#shouting poetry at each other about the other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunnami · 6 months ago

Text

❝we can't be friends (wait for your love.)❞

[credits to @artofpan for the lovely art! title is taken from ariana grande's song, we can't be friends.]

summary. fortune favours the bold, so they say. but you're an awkward ravenclaw in yearning.

pairing/s. poly!marauders x reader (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

word count. 11.4k

tags. childhood friends to ex-friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like remus and tonks, also a bit of spice ;3

note. asdhjf while im working on the last part of the time traveller au pls enjoy this fluffy piecee ueueue

‘TIS THE SEASON OF raucous jeering and gaudy paraphernalia in the corridors, the unmistakable scent of overly-polished brooms, mud trekking through the cobblestone floors, and jerseys soaked in sweat, rain, and grime after hours of vigorous training. The dreaded second week of school where arrogant fledglings end up in the infirmary on account of broken noses, dislocated shoulders, or sprained wrists.

In other words: Quidditch tryouts.

You’re just not fond of the havoc wreaked in every corner and alcove of the castle. But to your relief, the library remains untouched through it all.

Needless to say, you absolutely hate Quidditch.

It is a fact you simply will not elaborate on. The skies are blue, the grass blades are green; you and the Marauders are as different as night and day.

On your way to the library, the last bastion of academia, you weave past the crowd in the courtyard corridor, ears ringing from the shouting match earlier in the Great Hall for breakfast—something about the Cannons versus the Magpies. There’s a pile of books shoved inside your leather satchel, painfully bumping into your hip with each step you take. You traverse through the Romanesque architecture, blissfully unaware of the misfortune to come.

“If I study for Charms now, I can take a nap for the rest of the day,” You say to yourself, pensively tapping at your chin.

“Watch out!”

You barely have any time to react before a Quaffle comes crashing straight into your face.

“Merlin’s hairy arsehole—fuck!” There’s a sicky sound of bones cracking, a dizzying flash of white before your eyes, and something viscous trickling from your nose down to your lips. Your hands fly to your face—instantly flinching when you catch a glimpse of your fingers dipped in blood. Your eyes grow wide in panic, chest rapidly heaving—it’s only now that you realize that you’re sitting on the ground, textbooks laying haphazardly around you, shoulders quivering from the adrenaline. The crowd’s concerned murmurs are lost in the cacophony of hysteria.

“Move!”

To your rescue, is Alice Fortescue, a fellow prefect. She cuts through the onlookers of petrified first-years and nosey fifth-years. You have no doubt this incident will grace the school’s gossip column for the next few days. She grabs your arm and wraps it around her shoulder with ease. You’d write poetry of her gallant display, but you were too busy moaning in agony. She utters a few incantations to stop your nosebleed from worsening, though there’s not much she can do to help with the possible concussion.

“Did you know Bludgers used to be called blooders?” You mumble languidly, nearly crashing into one of the knight statues.

“I do now,” replies Alice, tightening her hold on your waist, the ghost of a fond smile on her face. (She’s missed you, actually—three and a half years of radio silence. There used to be a time where running into you in the Gryffindor common rooms was an everyday occurrence. Even the Ravenclaw prefects knew where to look first if they wanted to find you.)

After what feels like an eternity of trudging through the castle, you finally reach the infirmary. The matron, Poppy Pomfrey, shrieks in alarm at the sight of your soiled blouse and blood stained lips. She gently ushers you into her hold, guiding you to a vacant bed. Alice hangs back, awkwardly shuffling her feet, gaze worriedly trained on you.

“You may return to your classes, Miss Fortescue, thank you,” says Madam Pomfrey, tipping your head upwards and grimacing. “Oh, good heavens, what happened?”

Your head droops in her palms, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—you must have bit your tongue earlier. You blubber pathetically, “Got hit by a stray quaffle.”

Wordlessly, Madam Pomfrey summons a vial from her stash in the cupboards. She hands the small bottle to you, uttering various healing spells under her breath with a deft expertise of someone who’s been doing this for years upon years now. “There,” says Madam Pomfrey, lips firmly pursed. “That should help with the fractured cheekbones.”

With—what?

As your eyes bulge out of your head, Madam Pomfrey looks over you once more, a floating quill at her side hastily scribbling on a parchment. “Concussion, mild blood loss, fracture in the cheekbones, broken nose cartilage.” She illuminates the tip of her wand, and moves it left and right in front of you. “Hmm. Any nausea at all, dear?”

“There’s a six point four chance I’m going to get amnesia,” You whisper solemnly, head hanging low as your voice cracks from the unbearable pain. “I don’t want to get amnesia.”

“There’s no need for you to worry about that while you’re under my care.” Madam Pomfrey gently nudges you to lay on the pillow. She hands you a folded blanket. “Rest now. We’ll keep you here until the morning in case your condition worsens.”

“I can’t.” You groan, sitting upright—Madam Pomfrey pushes you back onto the bed with a stern glare. “I’ve got to study.”

“And I’ve got three other students to tend to. Mister Lockhart has been dealing with food poisoning all week.” Madam Pomfrey places her hands on her hips, sighing sharply. She jerks her thumb behind her back—that’s when you notice that three certain people are staring back at you. Sirius Black and James Potter squeezing together in one chair—and miserably failing—and Remus Lupin, resting cozily on the infirmary bed with bandages around his arms and head. “And don’t even get me started on this one.”

“You love him, Poppy, don’t lie.” Sirius grins wolfishly at the matron. You make out the sunken bags underneath his gray eyes, pale lips and his unkempt heap of dark curls.

Pomfrey huffs exasperatedly. “It would be easier to wrangle a hoard of Hippogriffs than to keep you three out of the infirmary past visiting hours.” She spares you one last glance, nodding when she deems you safe and healthy—as can be, anyway. Gilderoy Lockhart rolls out of his bed, his cries echoing around the room, threatening to barf up his entire breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey is gone in an instant.

There is an awkward silence that envelops your side of the room—you roll over on your left, desperately ignoring the three of stares burning intensely into your back.

THE STORY GOES like this:

You know their names more than you know your own. Each morning finds them at the Ravenclaw common room’s doorstep—while waiting, Lily, Sirius and Remus try to figure out the password as James attempts to brute force his way in. (He had actually figured out the riddle minutes ago, James would just rather play along with his friends.) The blue-tied prefects watch endearingly as one of their first-years rush out of the tower, squealing deafeningly, and jumps right into the lion cubs’ embrace. (It’s not that Inter-House friendships are rare, it’s more common than one would think; usually, it just takes more time for the eaglets to break out of their shell.)

“I got a hundred and twelve!” You exclaim merrily, hair in disarray and eyes puffy from having just woken up. Lily grabs your hands; together, the both of you jump up and down, excitedly giggling in celebration of the success of your History of Magic essay. (You had ignored them for a day to focus on your homework—Sirius did not like that at all. It wasn’t as fun to play if one of their friends were missing. Gone off to study, of all things.)

The tale of your friendship may be an unsolved mystery to some, but to you, it’s like finding jigsaw pieces that perfectly fit together. Magic isn’t only centaurs in forbidden forests, or ceilings bewitched to look like the night sky—sometimes it’s stumbling into a random train compartment and shyly offering your bag of assorted treats. Next thing you know, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon are constantly with you in the library, oohing and aahing over pages of the fantasy novels Lily had brought from the muggle world.

There’s rarely a day where you aren’t spotted in a sea of red and gold. Except when you’ve studied yourself sick—and the Marauders are never fond of that.

(“I’m sorry, she can’t come down today,” says one of the fifth-year prefects, Lalita Burman, a rather tall girl with intricate curls, brown skin, and eyes that stare into one’s soul. She wakes up to banging on the tower entrance, not even eight o’clock in the morning yet—on a Saturday. It doesn’t come off as a surprise anymore when she opens the door to five red-faced children. “She’s come down with the flu. Most of the firsties have, actually. Madam Pomfrey says they’ll get better by tomorrow but Alex and I have been running ourselves ragged looking after them.”

James Potter narrows his eyes at her. “Okay. Then we’ll go inside.”

“Maybe we can help,” says Remus.

Lalita holds up her hand to stop them from barging in. “That’s really sweet, but we can’t risk any of you getting sick as well.”

Sirius stands on his toes to spy past Lalita’s shoulder, frowning when he finds nothing of importance—or really, when he can’t find you. He couldn’t wait to call you stupid for getting yourself sick—you just missed out on frog hunting. “That’s alright.” He huffs, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “Our immune system can take it. Will you let us in now?”

Her eye twitches. “Come back tomorrow.”

With that, she slams the door in their faces.

The Marauders then declare you are never, ever allowed to get sick again.)

Your second year in the castle creeps up on you without you noticing.

“Remus Lupin, I am going to kill you!”

No one bats an eyelash when you stalk up to the Gryffindor table, twelve years old and on a mission, fresh from the summer holidays. You slam your hands down onto the table, eyes ablaze as Remus stares at you, head resting on his palms, shaggy blond hair falling over his brows—no thoughts, head empty, just sheer adoration.

“Hello there, stranger,” Remus says, grinning fiendishly. “You look rather lovely—did you have a good holiday?”

You scoff, pointing an accusatory finger at him—Peter watches at the scene with wide eyes, slowly chomping on his shepherd’s pie, not an inkling as to what was going on. “Don’t try me, Lupin!” You exclaim sternly. “That book you gave me—you said it would have a happy ending! Tell me why I stayed up until bloody five o’clock in the morning crying me eyes out! You. . . you—!”

“Wanker, dingbat, berk, git,” Lily supplies helpfully with an innocent smile, pulling you down to sit with her. “And my personal favorite—toerag.”

You gape at the pretty redhead, jaw falling to the floor. “How do you even know these words?”

She hums nonchalantly, spreading blueberry jam onto her buttered toast. “A lady must arm herself with the necessary ammunition.” Lily points to a certain pair of boys—James and Sirius are currently engaged in an eating contest, shoveling pancakes after pancakes inside their mouths; so far it looks like Sirius is winning. Lily sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Especially if she wants to survive that kind of company.”

“Him, even more,” says Lily, gesturing to Remus. “He may be Professor McGonagall’s golden boy but I see right through him.”

“What can I say?” Remus smirks, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “I’m a monster.”

Lily glares at him.

Then, you turn thirteen—the dreaded age. Suddenly, you’re dealing with oily skin, acne, body odor, hair growing out of places you didn’t even know could grow hair, hormones messing up the way you look at everyone else—something awakens in you the day you see Dorcas Meadowes in the Quidditch pitch wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck—and hormones messing up the way you look at yourself.

Everything is starting to change.

You usually never blink twice when James wraps his arms around your waist, laying his head on your shoulder. Except this time, he’s gone from a gangly bean sprout, to a heartthrob with perfectly messy hair, newly defined muscles from his countless hours of Quidditch training, charming smile, eyes that one could get lost into for hours, and a tantalizing scent of mint and bergamot.

“Are you really not going to our game this Saturday?” James whispers in your ear—the five of you had been hanging out in the library.

You sigh. “Can‘t. Sorry.”

“Scared your House is going to lose to us, pet?” Sirius teases from where he’s sitting backwards on the chair next to you, engrossed in twirling locks of your hair around his finger.

You bristle at the nickname—they have been brazen with the endearments lately, you’ve noticed. “It’s not like we’re going to win anyway,” You mumble, tapping your quill on the empty parchment—there’s never any work done while they’re around. “There’s only a sixteen point seven percent chance of Ravenclaw winning against Gryffindor.”

James wrinkles his nose, now sitting on the edge of the table. “Percent, shmercent. What matters is how everyone plays that day.”

He kicks his legs against yours, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “So, will you come watch?”

“We have that History of Magic project, remember,” You say defeatedly. “I need to get started on it this week otherwise I’ll be behind all the electives I signed up for this year.”

Lily frowns, looking up from her own homework to glance at you in concern. “How many did you even pick?”

“All of them.”

“What?” Lily screeches in terror, suddenly rising from her seat to lean over the table. “How is that even possible? How did McGonagall even allow that?”

“Professor Flitwick,” You correct, wincing when Lily and Sirius glare at you. “It took a lot of convincing, but eventually I wore him down. All I had to do was rework some of my class schedules and promise him over a thousand times that my wellbeing wouldn’t ever be compromised by my studies. Otherwise he’d take back his decision.”

Remus doesn’t seem all too happy. “No wonder we don’t see you at Transfiguration anymore.”

“Or in Kettleburn’s class,” Peter pipes in.

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be taking that many classes at once?” Remus grimaces, sharing a worried look with James. “The limit is three, and even that is too much to handle.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

(Peter knows a lie when he hears one.)

James tenses up, jaw tightening. “So you’re saying you’re going to miss a game because of school? Like all the other times? That’s bullcrap!”

Remus hisses his name in warning.

Tears prick your eyes instantly—you’ve heard him speak like this when quarreling with Slytherins, but never to your face. “That bullcrap means a lot to me, Potter. You’d understand that if you took your studies seriously more than just going around and playing silly pranks on everyone!”

James scoffs. “Like how you take us seriously? Did you know that Lily is the youngest ever to be invited to Slughorn’s club? Yeah, she got the invitation last week. Did you congratulate her for that when she was staying up late with you to revise for your practical test in Herbology?”

“I—” You stammer, guilt pooling in your stomach.

“No, you didn’t.” James sneers. “You only see yourself. Do you know what Remus has been going through? Do you even care?”

“That’s enough, James,” Lily says vehemently.

“Well, if you think like that, maybe we all should just stop being friends!” You retort.

Before anyone else can reply, Madam Pince comes around the corner, and everyone falls silent—a tense atmosphere that threatens to choke you. With a heavy heart, you gather your belongings and run out of the library.

The months pass by, and Frank Longbottom wonders why he doesn’t wake up at midnight anymore to find five students having a sleepover in the common room with a certain eagle, each of them trying to contain their giggles and failing. (One time, the Prewett twins had run down the stairs in panic, only to find you and Peter screaming from Remus’s theatrics in telling his ghost stories during an awful thunderstorm.) You no longer visit the Gryffindor table at breakfast, and they no longer wait for you after your classes.

“It’s probably just a tiff,” says Alice to Mary Macdonald. “They’ll make up—they always do.”

Mary nods, though unsure—while Peter is gut-wrenched about it all, the other four in particular seem like heartbroken puppies when you enter the Great Hall and barely acknowledge their presence.

The snow melts and time catches everyone unaware.

“I can’t believe I’m going to graduate and you idiots haven’t made up yet,” Lalita sighs as she pulls you in for a hug. In a few weeks, she and the other seventh-years are due to leave; you’ve grown real close with her over the past few terms. Her departure is going to be truly difficult for you to handle. “Just talk it out with them, okay?”

You sniffle, holding onto her robes. “I’m trying, but they’ve been ignoring me, too.”

Lalita squeezes you tighter. “Don’t worry. These kinds of things have a way of sorting themselves out.”

At the end of the term, you present your final project to Professor Binns. The ghost nearly returns to life. It was a research study on the Evolutionary Analysis of Magical RNA Manipulation in the Catalonian Fireball. Days after your paper is published, you’re featured on the Daily Prophet; dragon tamers and professors from Spain are owling you letters of praise and congratulations. It goes without saying that such a feat had naturally catapulted Ravenclaw to the top, ultimately winning the House Cup.

(But what you don’t tell everyone is that you’re so severely burnt out after that—to the point where you didn’t want to ever pick up a textbook again. For the first time in forever, learning had become a chore, not a passion. You’d been puking out of anxiety, hands trembling as you forced yourself to write on the parchment, the sides of your fingers constantly swollen and raw. You’d study until four o’clock in the morning, and wake up an hour later to complete all of your homework. You’ve begun to masquerade as the ghosts of Ravenclaw Tower; lifeless and indifferent. Xenophilius and Pandora fuss over you, but you just lock yourself in your room and say: “I’m tired.”

Perhaps, it is why Professor Flitwick isn’t surprised when you withdraw from most of your electives.

“The pursuit of knowledge is a rewarding journey,” says Professor Flitwick on the day you visit his classroom—hours away from needing to be on the train platform. He sighs and sets his spectacles on the table. “But it is a perilous one, too. I trust that you have understood the consequences of your actions. As a teacher, I can only offer guidance when it is needed. The other professors may disagree, but I find the best learning method to be, what is it the kids say—fuck around and find out.”

You snort.

Professor Flitwick chuckles, quite pleased with himself. “If I may be so bold as to leave you with another piece of homework, I would like to ask you to truly enjoy the holidays. I hear the summer is a time for discovering new things about oneself, for new beginnings and growth. After all, learning does not happen only within the castle grounds.”)

Later that day, you board the express, purposefully choosing the farthest compartment where you know they’ll be staying in. You share the cabin with two people whose names are Regulus and Narcissa Black—this is the first time you’ve ever met them. Narcissa shares her green tea flavored candy with you. Afterwards, you spend the rest of the ride back to King’s Cross asleep.

(Right before the train arrives, Remus is nervously searching for you in the crowd of people.

“We’ve got to say goodbye, at least.” Lily nibbles on her lower lip uneasily. She once joked that she could find you anywhere—as if you two had a red string tied around both your pinky fingers. Now, it seems you’re too far away for her voice to reach you.

James drops his head down in shame. “I never got the chance to apologize.”

“She’ll appear somewhere,” says Sirius unwaveringly with a nod, taking Lily’s heavy suitcase from her as steam whistles are heard in the distance. “She could be in our special compartment, waiting for us right now.”

“Are you sure?” Peter questions dubiously.

“Of course I am, she’s my best friend,” Sirius counters resolutely. “She’s there, I can feel it.”)

You’re fourteen when you return back to the castle—you hadn’t touched a single book throughout the summer, but you find yourself well-rested; you learn how to swim from your mother; staying up all night to accompany your family dog as she gives birth to seven beautiful puppies, and scratching yourself on the bark of sycamore trees with your poor attempts at climbing.

You find out that you don’t like Arithmancy at all, strongly preferring Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve also garnered a curiosity for Ornithomancy, the oracle reading of birds.

This year, you signed up for the Gobstone club, despite your unfamiliarity with the game. It’s led by a Slytherin girl named Haerin Seong. (It’s properly read as Seong Hae-rin.) She has pin-straight hair, a sharp nose, and the mouth of a drunken sailor.

You also decide that you want to become a professor after Hogwarts. The groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, belly laughs when you declare this to him one afternoon, right in the doorway of his hut.

