambling debts … Feyre had stared at her plate until silent tears dripped into her scrambled eggs.

GOOFY, Y'ALL ARE RICH

It had required all of Cassian’s training, every horror he’d endured on and off the battlefield, to keep that same crushing sorrow from his own face.

It's just money, calm down. You're also rich?

Amren had suggested a few days in a dungeon in the Hewn City, but Feyre had simply said that the human world would be more than enough of a prison for someone like Nesta.

The place that y'know, tortures its women and sells them at the highest bidder?

“You spent five hundred gold marks last night!” Feyre exploded, shooting to her feet to pace in front of the hearth. “Do you know how much money that is? Do you know how embarrassed I was when we got the bill this morning and my friends—my family—had to hear all about it?”

YOU ARE RICH! YOUR MATE IS RICH! YOUR NEW FAMILY IS RICH!

“It is about how it reflects upon me, upon Rhys, and upon my court when my damned sister spends our money on wine and gambling and does nothing to contribute to this city! If my sister cannot be controlled, then why should we have the right to rule over anyone else?”

Bitch, you rule over Velaris. You don't rule over Illyria, you don't rule over Hewn City. Only Velaris. You certainly don't care about the women in either region and you wear the wings of the women who get theirs clipped.

Chapter 3:

He braced himself. He’d been anticipating this talk since he’d spent four months with the Illyrians, soothing the jagged edges amongst the war-bands, making sure the families who’d lost fathers and sons and brothers and husbands were taken care of, that they knew he was there to help and to listen, and generally making it very fucking clear that if they rose up against Rhys, there would be hell to pay.

And they still wonder why Illyrians hates them. They're your people, why do you feel superior over them?

Rhys threw him a wicked smile. “It’s not the fighting I don’t want them hearing.”

Kill him.

He and his brothers had put a good deal of distance between the stupid youths they’d been—fucking any female who showed interest, often in the same room as each other—and the males they were now. He wanted to keep it that way.

Why do men? Nesta bangs random men and it's wrong but they can do shit like this?

Chapter 4:

Mor sipped her tea, the portrait of elegant innocence. “We’d be better off throwing Nesta into the Court of Nightmares. She’d thrive there.” Cassian clenched his jaw, both at the insult and the truth. “That’s exactly the sort of existence we’re trying to steer her away from.”

Elegant innocence, my ass. Whoever says Mor is a girl's girl has no frontal lobe. Cassian, Mor, and Amren, go to hell challenge!

He again let himself admire her perfect face. Beyond the disastrous consequences for Mor after their night together, the fallout with Rhys afterward had been awful, and Azriel had been so furious in his own quiet way that Cassian had quelled any further desire for Mor. Had let lust turn into affection, and all romantic feelings turn into familial bonds. But he could still admire her sheer beauty—as he’d admire any work of art. Even though he knew well that what lay inside Mor was far more lovely and perfect than her exterior.

The inside is worse but go off I guess. Also a "brother" wouldn't talk about his "sister" like that. Cersei and Jaime come again.

Mor took another bite from her pastry. “Lucien can’t be entirely trusted anymore.” Cassian started. “What?” “Even with Elain here, he’s become close with Jurian and Vassa. He’s voluntarily living with them these days, and not just as an emissary. As their friend.”

Damn, can't a man have friends?

Chapter 5:

His hazel eyes guttered. “Not eating won’t bring your father back.”

Acting like a dick won't bring your mother back. Oh my! Who said that?

Settling himself required the entire three minutes she was downstairs. The Mother knew he had enough to deal with today, both with Nesta’s lesson and beyond it, without descending into thoughts of peeling those pants off her and worshipping every inch of that spectacular backside.

I'LL TREAT YOU RIGHT, NESTA! SHE SHOULD'VE BEEN A GIRL KISSER!

But fuck—when had he last had a satisfying roll in the sheets? Certainly not since the war. Maybe since before Feyre had freed them all from Amarantha’s grip. Cauldron boil him, it had been the month before Amarantha had fallen, hadn’t it? With that female he’d met at Rita’s. In an alley outside the pleasure hall. Against a brick wall. Quick and dirty and over within minutes, neither he nor the female wanting anything more than swift release. That had been more than two years ago. It had been his hand ever since. He should have scratched that particular itch before deciding that living in the House with Nesta was a good idea. She was hurting and adrift and the last thing she needed was him panting after her.

I have no words but what the fuck?

A stupid fucking hope, and one he should have known better than to harbor. So that Winter Solstice night on the icy streets, when he knew she’d only shown up at the town house to get the money Feyre had dangled in exchange for making an appearance, when she’d asserted that she wanted nothing to do with him … he’d thrown the present he’d spent months hunting down into the frozen Sidra and then busied himself with quelling the growing dissent amongst the Illyrians.

Cassian when someone wants to be left alone: 🤬🤬. Temper tantrums at his grown age?

Nesta emerged, her braided hair now coiled across the crown of her head like a woven tiara. He made a point not to look beneath her neck. At the body left on display. She needed to gain back the weight she’d lost, and pack on some muscle, but … those fucking leathers.

When I'm in the sexualizing Nesta challenge but Cassian is already eyeing her.

Will post chapter 6 to 10 reactions some other time. Until then✌🏾