“Well, go on then!” Hagrid bellows, patting you on the head. “Anyone who tries ter stop yeh has got ter go through me!”

On the dawn of your fifth-year, an owl delivers a prefect badge to your doorstep. Your father, born and raised as a Muggle, doesn’t understand the significance of this, but he cries harder than you on that Sunday morning. (“My child is a prefect!” He sobs into the telephone after dialing your aunt’s number.)

The fresh batch of Ravenclaw firsties aren’t the only new additions to the castle. According to the gossip mill, James and Lily are finally dating, so are Sirius and Remus apparently. (Then, months later, everyone would be shrieking about how they’re all dating. )

You hear of the news as you guide the first-year eaglets to their next class. You’re climbing up the spiral staircase when you see the Quidditch pitch through the window. They look like flying ants from this distance. You can imagine the wind in their hair, the tense muscles as they chase after the Quaffles, the crowd roaring in their ears, victory within their reach if they just fly fast enough.

You hate the way you envy them—how easily they soar up in the skies while you watch from below, much like a flightless eagle, shackled by your own shortcomings.

You hate Quidditch.

It’s bound by no rules, unpredictable and barbaric. Most of all, it looks down on the cowardly.

In your sixth year, you have your first kiss with a boy named Augustine Fenberry. It’s extremely short-lived and awkward. You date for three months until it’s unanimously agreed that you two are better off as friends—until you catch him laughing about you with his mates in an empty corridor, saying that you were clingy, too much, and needed to learn how to shut up. (You wonder if that’s why they grew tired of you, too.)

You handle him with a quick, “Entomorphis.”

It’s probably one of the more cruel jinxes; Augustine bawls piercingly as he grows antennas atop his head, the spell forcing him to get on his hands and knees; his friends hover around him in panic, but all Augustine can do is chirp like a grasshopper in the night. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, but Haerin tells you that’s exactly what Augustine is—vermin.

You also, with great satisfaction, deduct thirty points from his House—which happens to be Ravenclaw.

(Nobody knows this about Peter, but he’s nimble on his feet, a bit of a wallflower—and he is now the newest editor of Hogwarts’s newspaper column, The Golden Snidget. By the next day, everyone knows what he’s done. Argus Filch, who’s in charge of his month-long detention, should be the last of his worries. Peter sympathizes with the wizard—but only for a fraction of a second. Because it’s not even the werewolf Augustine has to be scared of, not the pureblood heir who could ruin anyone with just a lift of his finger; not the Quidditch prodigy with a sharp mind, knowing a thousand ways to seek revenge.

It’s Lily Evans.

“Go near her again and I’ll rip your balls off!” Marlene flips the bird to the group of cowering boys. “Matter of fact, if you treat anyone like that again, I will come for your bloodline.”

“Fucking toerag!” Lily wildly swings the Beater’s bat she had stolen from the Quidditch changing room. “If you even look at her, I’ll hunt you down and shove this up your arse—until you feel it in your throat!”

Peter shivers in fear. He didn’t ever want to be on the receiving side of Lily’s wrath.

“This is the same girl who cried for an hour when she saw the ducklings in the Great Lake separated from their mother,” says Remus, horrified.

“Honestly, I feel so, so conflicted whether to find this terrifying. . . or attractive,” James whispers to Sirius.

“Attractive. Definitely attractive,” Sirius responds breathlessly, all eyes on Lily.)

Gryffindor wins the House Cup that year, to no one’s surprise. You find yourself clapping along with everyone else, but can’t help it when your gaze drifts to the left-side of the Gryffindor table. You watch as Sirius lifts Lily in the air, her giggles somehow louder than the thunderous cheering, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. James stands on the table, encouraging everyone to sing more of his praises—there’s a split second where his eyes find yours, you look away immediately—as Remus covers his face with his palms, flushed from all the attention. After James, Remus had won the most points for their House.

They seem complete—a puzzle that never really needed another piece. (You miss them, heartachingly so.) Maybe it was for the best that all of you drifted further and further apart. You now forget the way they call your name.

And so, the story ends just like that.

YOU HAVE FOUND yourself in a very tricky position.

It’s past midnight when you wake up—you nearly scream bloody murder when James, Lily and Sirius materialize out of thin air. They stare back at you, frozen in place, unblinking for the last twenty seconds.

“Oh God, I’m hallucinating.” You cry to yourself, wrapping your arms around your waist. “I hit my head and now I’m seeing things.”

“No, no, no, no,” James stammers, shaking his head. “It’s an invisibility cloak—see?” He wears the cape, then abruptly takes the cloak off—his body disappearing and reappearing in time with his actions. “Not hallucinating, I promise.”

“That’s even worse,” You say hoarsely, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Y-You’re out past curfew—visiting hours are over. Someone could catch you. Madam Pomfrey will have your heads.”

Remus chuckles—he had missed your voice so bloody much. He barely contains his grin when you glare at him. (Finally, after three years, you look his way again.)

“We snuck in here to see you all the time,” Sirius tells you, the corner of his lips tipping into an overfond smile. “At some point, Poppy just stopped trying to keep us out.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Your gaze falls to the floor as you mousily toy with your fingers. The infirmary falls painfully silent. Again. You clear your throat. “Anyway, I–I should get going.”

“Oh.” Lily’s expression turns crestfallen, words cracking from the thick lump wedged in her throat. (This is the first conversation she’s had with you in years—one that isn’t awkwardly bumping into one another with shallow, hesitant greetings, before you scurry off like a timid squirrel.) “R-Right. But why don’t you have dinner first? We brought some from the feast and—”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” You rasp, slipping into your shoes and throwing your cardigan over your shoulders. (More than anything, you want to hug Lily and congratulate her for making Head Girl—but you have to wonder if it’s too little, too late; if the distance between you and her is too great to try and cross.)

You toss Remus a wary glance. There used to be a time where you could say anything to him, and now it feels like ice-cold hands are stapled over your mouth. “F–Feel better soon.”

“Thanks.” Remus coughs.

Sirius’s eyes bounce from you to Remus, mentally ripping his hair out from exasperation—this whole thing is going nowhere.

You sprint out of the infirmary without a word, hands trembling from the nerve-wracking encounter inside. You take a moment to catch your breath, to shove your heart back inside your ribcage, as you lean sideways on the wall. It’s like running into a pack of wild chimeras in the mountains bare-handed.

“That was so scary.” You breathe out deeply, clutching the front of your shirt tightly.

The loud call of your name slices through the hallway and you jump in fright.

Luckily, it’s just James—but just James sets your heart aflutter and your knees wobbly even after all this time. He bridges the gap between you in quick, long strides; murmuring your name once more like a prayer. “Hey,” James says quietly, as if afraid to spook you off.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, tucking your hands inside your pockets. “Hey.”

“Listen, I just wanted to say—back in the library, all those years ago. I’m sorry. Really bloody sorry. Sirius decked me in the face that day, which I definitely deserved.” James nervously scratches the back of his head. “It was stupid of me—and I never should have said any of those things. I know it’s been years since then, you don’t even have to forgive me. But I just wanted you to know—”

“It’s fine, James.” You cut into his rambling, having already forgiven him for that day. “Really. Water under the bridge.”

In fact, some of what he had said made you realize how much you isolated yourself without even knowing. “And, I—uhm.” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too.”

James widens his eyes, then instantly shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

A dark red blush spreads from his neck to his prettily carved cheeks. “So. . . uh. . . are we okay?”

“We’re okay,” You say and he exhales deeply in relief. “And James, I. . . I. . .”

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he takes one more step towards you—achingly patient, but there’s a sense of urgency and desperation.

“I—” You look away and the words fizzle out in your throat. “Never mind.”

I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said that day. I miss you more than life. Thank you for staying by my side all those years—for being one of my best friends. You make me feel safe, James Potter. You are one of the most intelligent and caring wizards I know. How anyone can think otherwise is baffling to me. I’m sorry if I don’t let you know that more often.

“See you around, James.” With that, you turn and leave.

Perhaps, some things are better left unsaid.

(So why is your heart shattering into a million pieces?)

“TODAY, WE ARE GOING TO be interpreting messages from the divine!”

On a lovely Friday morning, Professor Nasenyana drags the class out to the grounds for a hands-on Divination lecture, the groundskeeper’s hut within sight. He unlocks the barn nearby, where flocks of various bird species take to the skies instantly. He’s a rather eccentric fellow with one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. Most of the Ravenclaws are also star-struck, hanging onto his every word. As it turns out, Nasenyana is a graduate from Uagadou, the top school for Astronomy and Divination.

“Ornithomancy—!” He proclaims, flashy cloak billowing, startling some of the Gryffindors from their sleep. “It is a form of divination that looks into the behavior of birds—celestial creatures blessed with the ability to traverse through the heavens and the earth. But, you see, it is more than that. It requires utmost concentration and mastery. To pass this class, you will need to—”

“I told you we didn’t miss anything important!”

“Pads, shut up.”

Sirius and Remus come rolling down the hill. Remus’s robes are disheveled, whereas Sirius’s tie is loosely hanging around his shirt, sleeves folded up. They nearly crash into Professor Nasenyana—who doesn’t appear to be pleased with their tardiness. You notice Remus’s flushed cheeks, the sweat running down the sides of his forehead, and the pinkish bruises on the column of Sirius’s neck.

Lily chortles.

Oh.

You blush deeply—that is so none of your business.

“Mister Black! Mister Lupin! So nice of you to finally join us.” Professor Nasenyana exclaims. “I trust that it won’t take you thirty more minutes to find a place to sit?” He gestures to the assembly of students sitting down on the grass, some shielding the sunlight from their face with the Divination textbook, and others transfiguring their school robes into a picnic mat. “Take your seats, gentlemen.”

“And that is five points from Gryffindor. Each.” Professor Nasenyana declares just as Remus and Sirius plop down on the closest patch of grass to them.

Which happens to be right beside you.

You pour all your attention on the teacher, and not how warm Sirius feels next to you.

“As I was saying,” Professor Nasenyana continues, hands folded behind his back, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “In order to pass this class, you will form groups of three where your task is to read each other’s fortune based on the information presented to you and document your findings. Everything you need for interpretation is in your textbooks. You will hand this assignment in after the winter holidays. I expect excellence from each and every one of you. Failure to comply will result in a Dreadful.”

Gilderoy’s arm shoots up in the air.

“Shall I guess your question, Mister Lockhart?” Nasenyana grins blindingly. “Your groups will be determined by fate—those closest to you will read your fortune, and you theirs.”

He lowers his arm with a bright blush.

You, however, are frozen in place, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a robe strewn over your lap—you even hold your breath from the shock. Fate must be mocking you right now. Spending the next few weeks in close proximity with the boys who held your fragile, little heart in their hands.

How fun.

Not.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in forever, you don’t pay attention in Charms.

The thought of working with Remus and Sirius haunts you so much that you burrow your head in your arms for the entirety of Professor Flitwick’s lesson. Your seatmate, Xenophilius, watches in horror as you flub the enunciation for Ascendio. Thankfully, no one is accidentally flung into the air—except for Gilderoy who is unfortunately blown away from his chair.

“Sorry.” You twinge empathetically as he climbs back onto his chair, glaring at you.

Xenophilius nudges your shoulder, whispering, “Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” You respond hurriedly, almost choking on your spit. “What ever gave you the idea that I was not fine? I’m bloody fantastic even. The sun is shining, fishes are swimming, and there’s not a single thing out of the ordinary in my life.”

“It’s cloudy outside,” Xenophilius says impassively. “And Lockhart is looking at you like you’ve just attempted murder.”

“Lockhart always looks like that.” You brush him off with a wave, busying yourself with flipping the pages of your Charms textbook.

Xenophilius pokes you in the side. “You are avoiding the subject. Is it because of Lup—”

“Ascendio!”

This time, it’s too perfect of an incantation that even Merlin weeps from his grave.

At the end of class, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. Just as you leave the classroom, you find Sirius and Remus standing in the corridor, so absorbed in conversation that they don’t notice the sixth-year girls giggling as they walk by—either that, or they have had plenty of practice when it comes to ignoring attention from the entire student body. It’s not like you can blame everyone else—they’re a duo carved by heaven’s finest.

Sirius realizes instantly when you walk out of the doors. He smiles blazingly at you, instantly rising to his feet, hands shoved inside the pockets of his trousers. You can’t believe this is the same boy who’d give you piggyback rides down the hallway. Dark layered curls tumble messily past his shoulders, a smidge of dark liner around his eyes, multiple piercings in his left ear. He’s grown taller, certainly more confident, too.

“Ready to go, pet?” He asks, as if casually inquiring about the weather.

“Go?” You echo, nonplussed. “Go where?”

“Birdwatching, obviously.” Sirius grins devilishly before grabbing your hand and leading you to the courtyard, Remus hot on your heels—who, for some reason, now has your bag hanging from his shoulders.

“D-Do I even get a say in this?” Truthfully, you had thought that you could finish the project without meeting up. Ever. You even think of collaborating with them via owl; staying far, far away from one another. So that none of you get hurt again, and you don’t risk another heartbreak.

“Not one bit, darling.” Sirius looks back at you and winks—this cheeky bastard!

You’re in a daze by the time the three of you reach the middle courtyard. Sirius happily plonks down under a tree, further unbuttoning his shirt until a hint of a tattoo peeks out—you gape. Remus chuckles before urging you to sit as well, before he settles on your other side.

“This is nice,” says Sirius as he leans his head against the tree trunk, eyes closed. “Bloody missed this.”

“Missed what?” You dare to ask, heart hammering in your chest.

He opens one eye, cheek dimple flashing. “Being by your side.”

“Oh.”

One does not respond to that, actually. One just simply passes out and fades away.

And as you typically do when facing hardships in life, you ramble about homework. Clearing your throat and staring straight at the earthworms crawling out of the mud, you say, “So, about our project. . .”

“I was thinking we could get started on it next Saturday,” You splutter, fiddling with your fingers. “Or I could start on everyone’s reading and we’d put it on paper sometime next month—but I could do that myself, too. I-If you wanted. Just so that it’s easier for everyone. We really don’t have to rush, honestly.”

“Procrastinating on schoolwork?” Remus laughs heartily with a slow shake of his head, stretching his long legs on the ground. “Who are you and what have you done to our best fr—”

The word falters on his tongue, and his smile fades into a somber line.

To save everyone from the awkward tension, you carry on, ignoring the way Sirius stiffens, “If you want to start early, I can head to the library after lunch to find some books on Ornithomancy. The more references we have—”

“What happened to us?” Sirius interjects gravelly.

You let out a deep sigh.

You suppose this conversation has been a long time coming, given lions and their stubbornness.

“It’s simple,” You say gingerly. “After that. . . that day, the distance kept growing and growing until we went our own separate ways without looking back.”

A single teardrop slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “You changed. I changed, too. The difference was, you all had each other while I had no one.”

(Though Pandora and Xenophilius were the truest and most honest friends one could ask for, they didn’t hold your soul captive the way they did.)

Sirius stares at you as if you had just spit acid; a thunderstorm forming within his gray eyes, his jaw locking painfully.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Remus asks softly, leaning forward to offer you his handkerchief. His voice sounds strangled—as though your words physically torment him. He pulls away just as your gaze falls on his.

“That’s what happened, though. But I suppose it doesn’t really even matter anymore.” You flinch away, electrocuted from his touch.

There’s a stretched silence that blankets the three of you. It carries on for a few minutes, the breeze flowing by, and the slow, clamorous bell chiming in the distance. You’re about to speak up when Sirius breaks the quietude first.

“Be ready,” He says decidedly, looking straight ahead.

“For what?” You ask in disbelief.

Sirius drags a hand through his hair with a loud exhale. He rests his elbows on his knees, chin carelessly set on his palm, eyeing you intensely. “We’re going to prove you wrong from now on.”

“What exactly are you going to prove?”

Sirius chuckles, coiling a strand of your hair around his finger. “That it’s always been you and us for life, princess.”

Merlin’s saggy balls.

THE GRYFFINDOR TABLE descends into a coalescence of wide eyes and rapid, hushed whispers when you arrive sometime during dinner. It’s not out of your own volition, of course, but your own duty and responsibility as prefect to return the handkerchief that Remus had lent you earlier this afternoon. You hoped it would be a quick in-and-out; dishing out more forced smiles, and some half-baked banter until you could finally run away, tail tucked between your legs. Like most things in your life, it does not go the way you want.

“You could keep it, if you want,” says Remus, hesitantly taking the embroidered cloth from you.

If the world knew how many trinkets Remus Lupin had gifted you during your friendship, you would be swimming in gold—and cursed letters from his devoted fangirls.

“That’s alright. Thank you.” You placate him with a crooked grin, the words spilling from your lips like a jumbled mess. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon and Fabian Prewett nudging each other’s shoulders whilst pointing at you, keeping their heads low. You have no idea what that’s about.

“Well. That is all. E-Enjoy your dinner.” You nod, mentally patting yourself on the back for not passing out in the den of lions. “Goodbye.”

Though the Ravenclaw table is placed next to Gryffindor’s, you have the bright idea of sitting with your backs to them, lest you engage in a round of cloddish staring contests with the Marauders. Just as you pivot on your heels, ready to make it to Pandora’s side, an achingly familiar voice calls for your name.

“Wait!” Marlene is partially out of her seat, bright blonde hair in a loose, messy braid; hand outstretched, as if reaching out to you. Her pale cheeks blossom with shades of scarlet as she receives miffed glares from the students nearby—such is the curse of a Gryffindor; if this were a fantasy novel, they would be the perfect protagonist. “Why don’t you eat with us? F-For old time’s sake. It’s been so long and I really would like to catch up with you.”

Your resolve nearly crumbles. This is the same girl who would bring sweet candies in her pocket in case you got hungry during class. But, if this were a fantasy novel, you would only be an extra; fated to walk a path so different from the likes of James Potter and Lily Evans.

“Maybe next time,” You say, unconvincing to even your own ears.

FROM ACROSS the Great Hall, another conversation is taking place.

“I am telling you, Minerva, I caught them talking again in the infirmary,” says Poppy Pomfrey to her fellow teacher, a spry grin on her kind face.

“Poppy, as I’ve told you, I do not make a habit out of discussing my students’ personal lives,” McGonagall replies tiredly, slicing into her dinner plate of steak and kidney pie. She pauses for a few moments, before pushing up her spectacles with a wrinkly smile. “But, perhaps, I’ll let this slide just this once. Tell me all about it. I’ve also heard that—”

“ACTA NON VERBA.”

Deeds, not words.

Truly a befitting password for the House of bravery and recklessness. The Fat Lady’s portrait gasps in delight, raising her champagne glass to you. Seconds later, the Gryffindor common room is revealed to you. (Most of the Ravenclaw prefects have the House passwords memorized, in case they encounter a lost student outside the dormitories who has forgotten the passcode. It happens more often than one would like. Although it isn’t just first-years who are often stuck outside. You’ve stumbled upon Frank Longbottom many times before in a heated argument with the Fat Lady.)

“Oh!” Alice, bundled up in a red scarf and a wooly jumper, is startled to find you at the entrance. She breathily says your name, eyes crinkling as she smiles widely. “What a pleasant surprise! Oh my Gods—it’s so nice to see you again. How’s the head? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding everywhere.”

“I didn’t get amnesia. So that was good.” You head inside the room, instantly enveloped in a familiar warmth, a welcoming hug as if you had never strayed far. “Thank you. For that day, I mean. For bringing me to Madam Pomfrey.”

She waves you off. “Don’t mention it.”

“But. . .” Alice cocks her head with a conniving smile. “Don’t tell anyone else this, but when James found out it had been the Gryffindor team’s co-captain who hit the Quaffle your way, I heard James put him through some intense training. He must’ve had to run a hundred laps around the pitch for a week straight. Poor guy even had to wash everyone’s jerseys without magic.”

“What?” You shriek. “But it was just an accident. Surely, James wouldn’t—”

Alice tweaks your nose with a chuckle. “Oh, for you? He would.”

You have the strangest urge to throw yourself out of the tower.

You cough into your first, desperate to shift the conversation topic otherwise you’d spontaneously combust. “S-So, where’s Remus? We agreed to work on our Divination project here—if that’s alright with you and the others, of course.”

“Ha!” Alice exclaims, palming her forehead. “So that’s why the tower stinks of flipping perfume.” She snickers at your bewildered expression, before engulfing you in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

“Thank you, Alice.” You squeeze her back, giving yourself just this one time because you really did miss her.

Alice takes a step backwards before roaring loud enough to shake the ceiling. “Remus!”

“Get down here! Your girlfriend is waiting!”

You break out in a coughing fit. “I am not his girlfriend.”

“Not yet.” Alice winks at you, patting your cheek before skipping out the common room.

You hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Moments later, you see Remus Lupin beaming at you, casually dressed, hair damp and tousled over his brows, broad shoulders stretching his white top, and fluffy, mismatched socks over his feet. He walks over to you in record speed.

“You came,” He says huskily.

“I did.”

“You look beautiful today.” Remus grins wolfishly, dimples poking out of his cheeks, flecks of light in his hazel eyes.

You blink owlishly, dumbfounded. You peer at your clothes—nothing fancy or experimental. “This is how I normally dress, though.”

“I know.”

Remus smiles, swiftly taking your bookbag from you. (Alice was right. He smells like a basket of green apples, old leather tomes, and sandalwood. Not that you mind.) You follow him to the couches by the fireplace.

“Where’s Sirius?” You look around the common room as you sink into the red sofa. There’s a pair of third-years playing chess, a young girl feathering her hand across the bookcase; sunlight streaming in from the tall windows.

But no sign of Sirius Black.

“Miss me, did you, love?”

Sirius chuckles into your ear—you jump out of your skin, clutching at your knees in fright.

“Merlin’s tits—!”

You gasp for air while Sirius and Remus laugh at your expense. “You fucking wanker!” You grab one of the quilted pillows as Sirius jumps over the back of the couch. “You’re an idiot, Sirius Orion.”

“There.” Sirius flops right down on the sofa; his hair tied up in a low bun, silver rings around his fingers. “Now you don’t look so bloody scared and nervous around us. We don’t bite, you know.” He pauses, then grins devilishly at you. “Unless you ask.”

You slap your palms against your lap. “Anyways—!”

Nostrils flaring as you take a deep breath—this is going to be a long day. You begin setting the parchments, feather quills, and Divination textbooks on the coffee table, along with a notebook where you had written some observations during the week. “When we were out—erm—birdwatching the other day, I noted down the birds that flew by for our readings. For Remus, it was a flock of Firecrests. And—”

“I’m very sorry, loveliest love, but none of this makes any bloody sense to me.” Sirius goes through the Divination volumes you had checked out from the library, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Tea reading, I can tolerate. But studying bird droppings really isn’t my thing.”

You glare heatedly at him, oddly defensive about the subject. “We’re not studying bird droppings, you plonker. There’s so much more to Ornithomancy than what meets the eyes. You see, nature connects everything. From the number of birds you encounter, to which direction they fly, their pattern of flight, down to the colors of their wings.”

You point to the glaring page from Snallygasters and Omens: Vol. 1 where a picture of a Jobberknoll jumps out. “This bird flies to the east because the east governs new beginnings and warm springs after winter. Blue wings symbolize reliability. One day in the future you’ll be tasked with a huge responsibility. A family could entrust their godson to you, who knows? You have to be clear-headed, Sirius. Your emotions can get the best of you if you’re not careful.”

Without even pausing to breathe, you say, “Remus. The firecrest. Smallest bird in the wizarding world, but will dare to fly higher than any other creature, even the king of birds. The firecrest and its flock were flying to the south that day, Remus. To the place of passion and life. Love. Beauty.”

“So it’s. . . it’s more than just bird droppings!”

By the end of it all, your chest is heaving, fingers trembling with adrenaline; Remus and Sirius gazing at you with stars in their eyes, devotion pouring from their growing smiles. (Oh, how their hearts beat for you.)

Sirius tips your chin with his knuckle, leaning closer until you feel his breath on your nose. “Welcome back, princess.”

NIGHT FALLS WITHOUT anyone’s permission. James, Lily, and Peter make their way back to the Gryffindor tower, patches of sunburn on their nose after spending the entire day outside observing bird flight patterns. Like Sirius, Lily has her mind firmly set against the philosophies of Divination; the mumbo jumbo not really all that comprehensible to her. As they enter the common room, her hand in James’s, they’re greeted by a rare sight—one that Lily didn’t think she would see again.

Sirius is sitting on the floor by the fireplace, wand tucked behind his ear, a pile of books at his side, his brows contorted in frustration as he drowns in the pages of When Fortunes Turn Fowl. He presses his finger to his lips when his silvery eyes fall on Lily and James, jerking his head to the scene across him.

Lily fails to bury her smile when she sees you snoring away at Remus’s lap, his fingers absentmindedly knitting through strands of your hair. The space is bedecked in loose pages with scribbled notes on them and ink stains on the carpet.

“I take it you three got further along than we did,” Lily whispers as she kneels beside Remus, softly nudging his chin as she captures him in a fond kiss.

Remus smiles into her lips. “A month’s worth of progress, at least. Thanks to this one here. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a bird the same way again.”

“Who knew our little eagle had a knack for Divination?” Lily chuckles, gaze softening as she delicately drags her knuckle down your cheek. “It’s getting pretty late. Should we wake her up?”

Remus shakes his head. “No. Let her sleep a bit more.”

Selfishly, Lily agrees. She traces the tip of your nose, the pillows of your lips, before retracting her hand with a long sigh. “We used to talk about anything and everything until the sun rose. Now, it seems like I can never catch up to her no matter how fast I run.”

“Lily—”

“Don’t worry,” says Lily. “I am nothing if not stubborn. She’ll know my wrath soon.”

Sirius snickers. “How charming.”

The fire crackles and you mumble something, deep in slumber, shifting in Remus’s hold, “Only one percent. . . of the world’s population is . . . is naturally redheaded.”

“Is that right?” Lily grins from ear to ear.

Just you wait, Lily is going to sweep you off your feet.

(Something she should have done years ago.)

“IS THAT A new jumper?”

Pandora simpers knowingly, heterochromatic eyes uncovering your every secret—the beads in her long braids click as she keeps in time with your brisk pace. She teasingly pulls at the oversized sweater. “It looks good on you.”

You narrow your eyes at her, watchfully twisting your arms around your waist. “It was cold this morning, alright? Remus lent it to me. It’s not a big deal. It’s what friends do, right?”

“So, you’re friends now?” Pandora muses. “Well, thank the Gods, because it has been excruciating watching you tiptoe around one another. It only took you lot three years, but it’s better than never, eh?”

“Wilderwood! No magic in the corridors! That’s five points from Slytherin!” You bark at the stubborn fifth-year who grins sheepishly at you, before you reply to Pandora, an ache forming at the back of your head. “It’s complicated. Everything was sort of awkward in the beginning.”

You think of last night, how Sirius was especially keen on making you laugh every few seconds; Remus would inch closer to you, head nearly on your shoulder as he peeks at the notes you’ve jotted down. You could barely think straight in their presence. Then, you remember waking up earlier this morning, James sprawled all over Sirius and Lily on the couch; Remus’s nose fully buried in his drawing book.

“But. . .” You trail off, remembering Remus’s arms around you as he sent you off, careful not to wake the others. (“I am a selfish bastard, pet,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry, but let me steal this morning from them.”)

“It’s like coming home after a long day.”

“Brilliant!” Pandora exclaims, roughly laying her hands on your shoulders as she ushers you past the cobblestone walkway and into the grassfield, where the Quidditch Pitch rests in the near distance. You hadn’t even realized that you were a little ways from the castle already. “Tell them that!”

“What?” You squawk. “Are you mad, woman?”

You hear the sound of brooms zipping by at an unimaginable speed. The crowd clamors over the announcer’s intense commentary. Your legs feel like they’ve been jinxed to feel like jelly. You hate Quidditch.

“GRYFFINDOR SCORES! — That’s one-hundred and twenty in all! — Still no snitch yet! Hurry on, Potter! Mulciber’s got nothing on you– Ow! Professor! — Fawley heads for the goal! — Great deflect by Black! — Bletchley misses! — Another point for Gryffindor! We might as well end the game now!”

“Mr. Prewett!” You hear McGonagall scold into the charmed megaphone.

“Sorry, Minnie! Anyway! — Mulciber and Potter race for the Snitch! Potter reaches out! — Surprisingly good manoeuvre from Mulciber! — Come on, James! — He’s almost got it! — It’s right there!”

You wait with a bated breath.

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

“Potter’s got it! — GRYFFINDOR HAS WON!”

“Go on now, treasure. Before the Wrackspurts get inside your head again.” Pandora urges you forward, dusting the invisible creatures off your shoulders. As you take one step into the field, fireworks of gold and scarlet light up the sky, the Gryffindor teams’ cries of victory shake the ground; you hear Fabian screaming into the megaphone. Your fingers go numb. “Don’t let another day go by without expressing your heart,” says Pandora into your ear, almost a gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. “Go to them. They are waiting for you.”

“But what if they aren’t?” You watch as the sun descends on the Gryffindor team lifting James in the air, Golden Snitch in his gloved hand. Sirius catches Lily by the waist, twirling her up high; her smile more dazzling than any other gem you’ve seen. As James is set back down on the ground, he snatches Remus unaware and bends him down for a fervent kiss.

“Dora, what if I’m the only one who feels this way? I can’t do that to them. What are the chances that I’ll ruin everything? That would hurt more than anything.”

Pandora cups your cheeks and lays her forehead on yours. “You won’t ever know unless you go out there.”

With that, she pushes you into the Quidditch pitch.

You swallow the lump in your throat, ears ringing from the crowd chanting James’s name, and your heart pounding in fear.

“J-James. . .” You call out weakly as he drowns in the sea of students.

Perhaps it’s a sign.

This really wasn’t a good idea.

Love is a fool’s game.

Don’t you get it? They don’t need you in the picture at all.

“N-No!” You shout, chest heaving. If everything happens for a reason, maybe you were meant to meet in that train compartment all those years ago. You’ve lost three years with them already.

If you don’t go to them right now, you could lose a lifetime.

If bravery is for the reckless and arrogant, you’re prepared to be the most depraved witch in the castle just to stay by their side.

“James—!”

“Go, go, Gryffindor!”

You bite your lip in frustration—but you can’t just give up. Not now.

Once more.

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”

Please.

Time stops as you stand at the edge of the field; James whips his head around and finds you instantly. The glow of having just won a match doesn’t even compare when his eyes land on you. He pushes past his team members and some of the Gryffindor students, his gaze unwavering, some of them call out his name but he doesn’t bother looking back. Before you even know it, he stands in front of you, breathing heavily—but not from the rush of the game.

“You’re here,” He says, eyes disappearing into his smile. “But you hate Quidditch.”

“I do.” You grin wearily. “But I love you more.”

Without even giving James the chance to speak, you ramble on, hurricanes whirling in your stomach, “You’re a bloody brilliant wizard, James Potter. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before. I see you. I see all of you. How could I not? I love you. I think I’ve loved all of you before I knew it was even love. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same w—”

James grabs the back of your legs and hoists you up, tendrils of hair falling over his glasses as he beams at you. The sun can’t even dream of competing with him.

“Put me down, James, I am going to hurl—!”

He spins you one more time for good measure before placing you on the ground. James barely gives you a second to gather your bearings as he seizes your lips with his own, hand cradling the back of your neck.

“You’re here,” He says, unable to believe his very eyes, gently chasing after your lips, breaths mingling until you don’t remember where either begins or ends. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” You promise breathlessly as James pecks the tip of your nose, the arch of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Beautiful.” He kisses you until you’re gasping for air. “And all ours.”

There’s not a moment where you don’t feel loved, not even when he lets you go, and it’s Lily who encompasses you in her arms, bright hair filling your vision; you willingly burn in the warmth of her body. The mellow scent of pomegranates and red roses fill your nose. You see a never-ending horizon of kindness in her emerald eyes. (How could you have stayed away for so long?) It’s like finding a missing piece of your soul that you never knew that was lost.

Lily laughs—it sounds like an orchestral symphony. Her gaze cascades to your lips, the prettiest of smiles on her face; she cradles the curve of your jaw with utmost sincerity, a few drops of tears shimmering against her freckled skin. “May I?”

“Please.” You feel her breath tickling your lips, deftly pulling you in for a kiss until all you can feel is her. She consumes every inch of you, and you are happy to surrender, heart and soul.

“You must be the thickest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met,” says Lily, giggling as she kisses you once, twice—thrice.

“And that means?” You scoff lightheartedly.

She steals another kiss from you. “That means: I hope you know that we have loved you ever since, you daft witch. That I’ve loved you all this time. And now that you’re ours, we are going to make sure you remember that. Every single day for the rest of our lives.”

You smile, holding onto her hand, dizzy with a hundred emotions. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

(Your Divination project is a point lower than Lily, Peter and James’s, but you find that it’s the luckiest fortune you’ve ever had.)

EPILOGUE:

“I LOVE QUIDDITCH!”

You are twenty-two years old, nose bitten from the chilly air, lounging in the best seating area the Quidditch World Cup has to offer; an unobstructed view of the players. The match is between the Brazilian and Japanese National Quidditch teams. Much to Sirius and James’s chagrin, your cheek is painted in yellow and green stripes, the vibrant flag around your shoulders.

You scream along with the crowd, nearly spilling your Butterbeer popcorn, as the Brazilian players enter the vast stadium. You ardently shake Lily’s shoulders. “That’s him! That’s him! Lily, it’s Brazil’s youngest ever Seeker! Vinícius Silva! I watched a replay of his matches and he’s got a seventy-eight percent win rate!”

“Watch out, love, you’ll fall off the edge if you aren’t careful,” Lily says worriedly.

“His fastest record for catching the Golden Snitch is ten minutes and thirty seconds! He’s won Most Outstanding Player in the Junior Division twice! I’ve got a good feeling about this team—I knew those auguries were a lucky sign.”

“The only Seeker you should be obsessing over is me.” You hear James grumbling behind your back, stealing a kiss from Lily’s lips before pressing his mouth to your cheek. “And you bloody well know that Japan’s Chaser, Kurosawa, is going to steal the limelight in this match. An average possession time of thirty seconds per play. A beast, that one.”

You wave him off, more confident in your statistics. “Did you place my bets? I’m telling you, we’re going to be rich.”

“Yes, darling,” He says, utterly loving his role as the dutiful husband.

Moments later, Sirius appears at his side, fussing over your scarf, and kissing you just because. “Can we take off your bloody hat now? I think you just blinded Malfoy and his little blonde gremlin.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You simper fiendishly before smacking his arm. “And don’t call your nephew that.”

Sirius grins.

You pull at one of his curls. “Besides, if you’re good you can take off everything later tonight.”

He pulls you in for a deep kiss, hand at your waist, nose brushing each other’s. “And that is why I love you, dear wife.”

You pout, albeit seeing right through his white, little jape. “Truly?”

Sirius lands another kiss to your forehead. “Are you doubting me, loveliest love of my life? The lighthouse in my ocean storms. The apple of my eye. Fire in my loins—”

You slap a hand over his mouth. “I get it, thank you, my love.”

Sirius beams from ear to ear. “Glad to have eased your doubts, darling.”

Thirty minutes into the match, Remus arrives, dressed in a muted gray suit, light brown hair flopping over his eyes. He greets everyone with a tired kiss.

You immediately wrap him in a hug, nuzzling your nose into his neck. He had a particularly difficult full moon some nights ago. You press a tender kiss to the scar right below his jaw. “How was work? Did you bring my binder? It has my lesson plan for next week, I don’t want to return to the castle unprepared, and—”

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor squeezes your waist. “Work was fine, pet. And no, I didn’t bring the papers because right now we are not working. We are going to watch Brazil win the bloody match and get right home to Harry after.”

You, the newest Divination teacher of Hogwarts, tug him by his necktie, smiling coyly. “Sounds like a wonderful plan to me.”

BONUS:

“REMUS!”

The empty classroom is filled with soft, fervid moans—two professors especially drunk on the taste of each other’s lips. You’re seated on the desk, Remus wedged between your thighs, his hand inching dangerously higher and higher; the other hand slipping under your shirt and thumbing the bare skin underneath. He captures your whispers and mewls with his lips. Jackets and ties are tossed carelessly to the side.

“So fucking beautiful.” He nips at your lower lip.

“Rem. . .” You whimper, tugging at the strands of his hair. “Remus—please!”

The door to the DADA classroom slams open and you two detangle from each other’s embrace in record speed. As you pat down your hair, Remus draping his blazer over your shoulders, you watch Lily and Harry stalk over to you in lengthy strides, reaching the both of you within seconds. You clear your throat, awkwardly averting your gaze from your son’s precious eyes; Lily, a moment away from throwing her head back in laughter.

Harry, fourteen, and not at all ignorant to what couples do in the castle alcoves, sees the ruffled hair, the lipstick over his father’s cheeks and neck, and his parent’s misbuttoned blouse.

He grimaces. “You two are disgusting, you know that right?”

You guffaw, pinching his cheek. “Now, is that any way to greet the person who’s changed your diapers since you were a baby?”

Lily cackles from Remus’s side, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Harry’s got a bit of a problem. Go on, tell them, my love.”

Harry immediately throws his hands in the air, groaning frustratedly. “It’s Ron! He thinks I put my name in the bloody Goblet—!”

“Which, I will still be having a word with Dumbledore about,” You say decisively. You’re not about to endanger your son. The Minister of Magic and the Headmaster be damned. They can also take it up with your husband, James, Head Auror of the Magical Law Enforcement department.

“And now Ron’s not talking to me, Hermione’s not talking to me because I’m not talking to Ron—Colin’s following me around everywhere I go! I’m going mad, mum!” Harry slumps on one of the empty chairs, huffing. “Stupid bloody tournament.”

You chuckle as you walk over to him, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. “Take it from me.” You press a warm kiss to his forehead. “Talk to them, otherwise you’ll lose time that was meant to be spent together. It doesn’t matter who was wrong or who was right. It’s important that you have the courage to reach out. They’re your friends. They will understand your heart soon enough.”

Harry blinks. “Thanks.”

He exits the classroom in a daze, heavily pondering on your words.

The door clicks shut, and Lily wordlessly locks the entrance. She turns to you and Remus, a sultry grin on her ruby red lips. “What are the chances we Floo home, and invite Sirius and James to join us?”

You take her outstretched hand. “A hundred and twelve.”

a/n. i wasn't satisfied with the angst here.. so expect a hufflepuff!reader and enemies to lovers next time (i promise to do better in the next fic aaakfsh) tell me what u thought of this one EUEUEU HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC!! heart heart

#poly!marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #lily evans x reader #hp imagine #hp fluff #hp angst #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders angst #marauders fanfiction #sunny's hp fics #poly marauders #marauders x reader #james potter x reader

3K notes · View notes

merlieve · 6 months ago

Text

bibliophile :: jess mariano

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 ��𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 & 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬

𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 | 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐬: 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Note: i wrote this while listening to “si tu m’aimes demain’ by iliona + the intro is inspired by 500 days of summer, so that’s basically the vibe of the story 😋 Ik there isn’t a market for GG fics but I just love me some Jess.

SUMMARY | Jess says something about how it’s a shame that people arent as beautiful and interesting as books, but he looks at [Name] and realizes that she could be the only person who could be compared to the books he loves.

The soft glow of Luke’s Diner’s sign casts a warm ambience onto the quiet street, the last remnants of daylight as it settles to the night sky.

Inside, the diner was practically buzzing with people, the sounds of plate clattering and a few conversations filled the air.

Ring. The sound of someone coming inside alerted Jess but he didn’t bother to stand up from the bar stool.

“The Old Man and the Sea? I love Hemingway!”

Jess was so caught up in his world that he failed to notice the girl seated next to him at the diner countertop. “Excuse me?”

“I said I love Hemingway,” She repeated, now gaining Jess’ full attention. “You have good taste in books.”

“Thanks, uhh?” — “[Name]” The girl said with a smile. ‘A pretty name for a pretty face’ thought Jess, looking at the girl beside him up and down.

“If you read Hemingway, I’d suggest Bukowski if you’re into poetry.” She recommended, looking down at her nails as she was slightly nervous by the way the boy was looking at her.

“I take it you like classics.” Said Jess, putting down his book.

“Oh, I like any genre! Mystery, historical, sci-fi… you name it.” Smiled [Name] as she rambled about her interests.

Jess found it adorable. “Quite the bibliophile, aren’t ya?”

“Guess you could say that, stranger.”

He was just about to ask for her number when someone came behind the counter.

“Jess, your break’s over.” Said Luke, glancing over the teenagers in front of him.

“Well, duty calls.” Sassed Jess, grabbing his book by the counter but not without giving the girl a wink. “Bye, stranger.”

Ever since that day, Jess couldn’t seem to get [Name] out of his mind and it didn’t help that she was everywhere; the quaint bookstore, at school, the library, even at the Walmart he works at, and that’s at Hartford!

If Jess had learned anything by being [Name]’s friend is that he knew that the way to her heart was to challenge her.

The two could make a conversation about just about anything, whether it was debating the end of The Bell Jar or trying to find the best coffee place in New Haven.

When she talked about her favourite books, Jess had the time of his life listening to the passion in her voice. And it wasn’t only him. Whenever Jess talks, [Name] sounds like she’s actually interested in whatever he’s talking about.

They’d exchange books, they’d lend each other books and return them fully annotated with their own opinions. They’d have study dates after school, which skyrocketed Jess’ grades by a ton and he even helped [Name] out with her AP classes. They’d go to each other’s houses to have movie nights, [Name] would pick some kind of chick-flick and he’d be “mad” at first and then grow on to love it.

Every time he spent time with her, his blooming crush would only grow and grow. At some point, he realised that his feelings for [Name] went beyond simple platonic attraction and not only did that scare him from having a genuine friend at Stars Hollow but it was how he couldn’t contain it.

Not to mention, Luke started to get sceptical when Jess said he was going to school. Since when did Jess actually go to school?

“I’m leaving!” Shouted Jess with a book bag slung across his shoulder as he closed the door.

Luke’s curiosity got the best of him and he followed Jess to a house. He knew it, Jess was lying, again. But right before he was about to reprimand him, a girl who seemed about Jess’ age walked out of the house, she looked a little familiar.

The two seemed to talk to each other for a bit before walking back… in Luke’s direction.

Luke had no choice but to hide in the prickly bushes to remain hidden from his nephew’s sight… ouch.

Later that Day

“Why’d you got a bandaid on your nose?” Asked Jess, referring to Luke’s earlier injury.

“It’s nothi- just shut up.” Challenged Luke as he walked over to refill a few coffee mugs.

A few hours passed until closing time and the diner was starting to get empty. Just when Luke was about to clean the countertops, the front door opened. It was the same girl Jess was with before.

She approached the counter with a friendly smile, the kind of smile Luke hadn't seen in a while.

"Hi, is Jess here?" Asked [Name], her eyes wandered around the diner.

Almost on cue, Jess walks out of the kitchen and greets the girl with a smile. “Oh, great. Are we throwing a fiesta or organising a pity party? 'Cause, you know, I'm just on the edge of my seat here.” Babbled Jess.

"Jess, I got a 95 on AP Bio!" The girl excitedly says, holding a paper in the air. "Really? Let me see," he replies, walking over to her.

“What, you don’t believe me? Well, it’s there and it’s in a big red mark with the words ‘Fantastic’!” She eagerly hands it over, her eyes shining with pride.

“Look at that, Ms. Fantastic,” Smiled Jess as he looked over her paper. “You hungry? It’s Danish day. C’mon it’ll be my treat.”

After hearing the news, [Name] gasped, “It’s like the stars were aligned” She giggled, taking a seat at the nearby table.

Once Jess walked over to the counter to grab a freshly cooked Danish, Luke cornered the boy.

"So, what's the deal with you and that girl?” he asked, his tone more curious than accusatory.

Jess shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Just helping her out with her AP classes. Turns out, I’ve got a brain in this pretty little head of mine."

Luke raised an eyebrow sceptically. "And since when did you become the tutor type?"

Jess rolled his eyes, “I like her, she reads Hemingway.” He said as he looked at [Name] who was still walking on cloud nine.

Luke nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. "She’s a good influence on you, kid. Don’t screw this one up, okay?"

Jess scoffed, but there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, well, don't go spreading that around. I've got a reputation to maintain."

#merlieve’s fics ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#gilmore girls #jess mariano #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano fanfic #gilmore girls x reader #gilmore girls fanfic #jess mariano x y/n #jess mariano x you #jess mariano imagine #gilmore girls imagine #drabbles #jess mariano fluff #fluff #gilmore girls fluff #gilmore girls x you #milo ventimiglia

999 notes · View notes

silverflqmes · 8 months ago

Note

agszc and the WAY THEY SAY I LOVE YOU CAUSE I'M STILL SCREAMING OVER CLOUD'S DATING HCS YOU MADE SNSKDJKD

໒⦂ ( 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 ) 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

notes. you might be confused with the use of parenthesis but it’s exactly what you think.. not all of them ACTUALLY say those words.. read and see🫡

genre. fluff + angst ( sephiroth’s )

for @melukonova <3

ft. sephiroth, cloud strife, zack fair, genesis rhapsodos, angeal hewley

disclaimer. ok, poetry IS NOT my strong suit, from time to time i experiment with it but i am not the best at it so keep criticism tame please..

gender neutral! reader.

➫ 𝓢𝗘𝗣𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗛 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ sephiroth’s confession would be something that requires patience. he doesn’t have much experience with love, as he wasn’t exposed to it much throughout his life.

⌗ it doesn’t mean he’s incapable of feeling it, rather, it’s a matter of him truly realizing those feelings he has and how deep they run. now the way those words come out.. would likely be influenced by heightened emotions.

a beat of silence passed before the the silver haired hero closed the door, turning to face you with an expression you weren’t certain his features were even capable of making. “what were you thinking??”

he was distressed, brows knitted together as you watched his chest rise and fall unevenly, each breath more irregular than the last. you assumed it was anxiety — something you’d never associated with sephiroth.. until now, that was. “i was doing my job, an injury or few is unavoidable at times, you know that.” came your mumble, feeling your own brows furrow.

of course he knew that, the top hero knew that better than anyone.. but this. “there are other ways to get things done, what you did today was completely reckless — as though you had no care whatsoever for your life.” he argued, moonlight bangs swishing from right to left when his head shook. “you could have died!”

now it was your turn to get frustrated as you stood up from your place despite your aching muscles, walking up to his broad frame. “and that’s suddenly an issue now? our line of work demands for us to risk our lives everyday no matter the mission! we both knew this going into our relationship, so why are you suddenly so worked up over this??” you matched his tone, not fond of the approach he’d taken in addressing you.

“because i nearly lost you!” he shouted, overcome with emotions so powerful, he couldn’t even stop the onyx, gloved hands that flew to your shoulders, clinging desperately to something.. something even he didn’t know of.

his breath stuttered as he lowered his head, trembling in his place. “i can’t.. i-i can’t have you leave me, too…” the first class SOLDIER whispered in a voice so broken, so defeated, you had to remind yourself that behind this towering, imposing powerhouse.. was a human being, with feelings of his own, no matter how well he hid them. a human that knew loss, and an unwelcomed amount of it.. and feared more of it.

unsure of what to do, you pulled him down into a hug, feeling your anger fade into nothingness as you allowed your eyes to close. “i won’t, not ever.”

➫ 𝓒𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗗 𝓢𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗙𝗘 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ he says get help but he’s the one that needs help.. bro just, he can’t say it — he’s too embarrassed and he just doesn’t rlly know how to bring it across properly..

⌗ in the end, he opts for a more subtle method that aerith had once told him about. it required minimal speech on his end, and called for actions to take the reigns — perfectly up his alley.. as long as you got the memo.

“cloud?” you called out in surprise, turning to find a familiar spiky haired blond with an ivory colored flower in between his gloved fingers.

his lightly tanned cheeks were dusted with a tint of pink, seemingly reddening as he held out his hand, averting his gaze. “you said you wanted me to bring you something back from my delivery in sector five.. figured i’d bring something you don’t find everyday here.”

your knowledge of flowers was minimal, as midgar.. wasn’t exactly filled with them. you only rarely saw them from a distance, and on the occasions that you had, normally they were too pricey to purchase.

somehow, however, the owner of strife delivery services seemed to have gotten his hands on one singular flower. when you’d ask for a small souvenir from his travels, it had been a joke, simply you joshing like you normally had with him.. though it appeared this time, that he had taken it seriously.

you cleared your throat, letting out a sheepish laugh. “you didn’t have to do that, but thank you — i’ve.. never received a flower before, much less held one..” you confessed in a soft tone, taking the bloom from his grasp as you brought it close to your face.

even without leaning in to take in its scent, the sweetness greeted your senses as a smile etched itself onto your lips. “aah~ it smells wonderful, what kind of flower is it??”

he rubbed his neck at the question, feeling himself grow more nervous by the second. “it’s um.. it’s called gardenia. aerith’s mom insisted i took one back with me, since they were the newest edition to her garden.. said something about it having a deeper meaning, too.” cloud spoke up, finally lifting his mako-azure eyes to meet yours.

you lowered the flower in your hands, tilting your head. “deeper meaning? i didn’t think flowers were so complex.” you snickered into your free hand before grinning brightly at him. “but, go on. i’m curious!”

the tips of his ears seemed to burn with red as his lips parted before he turned his back to you, folding his arms. “o-on second thought, i forgot..”

“WHAT?? no way, it must be good if you won’t say! come on cloud!” you urged him, moving in front of him to see his face, but all you caught was the faintest smile as he continued to turn away. so cryptic!

➫ 𝓩𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝓕𝗔𝗜𝗥 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ zack uh- as we can tell, he isn’t exactly the ‘think before you speak’ kinda guy — whatever comes out, comes out.. with no regard to how blunt or sudden it might end up sounding.

⌗ now how would that apply to a confession? well, i think he would just say it without even thinking of the impact behind his words. it would just come out naturally, casually.. and you would end up staring like- did he fr just say that??

a sigh left your lips as you turned the page of the newest issue you’d picked up of shinra’s very own magazine, because what didn’t the prestigious electric company have to their name?

meanwhile zack was busying himself with yet another set of squats, clearly antsy. missions had been quiet as of late, mundane even. at the moment, you were both occupying the second class floor, waiting for orders.. but nothing came.

a groan left the nicknamed puppy’s lips as he halted his movements before draping finally himself onto the spot on the couch you hadn’t occupied. “man i bet the firsts are out kicking ass! they really don’t have anything for us to do here??”

you licked your thumb to flip to the next spread, humming. “unless you feel like getting involved with professor hojo’s questionable ass tasks, i’d rather sit here in boredom.” you confessed, missing the grimace on his face since your eyes remained on the passage you had been reading.

“i guess you have a point.. but still.” he pouted, leaning into your face as a means of getting your attention. “can’t we go ask lazard?? he’s gotta have something by now for us, right?!”

a laugh seemed to leave your lips at his complaints as you lifted your eyes at last to meet his zircon ones, a smile stretching across your lips. “and, what? have him tell us no for the fifth time in the last two hours?”

his appendages seemed to part in protest before they jutted out once more. “w-well! for all we know a mission could have popped up on that computer of his right now! with angeal and them gone, they’re bound to ask us! i’m sure of it!” the second class SOLDIER insisted, clenching his fists in determination. “come on, y/n! it beats reading whatever propaganda you’re reading!”

it was partly true, shinra’s magazine went on and on about sephiroth’s feats if it wasn’t already in the daily paper or news. and one look at those puppy eyes had you crumbling. damn him for that effortlessly adorable face..

“fine, we’ll ask one last time.. but if he says no, you owe me a drink from the vending machine since i paid last time!” you huffed out, tossing your copy back on the the coffee table as you stood up with your hands on your hips.

as though sparkles had appeared in his eyes, zack hopped to his feet before engulfing you in a tight hug. “for real?? you’re the best, y/n!! i love you! i love you! i love you!!”

➫ 𝓖𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗜𝗦 𝓡𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗦𝗢𝗗𝗢𝗦 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ ah, the romantic and the one that does too much because everyone else ain’t doing enough ( his words ) — genesis. you can expect a very enigmatic brain scratching confession..

⌗ or in other words, the cheesiest kind of confession that involves poetry, some form of incorporation with loveless, and just some frivolous display of his affections for you in case you don’t pick up on the hints..

“y/n, my dear! won’t you hang back awhile? our work is done for today.. perhaps you’ll indulge me in a piece i worked on, hm?” the redhead spoke up, causing you to pause in your tracks as you blinked over at him.

a piece? “you mean.. poetry?” you inquired for certainty, surprised that he had the spare time to be writing something. “i’m not the best at deciphering metaphors and whatnot.. but i’d be willing to hear what you have.” you smiled, eager to see what he had been working on in his free time.

“not to worry!” he waved you off, pulling out a small notebook from his long coat. “even the foolish and emotionally unintelligent, like our beloved sephiroth could understand!” genesis laughed out, fearless of his friend — or in his eyes, rival — as usual.

you let out a nervous chuckle as you pulled up a chair to hear what he’d prepared, praying that your silver haired friend did not hear.. not that he would care, anyway. just genesis being genesis.. “well um, i’ll do my best to somewhat comprehend what you wrote.” you offered, anyway, placing your hands on your lap as a means of resting them.

the male dressed in crimson took it as a sign to commence, lifting his fist up to clear his throat before holding up his poem. “in a bed of asters, the tears of the goddess.. blossoms a favored one amidst a world or filth and endless disasters — a beauty that wears star formed petals for a bodice..and adorns droplet shaped blades of which its creator once wept.” genesis paused, trailing a finger down to the next line. “one day, a new flower would emerge — tall, scarlet, and proud.. tenderly well kept, and yet.. as sorrowed as a rain cloud.”

you almost wanted to question why, curiosity overtaking you despite the urge to giggle at a few.. choice of words he made. how couldn’t you when it was so reminiscent of the usual reciting he did of his most favorite work of literature.

compelled by your zealousness, you fed into your inquisitiveness. “why was it sorrowed?”

a soft chuckle tumbled past his lips at the awe in your voice as he closed the book with a low hum. “for it was loveless, without its starry accomplice.. that bloomed on a path far away enough to diverge.” he finished gently before sliding a hand to your cheek. “nevertheless, that is but fiction.. as our paths will remain entwined, and my heart shall not bleed with my beloved star around.”

➫ 𝓐𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗔𝗟 𝓗𝗘𝗪𝗟𝗘𝗬 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ ah, yes, the confession of his love.. yet another unspoken way of proclaiming his feelings for you, although i believe his method may just be a little more meaningful.. but just a little.

⌗ however, what would call for the confession exactly, and the realization of his feelings? personally, i believe it’d have either been something in the heat of the moment — in other words, you being in danger, or perhaps.. an inquiry, in regards to the buster sword glued to his back.

“earlier..” your began, eyeing your lover with a curious gaze. “that was the first i’d ever seen you draw the buster sword.. for the longest time, i convinced myself it was decorative, or something.. but there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

the rag in angeal’s hand came to a pause at the question, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. “i remember zack asking me that several times before and i still haven’t presented him with a proper answer.” he mused, eyes softening as he gazed upon his weapon. “growing up, my family was not one for riches. we had enough to get by, thankfully, but making money was hard work on my parents — specifically my father.”

a breeze passed through the few strands of hair that frames his face as he gazed upon the sky. “still, he had wanted to gift me something for passing the SOLDIER exam, and had this forged for me.” he smiled gently, closing his eyes. “it took him a very long time to recover financially for his debts in having this buster made, so long that it cost him his very life in the end..” the first class SOLDIER spoke up, allowing his eyes to lower back down to the blade in his hands. “and so, i do my best to avoid bringing any wear, tear or rust upon it.. as it represents not only my dreams and honor, but the efforts and sacrifice for its creation.” he finished steadily, finally meeting your stare. “but for you, i would draw it without a second thought.”

your boyfriend was already impressive to begin with- the most humble and noble person you had come to know.. but this? it had left you in complete awe to know how sentimental he truly was, despite his stoic demeanor. and for him to have used his beloved weapon to shield you from harm — what did that mean? that he.. held you in higher regard than it..?

“you.. you would do that for me?” your inquiry was stupid, as he had done it once already, earlier in fact.. but angeal nodded, regardless, the small smile on his lips expanding, even if it was just a pinch wider.

“if it guarantees your safety.. in a heartbeat.” he answered with little delay, a fondness in his mako tinted eyes — one that he only ever really showed to you.

notes. zack being the only one who actually says i love you verbatim.. meanwhile the others are cryptic and expect you to guess ( cloud.. genesis.. ) or say it without needing to say those three words.. crazy tbh

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

572 notes · View notes

dumpywrites · 6 months ago

Text

Tears and Poetries - Kim Namjoon / RM

Prompt: “You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Fluff, comfort, idol Namjoon, non fan reader

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

a/n: Come back to me got me feeling all inspired soooo yeah :)

It was late. Frankly you did not bother to check the time but you knew it was at least way past twelve. You just needed some air. Late night polluted air might not be the right option, but it was the best you could have at the moment. Getting out was the only coping response your mind could think off. Getting out from where exactly you could not be sure.

Work life had been a real shit-show. You were on your fifth revision for your company project and your manager still would not accept your draft. While life? Life had been pretty exhausting. Recently your mother had been pestering you about wanting you to achieve more, comparing you to her friends’ sons and daughters, while also underestimating your own accomplishment.

And not even two weeks ago, a guy who you were seeing just admitted that he apparently had a girlfriend. He really just dropped that info to you like a bomb, as if you did not spend time with each other the past six months. True, you never really put a label on whatever you both had, but in your head you were single and so was he. Until he told you that he got a girlfriend and had dated her for a month already.

The wound still felt fresh especially with all the external problems added to the equation. Bearing the feeling of unwanted, unimportant, and never enough at once, was hard. Even labeling it as only hard sounded like an understatement.

So you ran. Theoretically speaking you did not run away, you just took off from your apartment randomly to wherever your feet and your worn off sneakers took you. And they took you to a random spot near a river.

You sat down on the dirty grassy ground, not minding how your shorts could get dirty from it. Just sitting down and looking at the night sky, as if the cold breeze would calm you and do anything besides giving you a possibility of catching cold.

Five, fifteen, maybe it was around half an hour you had been sitting there with empty thoughts, just letting the cold air hit your skin, when you suddenly heard a sound of a bicycle stopping and footsteps approaching.

“Hello? Are you alright there?”

The deep voice started you and made you look back in an instant. There was a tall and quite big built guy standing with his bicycle. He had a buzzcut from the very faint image you could see due to the low light.

Although skeptic, you decided to answer. “Yeah, don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

You realized how shaky and stuffy your voice sounded. It probably was not a very convincing “don’t worry”. And when you did not voice another reply, the person parked their vehicle and slowly walked towards your direction.

“Hey! Stranger danger!” You said, backing off from where you were seating.

The guy stopped in his tracks but did not walked away. “Do you mind if I join your pondering session? Who knows two great minds might think alike.”

You stayed still in your position, eyes searching for his in the very confusing lack of light. You could barely make out of what he looked like.

“I’m not a creep, I swear!” He threw his hands in the air. “There’s a police station nearby if you wanna shout as loud as you can, they could hear you from here.”

He took your silence as a green light and stepped closer until he reached a spot on your left. He cleared his throat and sat down next to you.

There you could eventually fully saw his face. The first thing you noticed was the nicely shaped nose, and his plump lips, then his dimples which showed when he politely smiled at you.

The first ten minutes was spent in complete silence. You did not expect the man to whip out a notepad and pencil and just started writing. A story? Poem? Or song? You tried your best not to sneak a look. He was even humming at some point when he wrote, and it was strangely enough, soothing.

“What are you writing?” You finally asked, the suspense was killing you.

“Thought you’d never ask.” He replied with excitement. “I’m writing a poem. Though I’m starting to think it’d sound better as a song.”

“You’re a singer or something?”

The man looked at you in disbelief for a good second before chuckling. “Sorta.”

“Am I suppose to know you?” You eyed him back with the same questioning look.

“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s a good thing that you don’t know for today.”

You looked at the guy suspiciously, which earned a laugh from him. “The more I think about it, I think I’ve seen your face somewhere…”

“Oh yeah?” He said, a light tone of nervousness was visible in his voice.

“You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”

He almost choked on nothing. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“Yeah, that one dude from BTS.” You repeated. “Although I don’t think any one from them has a buzzcut… Idols always seem to have either colorful hair or beautiful long locks.”

“Really…” The man voiced out, sounding unsure.

“Are you perhaps an indie artist? K-hiphop? Don’t tell me you are a DPR member that I somehow don’t know about or something…”

“Okay, enough about that it’s not important.” He dismissed. “You wanna take a look of what I’ve written?”

“Uh, sure…”

You leaned a bit closer to him and peeked over his notes. He took his notepad nearing it to your side so you could read better. Despite the low source of illumination, you could read the delicately written words. It was deep and meaningful. Whatever he wrote on that paper seemed a little too real to just be a song, it almost felt like it came from true experience.

“You sound like you went through hell to get to where you are right now.”

You commented, you were not aware of how reading through his words affected you until you could practically hear your heartbeat. You clutched at your chest, trying to calm it down.

“I’m not only talking about the sufferings.” He pointed out. “I also mentioned about the journeys in between.”

His expression brightened as he explained further. You found it really attractive for some reason.

“The feeling of loss, left out, were there alongside the feeling of excitement, growth, and wanting to change for the better.” He grinned. “And I think life needs that small bits of flavor to complete us as human beings… Wouldn’t have loved myself so much without all my struggles and flaws.”

You gazed at the guy in front of you in awe. “Guess you’re right.” You finally broke into a smile. “That was beautiful though, almost got me tearing up.”

“Thank you.” He grinned, showing his dimples. “What about you though? What’s on your mind?”

“It’s kinda lame…” You nervously laughed.

“I’m listening.” He scooted closer, making your knees touched.

“There are a whole list of messed up things happening in my life right now, but I guess I could name one or two…”

You took a deep breath and the guy in front of you patiently waited for you to speak.

“Basically my mom’s been yelling at me saying stuff about how unsuccessful I am for my nine to five job, while getting bullied by my manager at work, and not to mention, how I just got dumped by a guy who I was seeing for six months.”

“That’s fucked up…” He looked at you with wide eyes.

“You tell me.” You replied sassily. “I mean I guess for the most part it wasn’t really about the problem itself. I’m aware of how perfectionist my manager could be and multiple revision is expected. My mom never really feels content with anything, so that’s also expected. And that fucking guy leaving me? It was probably for the better…”

“Hey.” He grabbed your shoulder suddenly, catching you in a surprise. “Don’t downplay your feelings like that. You’re allowed to feel sad when other people treat you like utter shit. It’s valid.”

There was something about his words that triggered an emotion within you. Unknowingly, a tear escaped your eyes, followed by more next.

You leaned backwards to free from his grip, only for him to lose it but proceeded to take off his knitted sweater, revealing a black oversized t-shirt underneath. He took it off with one hand before shoving it through your head so you could wear it.

“It’s chilly. You might catch a cold.”

Hesitantly, you rolled the sweater through your body. You felt the neckline stained with tears and wondered if it was his polite way of helping you wipe your tears. You thanked him and he told you to continue.

“I don’t know what else to say, I don’t want to trauma dump on you.”

“How are you feeling though?” He asked, eyes gently looking at you.

“I just… I felt unwanted? Unimportant and undesirable? It happened all at once and it got me connecting strings. The root cause of my problem felt like it came from me as a person and I felt sick…”

He gazed at you and quietly nod, allowing you to continue.

“I came here because it was loud and deafening in here,” You tapped your head with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “And I’m glad I did. Not only did I manage to tone it down a couple notches, I also get an exclusive song preview from a top star!”

Both of you laughed in unison. You were the first to break the eye contact due to the sudden invasion of butterflies in your stomach. It might be dark and late at night, but your eyes could not lie about the beauty of the stranger in front of you.

The silence was soon broken by a buzzing notification from his phone. It was on silent mode, but the multiple vibrations got him shuffling his hand on his pocket, fishing his phone out from his cargo pants.

“Damn, I gotta head back. Someone needs me in the studio…”

“At this hour?!” You argued immediately.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” He ran his hand through his short hair in a frustrated way.

“What’s your name?”

You both stopped and looked at each other, dumbfounded. Both of you asked the same question at the same time. Laughter filled the air once again.

“You first.” The guy gestured.

You got up and he followed right after. Now looking at how tall he was compared to you, spelling out your name felt a little bit harder. Your heart was beating in an abnormal rate. You finally managed to tell him your name and you patted yourself internally for not voicing out like a squealing hormonal teenager.

“I’m Namjoon.” He said with a huge contagious smile.

“Now where did I hear that name—“

“Can I have your number?” He interrupted. Glancing at his phone screen, a small groan escaped his lips. “It’s almost three, you have to go home.”

“Oh.” Your lips formed a small O shape. “Sure. Here, give me your phone…”

You both then exchanged phone numbers.

“I want to take you back to your home so badly but I really can’t…” Namjoon sighed. “Besides, my bicycle can only do so much…” He chuckled.

“It’s okay, I live nearby.” You smiled. “You take care, though.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll text you?”

“Yeah.” You nodded happily. “Thank you, Namjoon.”

“Don’t mention it, I’m really glad we met today.” He nodded at you before retreating to where he parked his bicycle.

“Wait!”

You followed, running to his direction. You stopped when your arms barely linked behind him, hugging him tightly. It was bold of you but it just felt right at the moment.

“Thank you so much, I mean it.” You said with voice muffled a little by his clothes against your mouth.

And you did. You meant it, it felt really nice having someone who actually listened to your problem and seemed like he cared about it too.

He hugged back. “You’re not unwanted, okay? You are loved, please know that.”

You nodded and broke off the hug. A big smile plastered on your lips and he mimicked it. “Okay, you may go now.”

You both bid your goodbyes and that was how you found yourself smiling and giggling at three in the morning, by yourself, on your way back to your place, all while hugging the sweater that you forgot to give back. That encounter was weird, but in a very good way. It almost felt like the universe sent you an angel knowing how down you were feeling. In a peculiar way, it almost felt like he saved you. You went to sleep easily that night.

The next morning you were awaken by a text notification popping up from Namjoon. You smiled like an idiot to yourself before opening it.

“Good morning! I hope you slept well. Did you arrive safe yesterday? Sorry something came up, I wished I could stay longer.”

You quickly replied to him. “I slept good. Probably thanks to you, hehe. No problem though! Maybe we could hangout again someday? I need to return your sweater after all :)”

After typing the text and sending it, suddenly a curious thought filled your head. His name did ring an unknown bell. Namjoon did mention that he was a singer, an idol maybe? You could not be sure. You tapped your Google app on your phone and started typing his name followed by the word “singer” behind it.

Maybe this was your cue to be more aware of the Kpop industry. You had your fair share of listening to K-hiphop, and were even an avid listener of groups like Epik High and Balming Tiger.

So how come you failed to notice that last night you in fact just hugged Kim Namjoon, aka RM from the internationally well known boy group, BTS???

Thank you for reading! 🌙

a/n: this was a rather short one but i hope y'all like it nonetheless <3

Prompt request: HERE

#bts fanfic #bts fic #bts scenarios #namjoon scenarios #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon fic #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x you #namjoon imagine #bts rm #bts namjoon #kim namjoon

573 notes · View notes

mytheoristavenue · 9 months ago

Text

LF Creature x Reader - Mutal Comfort

Summary: You owed Lisa a favor, but you never expected she'd make you pay it back in the form of babysitting her undead boytoy while she goes to a party.

Warnings: rushed/not proofread, bisexual!reader, reader has an unreciprocated crush on Lisa, angst, fem!reader

"Lisa, I never agreed to this!" You shouted at your best friend as she hurried over to crawl back out of your window.

"I promise I'll make it up," she waved you off, sliding the glass panel up. "It's just for the night, I swear. I'll be back before school."

With that she was gone, hearing no other protests. You stood with your back flattened against the wall, frightened gaze never leaving the thing on the other side of your bedroom.

You were the only person who knew of Creature's presence, being Lisa's very best friend for life or whatever. You'd do anything for her but babysitting her undead little pet was definitely stretching boundaries.

You felt some guilt for your terror, after all, he did look incredibly somber, shrinking into the opposite corner. Maybe he felt bad for scaring you?

"S-Soo...uh," you started, pushing off the wall but only by mere centimeters. "Y-You...Lisa's new boyfriend?" The thing seemed rigid at the thought and reluctantly shook his head. "Let me guess, you wanna be?" You prodded, inching closer still. Another timid nod. The two of you had that in common, apparently.

"You and me both," you sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed. Creature eyed you skeptically, still in the corner but not as glued to the wall as before. "Don't look at me like that, I don't mean I want to be her boyfriend." You paused, wondering if his expression was caused by the thought of you being gay or wanting to be a male, or maybe he was jealous at the thought of competition. "But, I don't know, being girlfriends might be nice..."

By this time, he'd inched close enough to sit on the other side of the bed, still as far away on it as possible, though. You took this as a sign to continue. "It's just that, me and Lis have been besties since like- kindergarten. I even convinced my parents to move her with her after her mom died and it feels like all she does is blow me off now," you ranted. "Like, before the incident, we'd have these long talks about the future, and we were always in each other's but now...I don't know anymore..."

An anguished moan was his only response as he drew his discolored hand to his chest. "Sorry," you said dropping your head. "I know you've gotta be hurting too listening to her ramble on about-" You brought your hands to your cheeks and batted your lashes, making your voice an octave higher to imitate your crush. "Micheal Trent!" He nodded, rolling his eyes slightly. "Y'know, I really don't know what she sees in him? Dude's a class A poser. He pretends to be into all that dark music and poetry but it's literally just to look cool and mysterious so all the preppy girls will fall in love with him."

While you ranted, Creature studied your room, noting how different it was from Lisa's. She had string lights, drawings, and moody posters all over her walls, while yours were tidy and well-organized with framed photos and prints of paintings that matched the color scheme of the walls. Eventually, you caught onto his staring and fell quiet prompting him to glance back to you.

"Didn't mean to fly off the handle, my bad." you muttered, standing up with a sigh. "Anyways, what do you like to do? Got any hobbies?" He stood up with you, wandering over to a keyboard that had collected dust in the corner. Curiously, he stuck a key and cringed at the sound it made. You joined him, explaining it. "That's just my old keyboard. I used to play piano as a kid but when we moved here we couldn't take my piano with us, so my dad got me this. It's kinda like an electric piano, only it's portable. Don't really like it though, too synthy for my taste."

Creature sat down in front of it, fumbling with the buttons on the control board while trying out the keys after each adjustment. Finally, he seemed to have found a setting he liked. "I'm guessing you play?" you cocked a brow. You couldn't have predicted how the cocky smirk then tossed you would make you feel. Following that, he threaded his finders together before pushing them out, cracking his knuckles before dramatically slamming down on the keys.

"Holy shit," you breathed, listening to the classical tune that filled your room. Needless to say, he played beautifully and was incredibly talented. At one point, he even glanced up at you with another shit-eating grin, showcasing the fact that he knew the positions by memory and didn't even need to look.

"You're amazing!" you explained when the song was finished, placing your hands on either shoulder and rocking him gently. "I've never seen that much musical skill from one person! What, were you like a professional pianist in your first life or something?"

To your surprise, he actually nodded. "Jesus christ man, I've never even heard that song before, did you write that?" He nodded again, and again, you were flabbergasted. "I bet you had an extraordinarily hard life." You muttered without thinking. "Art like that only comes out of suffering." As he nodded yet again, this time more bashfully, the two of you shared a moment of silence.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," you realized, glancing away. This time, Creature shook his head, an uncharacteristically peachy hand guiding your face back toward his as he stepped closer. For a moment, you waited to see what wisdom he had to offer, before remembering that no words would come as he stared at you, only able to offer a comforting gaze. "I wish you could talk," you whispered as he pulled you into his chest without you even realizing it. "But then again, maybe it's better you can't." you retorted to yourself bitterly. "I've had enough people tell me to cheer up because life gets better."

Creature stiffened, pushing you to hold you at arm's length, shaking his head again. "You think you got something better?" you asked, rhetorically.

Sensing your irritation, he resigned himself to giving up on communication for now. Taking matters into his own hands, he pressed a palm to his heart, a sign for you to trust him. Gently, he guided you back to your bed, pushing you down onto it. Awkwardly, Creature untucked the quilt from the bed a threw it over you, signalling for you to lay down, before tucking you in. You reluctantly followed his instruction, laying down on your side, tears welling in your eyes from all the overwhelming emotion bubbling inside you. You then watched as he made his way over to your desk, seeming to write something on a sheet of notebook paper Following this, he laid the note at your feet as he took a seat in front of the keyboard again.

You couldn't deny that you were beginning to feel drowsy after the soft music he played filled the room. This song was nothing like the first one. It was sweet and serene, unlike the dark and dramatic one he'd first played- with that cocky grin that made you feel so conflicted.

On the cusp of needing to rest your eyes, you remembered the note he'd left for you, briefly sitting up to reach it before laying back down, holding it up in the air to read what it said as he played your consciousness out.

"The sun does not ever reappear if the rain never stops. To live happily is to find solace in any weather. With the right balance, the flowers will begin to bloom. I hope to one day see a lush garden in you, darling."

#lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein creature x reader #creature x reader #lisa swallows #lisa frankenstein reader insert #lisa frankenstein fanfic #diablo cody #zelda williams

489 notes · View notes

lixies-favorite-cookie · 4 months ago

Text

an ocean in a world full of puddles ◦ Chapter 1

-After being brushed off by Chan once again, you are stuck waiting in the lounge room for him to arrive. What are you going to do when it isn't Chan that arrives, but instead Felix? And it feels like you've known him for years."

words ◦ 5k

genre ◦ series, angst, fluff, the beginning of a wild ride

warnings ◦ chan is painted in sort of a negative light because he is always busy, felix is sort of shy around you at first, but lowkey flirty near the end as he starts to get more comfertable, theres a lot of fucks in this, i keep calling yall im dumb im sorry, fem!reader, felix calls her a lady once,

a/n ◦ The strikeouts are intentional to show how chaotic the reader's mind is and how she feels like her emotions are so invalid she has to just erase them away. I'm sorry if this isn't what you expected. I found myself struggling to describe certain aspects of this and was quite disappointed by the outcome (but please do not let this deter you. If anything, read it and let me know what you think/what I can change. Plus, I know the other parts are going to be way better than this).

also i listened to heather while writing this up until the phone number bit... then i listened to slow down by chase atlantic...do with that information as you will

A VERY VERY SPECAIL THANK YOU TO THESE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE that helped me through the different struggles and stages in this fic I thank most of my unnecessary errors being fixed because of them @yongbun, @jeonginsleftcheek, @luvtak

masterlist ◦ a loved lived in between the stars and the sea

The human condition: a soul filled with passion, but not a mouth to spill it into.

It was ironic really.

Your soul was filled with passion, but you had a mouth to spill it into.

That mouth just didn't want your passion-

Your fervor-

Your ardor-

Romance practically coursed through your veins, your blood cells shaped like the hearts you saw the world through.

Chan was filled with passion.

Chan was filled with ardor.

Chan was filled with romance.

But Chan didn't want poetry-

Chan spilled too much soul into songs.

Songs that made him too busy for you.

The two of you saw the same goal, but spoke different languages-

Your love was often-

Lost in translation.

You shout, frustration poking in the pit of your stomach painting the car red you dig the pencil into the words scratching them out so hard you cut holes in the page that sounded so stupid

all of this was so stupid

your feelings-

stupid

your issues-

stupid

the thought that Chan was anything other than perfect-

stupid

Why couldn't you just be content with everything you have? So many girls would pay to be in your place, tripping over each other just to be in his presence, and yet, what, you're unhappy because you spoke different languages?

What the hell does that even mean?

You were trapped inside an inescapable box, the sharp edges of your unrealistic expectations like shackles that cut into your skin, bleeding with a passion only ever found in fiction.

Why were you always stuck?

stuck in the stars, stuck in the sea-

stuck in this stupid line of stupid traffic, waiting for a stupid meal that Chan probably will be too busy to eat with you, writing some stupid piece of poetry that was about as poetic as the rotting innards of unidentified roadkill.

stupid

“Finally,” you mumble as the car in front of you inches up, allowing you access to the next window. You politely bow, grab the trays from the worker’s hand, and drive off.

Your life quickly turned from the hope of a story to the reality of a routine. The road, the walls, the button your finger grazes as the doors to the elevator slam shut, the number of steps it takes to get to his room, the feel of cold metal underneath your palm as you open the door, the same hunch of his shoulders, the same glow of his laptop, the same empty look in his eyes.

the same

Most of your relationship is spent looking at him like this.

"Hey channie," you say, setting the food down on the empty spot beside his keyboard.

"Hi, love." His voice is nothing more than the ghost of a mumble, blending with the click and shift of his mouse, moving different blurs and blobs of color on the screen. Chan tended to get tunnel vision when he was working, even if that meant you were left stranded in the shadows of his forgotten responsibilities.

"I um brought you dinner." you clear your throat, pointing lamely at the boxes beside him like he couldn't clearly see they were there. He perks up, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours.

"Oh baby, thank you." The tension in his shoulders melts. "I'm sorry, you know how busy I am sometimes; right now it feels like I'm drowning in work," he chuckles, absentmindedly shifting in his chair.

you're always busy

You push a smile through the tangled ball of suppressed emotions climbing up your throat.

"I know you're busy, but do you think I could eat dinner with you today...please?" Your stomach twists in painful knots. It was pathetic really, the way you begged for attention like a needy dog more than a doting girlfriend, but you were desperate, scrambling to fan a flickering flame that felt long sputtered out.

stop

You knew what you were getting into when he asked you out—the stress, the anxiety, the workload, the long hours. Chan was always upfront and honest about the struggles of being an idols girlfriend, never wanting to veil your eyes from the harsh sting of realities rays.

then why does it still feel like your soul is burning?

He flicks his gaze to the screen, guilt gnawing at his core. There was so much to do in the day and just never enough time to do it. "I don't know, I don't really have a lot of time right now..." He mumbles, picking at the seam on his shorts apologetically, "Do you think you could wait about 20 minutes? I'm kind of on a roll here."

When your relationship was first blooming, your spirit would often shatter with those words, but pain only holds power when it isn't welcome, and as long as you are loved by him, you will accept the feeling with open arms.

"I'm going to go sit in the lounge room then." You try to keep the disappointment out of your tone, but it leaks through the cracks echoing in your chest, radiating in palpable waves. You clench your jaw, picking up your tray of food.

does he not care?

"Okay," The squeak of his chair indifferently swiveling back to its previous place echoes in your ears. Louder than anything you've ever heard.

he didn't even kiss you

1 hour 45 minutes and 13 seconds

That's how long you have been waiting in the lounge room for Chan to walk in the door.

that is how long you've been wallowing in a sad pathetic heap staring at your uneating supper

1 hour 45 minutes and 15 seconds now

16 seconds

17 seconds

You spin around when you hear the door creak open, anticipation fluttering in your stomach, only to plummet when you see Felix standing in the entrance, too busy shoveling a fork full of noodles in his mouth to notice your presence.

Felix was a familiar face, mostly associated with sweet smiles and bouncing eyes; you have only ever talked to him on a handful of occasions, possessing the basic relationship of hellos in the hallways and smiles when you enter the same room, but besides the couple times where he offered you some of his freshly baked brownies or told you which room Chan was in, you haven't actually had a conversation with the boy.

You groan, dramatically deflating in your seat.

Of course, it wasn't chan

Felix yelps, his heart leaping in his chest, only to wrap around his bones, doing trapeze tricks inside his ribs when he lays eyes on you—why, out of all the days he could have seen you, it was on the one day he was least ready, and the way your whole body slumps like a deflated balloon, it becomes crystal clear you weren't exactly jumping up and down to see him either.

Does Cupid have a vendetta against him or something?

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know anybody was in here," he stutters awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair like he was trying to fix it without a mirror. Disappointment quickly brews into guilt watching the way his eyes shift, hurt drooping his shoulders down.

"No, I'm sorry, it's not like that; I just thought—" You falter. What the hell did you think? Sorry, but I thought you were my boyfriend who left me here all by myself, and like usual, my stupid, hopeful heart really believed this time was going to be different. "You were someone different." You sink into the couch, a dull ache spiderwebbing through the chasms in your chest.

"Let me guess." His eyes crinkle with sympathy. "Chan."

You glance down at your ribs—some silly part of you really believed your shirt had blossomed with the crimson stain of your sorrows.

"How could you guess?" you mutter sarcastically, picking at the skin of your nails. Why did it seem like everybody else got the memo that if you were to search the thesaurus, your name would be the first word under forgotten?

"Well, really, it was a toss-up between you being with him for the past 5 years and the fact that he has been glued to his computer for the past 5 hours," he grins. "Pick your poison."

Your gaze drifts back to the couch that sits idly in front of you, lonely in the middle of the room, out of place, without the implant of another person's body.

"W-Well," he starts, shifting his bowl in his hands. "Do you... I don't know, want some company...maybe."

He's so awkward, so unsure, like a baby deer wobbling on unfamiliar legs, struggling to stay upright. You tilt your head, your lips pulling up into an adoring grin; you never really noticed it before, but he was sort of shy. You had a terrible tendency to take your time observing people unintentionally, causing discomfort to the victims of your restless brain—assessing in silence.

His ears burn when your eyes gloss over with an opaque glaze. His heart drops only for those silly little butterflies that always appear when you are around to swarm their wings around the lump growing in his throat.

Well, that was a bust.

Why couldn't he just be normal around you?

"O-Or not, that's fine too. I-I get it; you're probably l-like waiting for Chan or whatever. I-I can go get him if you would like." He jerks his thumb behind him, forgetting he was holding something for a second, stumbling to catch it right before it falls. You snicker, biting your lips to contain your laughter. His eyes flutter shut, scrunching his nose in embarrassment.

He was cute

Why haven't you talked to him before?

"No, please sit down," you lazily gesture to the couch in front of you. "It's not like Chan's going to be coming down anytime soon."

He sighs, his whole body melting with relief, practically forming into the couch when he shuffles over, adjusting himself to comfortably sit with his legs wide and his head tilted down. He picks up his fork just before whispering, "I'm sorry that he kept you waiting," and stuffing his face. You smile, the sight all sorts of endearing. The amount of food stuffed into his cheeks puffs them out, forcing his mouth into a pout that's smeared with red sauce. For a moment, you almost forget that you're supposed to be groveling, but why would life want to let you live when instead it could remind you constantly how much it sucks?

"I'm used to it." You learn to live with the absence of air when your hope always causes you to suffocate.

"You shouldn't have to be," he murmurs, his hand politely veiling his mouth while he chews. He's staring at his food like his noodles were an impossible labyrinth he's forced to escape, completely oblivious to the cataclysmic sentence he just uttered. Your jaw drops, stomach fluttering with butterflies, butterflies that you could’ve sworn burned out a long time ago. When most of your time is spent in a constant state of apocalypse, you forget the side effects of a romanticism, felt before your soul was littered with the echos of war.

"Oh?"

"Are you not going to eat?" He questions, forehead creased with concern as he gestures to the food that was currently burning a hole in the table. You stare at him stupidly, mouth ever so slightly agape. Did he not notice that there were swarms of zombified insects burrowing their way into your belly, kaleidoscopes charred wings creating panic in your pounding heart?

(cookie interruptions: I was today years old when I found out that a kaleidoscope was the technical term for a swarm of butterflies)

Why was he making you feel so jittery?

"Oh," you blink, giving an imperceptible shake of the head—a weak attempt to gather your disoriented thoughts.

Honestly, you had forgotten it was there.

"I was waiting to eat with Chan..." You mutter through the tufts of wool still stuffed in your head, wrapping your fingers around the tray, but when you pull open its flappy lid, your lips pull into a sneer glaring at the congealed sauce and cold noodles. You weren't surprised that your food had spoiled over the 2 hours you had been waiting, but it didn't make the frustration that bubbled in your gut any less apparent either. "But clearly, that hope was shortlived," you scoff, chucking the useless tray back on the table.

Felix clears his throat, adjusting himself in his seat. He often found himself tiptoeing on the edge of insanity, always rewriting the words he wanted to say, terrified you had written a line in the sand the waves had washed away.

You were a star with a heart tied to the sea, where he would have more success breaking the bond of the moon than turning the tides of the ocean that suffocated your soul.

So for now, he will coast the cosmos alone, waiting for the day you will finally look his way.

"You can have some of mine... if you want," he whispers, shyly scooting his cup over to you. "It's salmon-flavored; it's really good."

"Are you sure?" you blink, utterly flummoxed.

"Yeah, of course!" You swore you could trace the stories of the sky in the gaps where his freckles glowed.

"Thank you; I promise I won't eat too much," you joke, pulling out your fork. "I don't mind it, really. I can always make more as long as you're eating I'm okay," he grins, sliding his hand out of the way to allow room for yours, grateful for his generosity; you bite back a smile, digging into the hot noodles; a spicy flavor pulled straight from the sea explodes on your tongue as soon as the food meets your lips.

You swear you just tasted heaven's gates.

"Holy shit, this is delicious," you moan, rolling your eyes back in your head.

"I'm glad you like it," he smirks. "It's my special recipe."

"So you do more than bake, huh?" you waggle your brows lightheartedly, though you were sort of impressed by his broad palette of skills.

"You know that I bake!?" He was still recovering from the shock that you even knew his name—the way he often dissolves into the wall when you enter the room.

"Of course, I know that you bake; I always have to eat at least half of the plate of brownies Chan brings home." You giggle, picking at the noodles, wanting more but feeling guilty for hogging the whole bowl.

"Oh, I'm full," he stretches, rubbing his stomach like a stuffed cartoon character.

"Are you lying?" Cynism was a side effect of being a creative romanticist—your artistic brain didn't limit itself to only forming one conclusion, while the stories that ended up on paper were solely portrayed as having happy endings—you knew this philosophy was neither sadistic nor realistic, for even if the fictional characters made up of the fluid of your mind betrayed each other, what would a human, evil in its rawest form, do to you?

well that was melodramatic

"You know you're a very skeptical person," he jests, pulling his lips ever so slightly up.

"I'm a hopeless romantic; there's a difference," you state, stuffing your face when you finish studying him down to the very twitch of his right calf muscle.

"Aren't hopeless romantics supposed to be happy-go-lucky all the time? Seeing the world through rose-colored glasses and stuff?"

"You know we are called hopeless for a reason," you snort, unrealistic standards were more of a curse than a blessing.

Scratch that, having unrealistic standards is just a curse

“Being a hopeless romantic is like being an ocean in a world full of puddles.” Your soul speaks like his fingertips have felt its walls a million times before “devastating.”

He stares at you gobsmacked, blinking like you just hit him over the head with a mallet. Your mind kicks into gear, anxious little butterflies flipping on the switch for damage control.

that must have sounded so self-centered

"I-I didn't mean, like, in a cocky way, I'm better than other people. I just meant it's impossible to pour my passion anywhere because everybody else doesn't have room to take it. If anything, I-Im the bad one in this scenario.” You stutter, sporadically shaking your hands, worried that the misconception is going to create a concrete opinion. He quickly waves you off, seeming anything but bothered.

“An ocean in a world full of puddles that's pretty deep,” he implores, treating the words like age-old wine to be sipped with both time and deference. “You know you should really consider being a poet 'cause that like moved my soul.” Only Lee Felix can make humor sound so honest.

Why was he so ...amazed

"I like to think I'm a poet." Your cheeks are painted red as you bashfully tilt your head down.

but right now not so much

“You can't think you're a poet,” he chuckles. “If you ever wanted to read somebody your stuff, I would be happy to help…Maybe it could fix your uncertainty." Something twinkles in his eyes, something nervous yet desperate, something you couldn't quite pinpoint while your stomach was sprinting in circles—the mere thought of showing somebody else your poetry was the equivalent of slicing your heart in half and presenting it to the world on live television.

basically, something that will never happen never ever

"No, no, no, it's nothing like that. I don't really write poetry per se; I just write my..." You trail off.

What do you write?

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he reassures, his warm smile cooling the icy anxiety that crystallized around your core.

Why do you do this to yourself??

Stupid Felix and his stupid power to loosen your lips-

stupid. stupid. stupid.

To be a poet is to be vulnerable; no great art is ever created comfortably.

Fuck it

“I write my dreams,” you blurt, peeking out through your clenched eyelids to see if Felix caught the spit of a sentence; clearly, he did the way he lifts his brows thoughtfully.

“Elaborate”

A man of many annoying questions you see

“Why,” you groan, sinking into your seat almost comically.

"Because I want to listen to you," he laughs like whiskey and wine, both husky and rich. You choke, your heart imploding into a million tiny, rose-shaped pieces.

"Nobody wants to listen to me ramble on about hopeless fantasies that will never come true," you sputter, still trying to reshape your rose-shaped shatters into something that resembles an organ.

"I do."

Oh well, there they go again, forming right back into roses-

He made all of this seem like a complex game of chess, every move of hesitance quickly countered by a block of honesty.

From the moment you could write, you found out that paper was not volatile the way people were, how you could erase a word written but, in time, in life, you cannot erase a sentence said—that philosophy stuck with you, forever rendering you apprehensive to vocalize your feelings.

Maybe it was your soft spot for the stars that made you speak, but either way, when your mouth opened, it felt as though all your past doubts had washed away, and for once, you were free.

"I have always held onto my dreams through the tip of a pen, existing in between the lines of my poetry. But I don't write about deep philosophical pearls of wisdom; I write about love, passion, beauty. I write about coffee and cream, roses and vanilla. I write what I think romance tastes like, how the contrast of the most iconic confessions has been written in the rain, a usually gloomy, grey thing completely transformed through the lenses of love…" You sigh, tilting your head against the back of the cushion in bliss.

"I write the way I want to love, for I know it's the only way to quell my heart's aching urge to live anywhere but reality."

He stares at you eerily still, blinking once, twice, three times."

Why wasn't he saying anything?

Perhaps you were drunk off Felix's promises, or the cracks Chan created in your chest made you bleed with a passion only ever reserved for your poetry. But either way, you felt naked—exposed under his exploring eyes.

"What?" You croak, picking at the sleeve of your shirt.

Why did everybody act like you were crazy?

Was there something wrong with you?

You are floating in the asteroid belt, a thousand tiny rocks hovering around your head.

"Maybe you're just not looking in the right places." There’s a deep intensity in his eyes, a million roaring waves crashing against each other; you run face-first into a meteor, bouncing around the surfaces of a weightless space.

How many brain-altering revelations could Felix bestow before your brain cracks?

"You know, I haven't even told my friends that," you deflect. It was a dangerous game, diving too deep into your thoughts, and right now, with him—with that statement, danger could quickly bleed into destruction.

"So, I'm not your friend?" Clearly, Felix catches on to the sudden swerve of the conversation, how he eases into it with such grace, jestingly poking your knee.

"This is the first time I've ever had a real conversation with you," you scoff, poking him right back. His jaw drops in faux offense.

"You know, I just gave you my food. I think that deserves an upgrade into friendship territory," he states matter-of-factly.

Two can play at that game-

"I don't have your number; usually friends have each other's number." You place your elbows on your knees. He has been playing a metaphorical game of chess with you this whole time, his pawns moving ever so slightly forward. He forced your hand, the comfortability in your eyes making openings on the board you never meant to create. His rook, his bishop, his queen—they kiss the place right below your king.

You had one more trick up your sleeve-

You were a creative romantic whose moves were nothing less than a story, and you were going to be damned if you let your king be captured.

Now, where's the happy ending in that?

(cookie interruptions… I dont know what this is nor why i am so dramatic but hey what can you do ALSO LISTEN TO SLOW DOWN BY CHASE ATLANTIC I BEGTH OF YOU )

He leans forward, pressing his tongue against his cheek. The fabric of his shirt stretches across the hard ridges of his abs—

No, stop it, bad y/n.

"Do you want it?" He leans his head ever. So. Slightly. Forward

"Maybe I do."

"Maybe I'll give it to you," soft, smooth voice-

you narrow your eyes,

"What will Chan think?"

"It doesn't matter what Chan thinks-"

"Tell that to Chan-"

"Maybe I will." His lips-

"You know, if Chan saw us here right now, he would not be very happy." You suck your teeth.

Check-

He scoffs. Moves his bishop.

You're right back where you started.

"You're not his pet."

"Yeah, but I am his girlfriend." Block.

"Those two words are not synonymous," he says. Moves his queen.

Too many openings, too many moves, too many pieces on the board.

Too many outcomes.

Do you even still want to play?

Weren't you the one who started the game?

You bite your cheek, his eyes burning like molten amber, glinting in the overhead lights.

Should you have really asked for his number?

What would Chan think if he saw it in your phone?

Who were you kidding? He would actually have enough time to look at your phone.

"You know," he leans back, extending his arms to drape across the couch, pushing his thighs ever so slightly apart. Gone is the man with smiles like sugar; determination wisps across his face like spits of fire, overtaking every feature."If I give you my number, I'm going to have to help you unlearn your engraved cynicism." He's closing in on you, moving all his pawns in one fair swoop. You're surrounded, swarmed.

"You can't ungrave something it's scientifically impossible." You shift your king. One last dying breath-

Before-

"I can try."

Checkmate

And like every person of honor does when they have nobly lost a battle they created-

You run away.

“I have to admit, as much as I loved this conversation, I really should be going,” you say, picking up your tray of forgotten food to chuck in the trash, leaving Felix's bowl on the table. He jumps up, scrambling to pick up his mess while you dart out the door, tossing the tray in the can just outside the room.

“Wait,” he gasps, stumbling to catch up with your speed. Your finger, out of habit, moves to press the button to the elevator doors—that is, before he catches it, his warm hand wraps around your wrist.

“Now, what gentleman would I be making a lady get her own door?” He bellows, voice deep and low, a sound echoing through his chest as the fabric of his shirt kisses your back. He’s so close, so close, so—

How long has it been since you've been touched?

Heat. You're drenched in it, painted in it, enveloped in it.

His hand grazes your skin as he slides up your wrist, his finger extending to press the button.

Your breath hitches.

Body shutters.

Every atom erupting in flames.

The elevator doors slam open-

Your brain clicks back into place-

“Will I be seeing you again?” Your hot, so hot. He’s hot, so hot. Breath—it tickles your ear. Disoriented, so disoriented.

“I still don't have your number,” you manage to utter, slipping into the doors. His face will be the final thing you see as you descend down the shaft, lifelessly walking to your car where you will go home, go to sleep, and start your routine all over again. He smirks, flicking his eyes to your pants.

“Yes, you do.”

I do?

The doors inch shut, and a small, teeny-tiny part of you wants to wrench them open, pull him in, force him into the stanzas of your story. You are tired—tired of waiting for your life to begin, tired of repeating the same vicious cycle.

But that wasn't you talking-

That was the hopeless part of your personality,

The unrealistic-

The fiction-

Life wasn't a game and reality wasn't a book.

You had a good thing going wth Chris and you were going to be damned to ruin it just because of one fun conversation.

You reach one finger into the back pocket, feeling around for what Felix could have been talking about.

There's no way.

Your skin brushes across a smooth surface—something that definitely wasn’t there before.

There's no fucking way.

You pull it out.

It's pink and folded and definitely written on. You unfold it.

XXX-XXX-XXXX. Just in case you ever need an editor or a friend.

Oh well, fuck the game. He just flipped over the whole damn chessboard.

Read Chapter 2 here

171 notes · View notes

flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

The Impossible Choice

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[warnings: kissing, angst, sexual tension]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm's End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

For the last four years, all her sisters had spoken about was Prince Aemond Targaryen. She knew that he was to choose one of them, as agreed between the king and her father, Borros Baratheon − military intent for marriage seemed for him the right price. On the day when all the findings were confirmed he came to her, took her cheeks in his rough hands and began to speak.

“One of your elder sisters will marry Prince Aemond in a few years. But not you. I want you to stay with me." He said, kissing her forehead.

She didn't understand what he meant then, and she felt humiliated to think that perhaps he thought that she was missing something. Only after a few years did she realize that her father treated her differently than them.

Cassandra, Maris, Ellyn and Floris loved to sew, sing, play instruments, read poetry. They resembled her mother, whom she barely remembered.

Her father once told her that she reminded him of his younger sister, who died when he was only fifteen. Although, unlike her father, she could and liked to read, she went hunting with him as well, Borros watched from a distance as his son and heir, Royce, taught her swordsmanship and archery. Her father decided that she was of Baratheon blood, not her mother's, and that marriage would destroy her.

She accepted the idea that her father had other plans for her, watching her sisters, thinking that she was no match for them in maturity and beauty, their hips and breasts full, their curves graceful.

She, as the youngest of the siblings, was much smaller, her cleavage was not so plentiful, her hips were not so wide, she didn't seem fully female standing next to them, and she was glad that her father had let her escape this humiliation.

On the day Prince Aemond was to make his choice, a great storm broke out. She thought, as she and her brother walked out to the back of their fortress, that this was a bad omen from the gods.

They both flinched as they heard a monstrous, loud roar in the distance, they thought for a moment that a huge dark cloud was approaching them, and then they saw a huge beast appearing from the sky, circling above their stronghold. She felt her heart pounding in terror, shivers run down her spine.

"Do not think about it." Royce shouted at her, throwing his sheathed sword at her.

She grabbed it on the fly, her hair wet, strands stuck to her face; they often practiced in the rain and with how tense things were inside their castle, they both decided to run away and wait until it was all over.

She smiled at him, pale, drawing her sword. They slashed their blades again and again with a loud clang of steel, turning around, trying different positions. Their movements weren't fast or brutal, both of them practicing proper posture and stamina.

Though she knew that it wouldn't make sense in King's Landing, in Storm's End no one asked why Borros Baratheon's daughter practiced hand-to-hand combat.

It seemed obvious.

War has been in the blood of their family for generations.

It almost always rained in Storm's End, and when it didn't, it was usually cloudy, she was used to the fact that whenever she went outside she was all wet, and although her sisters rarely left the fortress for fear of getting sick, she only strengthened her immunity and such conditions did not impress her anymore.

She and her brother both flinched and backed away from each other when they heard a guard run down to them, shouting something at them, she had to listen carefully to understand what he was saying, as he repeated his words.

"Your father orders you to return to the keep immediately, my lady." He said, in the background of his words thunder and loud, rushing rain, she looked at her brother, but he just nodded for her to go.

"It's probably over." He said, obviously wanting to reassure her.

She followed the guard down the corridor, through the cold, stone walls of her keep, trying to keep her composure, feeling her heart pounding hard.

Which one did he choose?

Ellyn, she thought.

She had a charming smile and pleasant curves, bright eyes and ease of speech, she knew that Ellyn desired this marriage and she hoped that the prince would be kind to her sister once he was her husband.

She followed the guard into the great hall and saw her father sitting on the lord's throne, stroking his chin uneasily, her four sisters were scowling at her, grim, she sensed that something was wrong.

She turned her gaze a little to the side and then she saw him.

He was standing in a long, unbuttoned leather coat, resting his weight on one leg, saying something to her sister, but he turned to her when he heard her footsteps, the dagger and sword strapped to his belt.

She saw that famous scar and black eyepatch, his long, white hair partly tied back, there was something terrifying about him, she thought, in that animalistic, menacing look.

She felt the raindrops falling down her cheeks onto the floor, she had the impression that they would soon evaporate from the heat that she felt in her body, at first she didn't even hear her father speaking to her, unable to look away from his face, she turned to him when she heard him say her name.

“This is my youngest daughter, my prince. As I said, I felt that she was not properly prepared to fulfill her responsibilities as your wife." He said briefly, she heard impatience in her father's voice, but also something else.

Fear.

Prince Aemond didn't even glance at him as he spoke, he stared at her intensely, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"I will decide that, Lord Baratheon. Wasn't that the deal?" He asked, and that was the first time when she heard his voice.

Cold, low, slightly taunting.

She felt her hands shaking and swallowed softly, only now feeling her throat tighten, she didn't know where to look.

She saw him avert his eye from her and walk slowly, unhurriedly toward Cassandra. She looked away immediately, red and horrified, when she saw that he had kissed her, her sister gasped.

When she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he released her without giving her a single glance and walked over to Maris.

She saw him repeat the same gesture and felt tears well up in her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling of the great hall that she was standing in, where she had played all her childhood and prayed to the gods that he wouldn't do this to her.

When she heard him walking slowly towards her she didn't look at him, felt his large, cold hand grab her cheeks, forcing her to turn her face towards him. Involuntarily she drew a shuddering breath into her lungs, letting out a soft sigh, her eyes looking pleadingly at him, her mouth slightly parted in shock and fear.

His face showed absolutely nothing.

She felt him move closer to her, but hesitated for a second as she shivered all over, felt his small gesture, how quickly, almost imperceptibly his thumb squeezed and wiped her cheek, as if to soothe her, comfort her.

She looked at him again then and his lips were on hers, pressed against hers in a sticky, warm kiss, she closed her eyes and thought that it wasn't unpleasant, he smelled like smoke and rain.

She didn't purse her lips against him, but she didn't kiss him back either, she thought that he was about to break away from her as he had from her sisters, and she waited patiently, knowing that the end would come soon.

She stifled a guttural groan as his hand closed over her cheeks and he kissed her deeper, more hungrily, sending shivers down her spine.

Involuntarily she put a hand on his shoulder, as if she was both looking for support and wanting to push him away, she flinched as he let out an almost inaudible grunt when she touched him.

He pulled away from her with a wet click and she looked down, red with embarrassment. He didn't let go of her cheeks and was silent for a moment.

"Her." He said suddenly, her heart stopped.

She looked at her father in horror, but she couldn't get the words out of her throat, she heard Ellyn sob loudly, burying her face in her hands.

She thought that it was impossible.

Her father seemed as shocked as she was.

"…as I was saying, my prince…" He began, but Prince Aemond let go of her face, turning tensely as he walked slowly towards the entrance, without glancing at her once more.

"I have decided." He said loudly, coldly, leaving through the main door, outside the windows they heard a loud thunder, which shook the fortress.

She heard her heart pounding loudly, didn't even know when tears were streaming down her face as she slid helplessly to her knees, trying to catch her breath.

She heard her sisters sobbing, Cassandra came over to her, pushing her angrily so that she collapsed on the stone floor.

"How dare you touch him?! He's a prince!” She screamed, possessed by humiliation and pain.

"Enough!" Their father shouted, rising from his throne, running his hand across his face.

"All of you, go to your chambers. Now!" He shouted impatiently, dismissing them with his hand.

She stood up, but she felt her body moving on its own, her mind leaving her loins and drifting away, as she walked down the corridor she met her brother who was speaking to her, apparently asking her a question, but she moved past him, heading for her chamber, closing the door behind her. She slid down, sitting on the floor and pulled her knees up to her chin.

She felt her whole body tremble in convulsions as if she had a fever, she tried to tell herself that it was all a dream, but then she felt his fleshy, full lips on hers again, his hand cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing over her face imperceptibly.

Her stomach tightened at the thought, terrified that she liked this feeling.

They had all been humiliated by him, but especially her sisters.

She thought that they would never forgive her.

They'd wasted years of their lives, preparing to be married to the man who stole their first kisses and then chose their sister who wasn't even considered.

She wondered why he did it? What drove him?

She wasn't even wearing a gown, didn't have her hair combed, didn't look like a woman, a highborn lady.

She thought that he was mocking them and her, that it was his cruel joke, a punishment for the king and queen for forcing him to marry against his will.

Her sisters pretended that she didn't exist for the next few days, when she came to join them during supper, they got up from the table and left.

Her brother comforted her by saying that they were taking it out on her for their misfortune, but she didn't feel better.

All nights since he chose her she cried, burying her face in the pillow.

Her father had no words of comfort for her either. Even though she knew he wanted to, he couldn't keep his promise to refuse him. He hadn't expected this turn of events and was furious, but breaking the agreement with the crown was out of the question.

She wouldn't even dare to ask him to do it.

The prospect of marriage and wedding night left her in a state of constant shock, she knew nothing about these things, and her sisters wouldn't tell her even if she wanted to, her mother was dead and she couldn't ask anyone what it looked like, what she should do, how to behave.

She thought that it would all be a series of endless humiliation.

After a few weeks, Lord Baratheon received a letter from the queen, informing him of the expected date of the nuptials. She was to arrive in King's Landing in the next few days, to properly prepare for the ceremony and acclimate.

She wanted to vomit at the thought.

Her father then hugged her tightly as he had when she was a small child.

He was a big, aggressive, sometimes even boorish man, but she had never known another lord who loved his children so dearily.

"You are of House Baratheon. Nobody will break you." He said, taking her face in his hands and kissing the top of her head, she pursed her lips at his words, not letting tears leave the corners of her eyes until she heard him disappear behind the door.

The night before she left for the Red Keep she couldn't sleep. Her sisters still didn't speak to her, but she and Cassandra always had the closest and warmest relationship. She needed the advice and comfort of another woman.

She took her candle in her hand and walked down the corridor towards her chamber. She opened the door, peering inside timidly, her sister frowned at her, confused.

"What is it?" She asked coldly.

She swallowed softly at the tone of her voice and closed the door behind her, walking slowly to her bed, sitting on the edge of it without looking at her. There was silence between them for a moment.

"I'm scared." She said, her lips quivering hard, her eyes were already red from crying, but she felt tears welling up again under her eyelids, heard her eldest sister shift uneasily under her covers.

"Please, tell me what to expect." She whispered, looking at her pleadingly, her sister stared at her dispassionately.

"Pain."

She swallowed softly, terrified, the way she said the word sent shivers down her spine.

"What do you mean?" She asked softly, her voice trembling at the very end of the question, betraying her desperation and fear.

Cassandra looked at her for a long time before answering.

“You have a duty to fulfill. You must give the prince an heir. This is your only task. Do you know how this act looks like?" She asked, and her younger sister shook her head quickly, looking down in embarrassment.

“The man lies on top of you, between your thighs. He inserts a part of his body into you, from which fluid will flow out, thanks to which you will be able to bear his child. With any luck, he won't tear you apart from the inside." She said indifferently, her face proud, her eyes cold.

She swallowed hard, feeling her whole body tremble, what she was saying sounded terrifying, foreign and painful, she couldn't imagine anyone putting anything inside her body. She clenched her hands on her knees.

"Does it hurt a lot?" She mumbled, feeling herself shiver all over, her sister exhaled loudly through her nose.

"They say the pain is indescribable."

She nodded, swallowing softly, thinking that perhaps this would be some kind of punishment for taking away from her sisters what they wanted.

She decided that she would accept what was about to happen with the greatest dignity as she left her chamber without a word.

That night she did not fall sleep.

The next morning everything was ready and her ship was waiting to take her to King's Landing. She threw herself into her brother's arms, for the first time in her life she saw him cry.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered into her ear, squeezing her tightly, his stubble scratching her cheeks pleasantly as usual, she stroked his hair, closing her eyes.

"Don't worry." She whispered, breaking away from him.

Then her father approached her, also unable to refrain from an affectionate gesture, he kissed her cheek and pulled away from her, pressing his lips together.

She knew that if he could, he would have kept her.

She looked at her sisters who were standing in the distance, only Ellyn rushed to her, bursting into sobs and hugged her tightly. She embraced her, and walked up the long plank, to the deck of her ship.

The journey wasn’t long, but it still felt like an eternity for her. She felt great tension, terror and fear, Cassandra’s words rang in her ears, filling her with anxiety.

When they finally arrived, a man who looked like a knight was waiting for her, she recognized him as Ser Criston Cole, she had seen him fight in royal tournaments more than once. He bowed to her, giving her a calm, gentle smile.

"My lady. Welcome to King's Landing."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses

1K notes · View notes

bitethedevil · 2 months ago

Note

What do you like about the character of Raphael ?

A Feral Love Letter to the Devil We Know

Oh boy. Here’s my list of why Raphael is like catnip to me (it’s not short and it is possibly a bit extra deranged because I am currently sick).

Purely physical things that convince me that this man was made for me in a lab:

Brown eyes and dark hair has always been my type

The slight stubble and those cheekbones (generally just his whole facial structure is beautiful)

The fucking n o s e <3 <3

Those thick thighs (perfectly sittable and bitable). He is just perfectly shaped.

Those hands he waves in your face all the time and those long fingers (does things to me)

His clothes. Yes, even in cambion form and even the silly clown boots, I love them. It is just all too extra, and I live for it

Everything about his cambion form

I have this crazy theory. There has been made these studies that depending on hormone levels, women are attracted to different kinds of men. At one end of their cycle, they prefer more ‘feminine’ looking men, and on the other end they prefer more traditionally ‘masculine’ looking men. If I get tired of his human form, I get more attracted to his cambion form and the cycle repeats. I think that is why I just do not get tired of staring at this stupid man every day. I know I’m not crazy. It’s science (and we all know I’m a trusted scientist).

Non-physical things that intrigue me:

How expressive he is. I love how his face changes constantly and dramatically with each sentence he speaks. It’s mostly an act but he is so charismatic. He has ‘rizz’ like the kids would say.

I can’t fix him. I don’t want to. His mind games intrigue me. I want to study him like a bug and play mind games with him too (I’m not delusional enough to think I’d win). Let it be toxic as fuck on both parts.

This man is just chucking stones from his glass house like there is no tomorrow. He plays such a big bad devil, but he is really just a little wet cat with a god complex and daddy issues. Not to mention his little hissy fits if any of his perceived weaknesses are pointed out. I find it endearing (unfortunately).

His voice and his eloquence. I love it. Even his shitty poetry. I could listen to it for eternity.

He is so smart. I have been shouting it from the roof tops: he is not stupid. He is always ten steps ahead.

He’s honest. He doesn’t lie and you know where you’ve got him (if you know how to keep up with him).

Genuinely everyone thinks he sucks, both devils and mortals, and yet he thinks he is the shit, either genuinely or as a coping mechanism.

He just such a nuances character if you really dig into it.

Things I relate to:

The scheming and overthinking. Everything is meticulously thought out to the point of obsession. He is playing 4D chess but doesn’t even consider that the other players might just eat the pieces to win. He strikes me as someone who completely overcomplicates things for no reason, and I felt that.

His idea of order is very different from what’s actually orderly. It just has to make sense to him, like ‘what do you mean it’s not orderly to have dead people lying around, trash everywhere, and debtors running around aimlessly in my house? Completely intentional. What’s not clicking?”. I felt that too. There is order to my chaos, and you don’t have to understand it. I get it.

He’s a cringy theater kid with a love for poetry too.

I too find it annoying when other people don’t follow the script I had in mind for the conversation.

Just human enough to understand how human interactions works, but either doesn’t give a shit or genuinely thinks that just spouting vaguely threatening poetry to strangers is a completely normal thing to do.

The obsession and ambition that just completely makes him lose the plot of everything else.

He is just so obsessed with everything being perfect to a point where it almost seems silly.

Acts like he doesn’t care, but actually cares A LOT about how other people perceive him.

I could honestly keep going but you get the picture.

(Thank you for the ask <3)

#raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael

117 notes · View notes

amsgrey · 2 years ago

Text

it will be enough

requested: yes

Grisha power wasn't specified, so I picked a random one. (and by picked I mean I literally added them to a spin-the-wheel thing and went with it).

Spoilers for Season Two of Shadow And Bone

warnings: Not proofread or edited, Nikolai being jealous, fluff at the end, more things that I have forgotten

You met Nikolai when he was still parading as Sturmhond, the witty privateer who was all about money and fun. You had been locked alone in the hull of a slaver's ship for longer than you could remember, wasting away without food, water or the ability to summon. Everything had been a blur, shouting, fighting, and then you were being unchained and helped upstairs. You remembered the first time stepping into the sun after that whole time, it burnt your eyes and you had to shield them with your arm.

You had met Sturmhond on his own boat, someone had laid you in a cot and forced you to drink water. Then, a man in teal had asked you your name, told you you were safe and would have a place on his crew if you wanted it. You had taken him up on it, there was always a space for a Squaller on his crew. Nikolai grew to trust you, and put his faith in you as he did Tamar and Tolya. Since then, you would follow Nikolai anywhere he asked.

That included helping him bring peace back to Ravka with the Sun summoner. You had been hesitant to leave your comfortable life with the crew of the Volkvolny, but you loved Nikolai, you would go with him to the ends of the earth. You and Nikolai had been dancing around feelings for each other for almost as long as you had known each other. Tolya was always teasing you about it, reciting cliché poetry and watching you and Nikolai exchange stolen glances. You were sure they were unrequited feelings, so you never acted on them.

It only got worse after returning to Ravka and meeting with the rest of Nikolai's allies at the Spinning wheel. You saw the way he looked at Alina, the hope that lit up his eyes, she was all he needed now. You tried your best not to be hurt about it, you knew loving a prince would only lead to pain. He would never be able to love you back, a commoner. So you volunteered to join Tolya to travel to Ketterdam. You were born and raised in Kerch, and you had the strongest language skills out of all of the party.

Nikolai hadn't spoken to you since announcing his engagement to the sun summoner, it felt like he was avoiding you. He finally approached you on the Hummingbird the day you agreed to leave.

"Y/N?"

You turned to find him leaning against the railings, watching you prepare the sails for the journey. "Moi Tsar."

Nikolai cringed, "Not yet."

You smiled, walking over to join him, "Does that mean I can still can you Sobachka?" You laughed, playfully shouldering him like you would do on the Volkvolny.

Nikolai rolled his eyes, "What is your obsession with that name?"

You enjoyed watching him squirm, making fun of him was too easy some days, "I like calling you Sobachka, makes me think of you like a little cute pup."

Tolya interrupted you both before Nikolai could answer, "We getting this show on the road?"

Nikolai took an extra look at you and the bright smile you sported, "Be safe," He ordered, returning to his Prince persona.

"We'll bring back Neshyenyer," You promised.

Returning to Kerch and meeting the crows felt like a fever dream. Somehow, you slotted into their ranks easily, quickly becoming fast friends. You grew to enjoy Kaz's company as much as the others, something about spending time with someone else from Kerch, who really understood. Besides, he was serious and unwavering and you kind of enjoyed someone who was as serious as you.

After the events in Shu-Han, you were having second thoughts about staying around in Ravka after the war. Nikolai had everything he needed now and Kaz had offered you a place with the Crows if you wanted it. The only thing that was keeping you in Ravka was Nikolai, but why stick around to love someone who would never love you?

You jogged along with Kaz, Wylan and Jesper, headed towards where Nikolai was rumoured to be. You followed Kaz's lead as he peeked over a wall, watching three Grisha rounded on Nikolai and his forces.

"Wylan," Kaz turned to the boy, "Grenade."

Wylan handed it over to him, everyone watching him light the fuse.

"Y/N?"

You nodded, stretching out your hands to summon wind to propel the grenade to your target. You all watched it make its mark, blowing The Darkling's Inferni back until she lay dead on the battlefield.

Nikolai looked to Tamar, "Where did that come from?"

Kaz stood proudly, declaring, "My Demolitions expert."

You stood to his right, just as proud to be joining the fray.

"Expert?" Wylan mumbled, looking at Kaz. You all looked at him as he corrected himself, "I mean, yes. Expert."

You and Jesper smiled, amused by his fake confidence.

You all took a step forward, sliding down the shingled roof and dropping down the wall. You used your small science to soften everyone's fall, allowing you all to rush towards the gates. Jesper quickly worked on the rust that bound the gates closed, leading Wylan to the barricade Tamar, Nadia and Adrick hiding behind. You and Kaz headed opposite them, where Nikolai was crouched.

As you both rushed over, Kaz muttered, "What nightmare have we gotten ourselves into."

Jesper looked over at your group, "Why's Sturmhond here?"

Tamar frowned at him.

"Round here he goes by Nikolai."

"Nikolai Lantsov," Jesper realized, looking over to the man in question. Nikolai shrugged, you couldn't help the chuckle at Jesper's annoyed expression.

"All this time, close personal friend," He spun his pistols into his hands, preparing for a fight.

Nadia and Tamar looked about as confused as could be, "And you are?" Tamar pressed.

Wylan was tucked behind Jesper, his hand resting on his back, "You must be Tamar." He answered, "We came with your brother."

That didn't seem to make the woman any less confused, but she didn't press it any further.

You all watched the Darklings Squaller and Tide Maker rise to attack again. The tide maker raised her hands, drawing water from the sky to draw her attack. Jesper sprung into action first, followed by Adrick and Nadia who came to his support. Watching Jesper shoot would always entrance you, he was such a great shot, aided by his Durast abilities.

You were about to stand and join the fight when Nikolai stopped you, "Did you get Neshyenyer?"

You nodded, "Zoya, Nina and Inej are finding Alina, they'll get to her."

Nikolai nodded in relief, as you looked him over you realized there was blood staining his jacket.

You pressed your fingers to the blood, "Are you hurt?"

Nikolai followed your gaze to where your hand rested on the stain, "it's- It's not mine."

You looked up at him, seeing the pain in his eyes. You would ask more later, for now, there were more pressing matters than those you'd lost.

Jesper finished his attack on the Tidemaker with the buttons on his waistcoat, lashing out and turning them into their tiny blades. As you looked past Nikolai you watched the Squaler draw lightning to his palms, it crackled and hissed as he tried to amass it.

Kaz nudged you with his crow's head cane, handing it over for you to use as a conductor. You quickly jumped to your feet, rushing to Jesper's side and using Kaz's cane and your powers to channel the electricity. Lightning was notoriously unstable, It didn't react well to being controlled. You threw your hands up, forcing the lighting to connect the two of you through Kaz's cane, then expelling the power back into the storm clouds it came from. The more lightning the Squaller summoned, the harder you worked to draw it away. Eventually, he ceased, knowing he could not lash out with the electricity you too controlled.

"I have Datura Meloxia!" Wylan shouted.

"Wylan! Now."

The boy uncapped the vile, calling for Adrick and Nadia to help him propel the powder, "Air support!"

You and Jesper ducked to avoid the powder being swept into Grisha's face, watching him stumble around in glazed confusion before Tamar sent her axe into his head.

As the Tidemaker tried to fight back one last time, she realized just how effective Jesper's attack had been. Screaming at the realization her fingers were gone. Nikolai was appearing to the side, raising his pistol and firing one last bullet, taking down the final one of the darklings Grisha.

"It's done."

You and Jesper both let out matching sighs of relief. He bent over to retrieve his pistol, then dramatically threw his arm around your shoulders to pull you into a side hug.

"Thanks for that, gorgeous."

You smiled, "My pleasure, Handsome."

You joined Kaz and Nikolai, the two of them eyeing each other. You retrieved Kaz's cane from the mud, handing it over to him with a triumphant smile, "I believe this belongs to you, Brekker."

Kaz took it from you, twisting it in his hand as he admired the crow's head.

Nikolai looked from you to the man who you were grinning at, suddenly less pleased to see Brekker, "I didn't realize you were patriots."

"Well if you die, we don't get paid," Kaz said like it was the most straightforward answer. You couldn't help but laugh, after the stress of the fight and Kaz's arid sense of humour, you needed it.

Nikolai was sure he could listen to you laugh every minute of every day and never get sick of it. He hadn't heard it enough in the last few weeks, and it pained him. He longed for the evenings on the Volkvolny when the crew would laugh and drink without the looming threat of death and destruction.

Everyone smiled when Tolya appeared, pulling his sister in a crushing hug. Nikolai looked around his gathered allies.

"We have to find Alina. If Kirigan brought the fight here, he's gunning for her."

Tolya nodded, "I've cleared us a way into the fort. Come on."

You fell into step with Nikolai at the back of the group, his unofficial bodyguard for the fight you were about to delve back into. Nikolai couldn't help but spare you glances, you looked tired, the lightning summoning had worn you out. He wanted to stop, allow you to rest, and bring back the bright smile you almost always wore. He knew better, though, just plotting along silently beside your group.

You sat next to Tamar as everyone took a much-deserved breather.

"A moment of sun before we deal with out losses," Nikolai sighed, glancing over the wounded and dying that lay on the grass, "Dominik..."

Tamar comforted her friend quickly, "He did exactly what any of us would have done for each other."

"For you," You added, leaning over and grabbing Nikolai's hand. He glanced down at your clasped hands, giving a small squeeze as thanks.

You all looked up as Alina, Inej, Nina and Mal walked over the hill. Nina stayed by the wounded while Inej and Alina exchanged a few quick words. Alina chased after Mal, leaving Inej to inform the group.

Nikolai thanked the crows for their help, he took Tolya's arm and headed away to address the consequences. You were about to join when Kaz called your name.

You turned to the man, a small frown on your face, "Yes?"

"If you ever feel like coming back to Ketterdam," He spoke, "We would welcome a crow with your abilities."

Jesper and Inej both nodded, showing their support.

You couldn't help the smile that grew, "I'll think about it." You promised, taking your leave to follow after Nikolai and the others.

When you met up with Nikolai, he wouldn't meet your gaze. Looking at everyone else but you. He made preparations for the Darkling to be burned on a pyre, leading all of his most trusted allies to join him. It was strange, that it was all over. There was no more fold, no more bickering or fighting between otkazat'sya and Grisha, it was an entirely new beginning.

You wanted to stand by Nikolai as he addressed your small group, but there was something off about him. He still had yet to make eye contact with you, ignoring your small gestures of comfort. Eventually, you gave up, coming to stand next to Nina behind Alina.

As Nikolai finished his speech, Kaz led his crows away. Nina looked at you, knowing you needed the support. She took your hand, leading you away from the flames with the rest of the crows.

The gathered forces were celebrating as you all exited the sand that was once the fold. Offering all of you drinks and food. You couldn't find the energy to join the festivities, brushing off friends and fellow Grisha to find a quieter space.

You found yourself wandering until you reached the roof of the compound, finding a perch on the edge of a wall looking over the land around the compound.

You let out a quiet gasp in fright when Nikolai appeared at your side.

He quickly grabbed your arm, "Don't fall."

You smiled, "I won't. Probably."

Nikolai chuckled, joining you on the ledge. You were struck by how many times you would sit together like this on the Volkvolny.

"Shouldn't you go find a healer?" You asked, gesturing to the bandages wrapped around his leg.

Nikolai shrugged, "I needed to talk to you first."

You looked away, "About?"

Nikolai was staring at the horizon, clearly also struggling to find the courage to talk. Something had changed between you two for sure.

"What did Brekker say," Nikolai finally spoke after a long silence between you.

You glanced at him, the afternoon sun was illuminating his face. His hair was still cleanly combed back, neatly styled to make him look regal. His cheek was still bruised, the only thing that made him look like the Sturmhond you knew.

"He said if I ever wanted to go home, I had a place with the crows."

Nikolai nodded, "Home to Ketterdam?"

Nikolai knew how much you missed Kerch, you grew up in the countryside on a farm with your siblings. You had stopped in Ketterdam once or twice with the Volkvolny crew, but it wasn't the same as going back to live there.

"I know it sounds crazy," You fiddled with your hands, "I never thought it would be possible to go back, maybe now..."

Nikolai could relate to that, he never felt entirely at home in the Grand Palace, and he didn't think it would ever be possible to. Now he would rule there.

"When are you and Alina leaving for Os Alta?"

"Tomorrow," Nikolai replied, "Tamar and Tolya are taking over captainship of the Volkvolny."

You hummed, "I'm sure they're excited about that, Tolya can stop for all the snacks he wants."

Nikolai laughed, a carefree laugh that made you smile too.

You both sat in peaceful silence for a while, listening to the celebrations going on under your feet. You felt like there was something more to say like you both wanted the other to confess the feelings you shared.

You kept coming back to the fact Nikolai and Alina were engaged. You knew that it wasn't a love match, Alina loved Mal. But even so, they would be tied together for as long as it took for Ravka to rebuild. You were being childish if you thought you and Nikolai could be anything other than friends. And so you were thinking more and more about returning to Ketterdam, joining the crows. Leaving Nikolai would hurt, but it would hurt more watching Nikolai with Alina.

You eventually came to the conclusion there was nothing more you could say, Nikolai clearly did not share your feelings. You cleared your throat, stretching casually and then getting to your feet.

"They're probably missing us," You said, trying to hide your disappointment.

Nikolai didn't respond, staring out at the horizon a while longer.

"You should stay."

You almost didn't hear it, already a few steps away from Nikolai. You turned to face him, "What?"

Nikolai got to his feet and stood before you, giving you his full attention for the first time since leaving the Volkvolny.

"I want you to stay."

You struggled to find any words, gaping at the man before you.

Nikolai kept talking, "I know that I can't ask this of you, I know I Shouldn't. But seeing you with Brekker, the thought of you going to Ketterdam with him-"

Nikolai stopped when you giggled. He frowned at you, "What?"

"Nothing," You giggled.

Nikolai grabbed your hand, "What? Why are you laughing?"

You stifled your laugh, "Are you jealous of Kaz?"

Nikolai faked being offended, "Me? Jealous?"

"Oh, you so are," You cackled, getting a lot of amusement out of watching the Tsar squirm, "Nikolai Lantsov with his damnably handsome looks is jealous?"

Nikolai dropped your hand and threw his hands up in exasperation, "You are the worst."

You grinned, then remembered what he had asked. "Do you really want me to stay?"

Nikolai looked serious again, "I do. I want you to stay with me, by my side."

"But you're engaged to Alina."

Nikolai seemed to realize at the same time you did, he nodded solemnly, "We couldn't be anything to each other in public. At least, not until Alina and I end our engagement."

"You'll end your engagement?"

"It was always the plan," Nikolai explained, "She loves Mal. I love you. It's just for political-"

"You love me?" You cried before you could stop yourself.

Nikolai's face flushed, he scratched his neck sheepishly, "Yes."

"Well," You reached out and took his face in your hands, cupping his cheeks gently, "Aren't you lucky I love you too."

Nikolai's face burst into a cocky grin. He grabbed your waist, firmly holding onto you and dragging you closer to him. He reached one hand u to cup your cheek, guiding a thumb over your cheekbone tenderly.

"I can't believe you were jealous of Kaz," You teased, drunk on the feeling of being so close to Nikolai.

"Shut up," Nikolai scoffed, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss. He pulled you even closer until you were flush with his chest. You brought your hands to the back of his neck, twisting your fingers into his hair. You couldn't help but feel relief, the feeling of it washed over you. You had spent the last few days worrying about where you stood. This answered that gnawing fear, Nikolai felt the same.

Nikolai pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. His arms wound around your waist, holding you close while he stared into your eyes.

Your face was flushed and you were breathless, "I have been waiting years for you to do that."

Nikolai smiled, "I've been wanting to do that for years."

You knew this wouldn't be the end of this discussion, about him and Alina. But for now, you were happy to follow him to Os Alta, to know he felt the same way. That would be enough for now.

933 notes · View notes

dementer-blue · 21 days ago

Text

Gorgeous

words: 500ish

warnings: reader is mostly described as gender neutral but is called a mom at some point, fluff, smut allusion in the end, carla might be a little ooc cause im obsessed with agatha

notes: I watched the agatha all along finale and felt like I needed to write something to get rid of the kathryn yearning without writing for agatha and getting depressive so i wrote something shitty for carla because i can

Carla Dunkler was gorgeous, and she knew that. I did too.

I found that woman so unmistakably beautiful. And she knew I did.

My daughter was 12, I would bring her to school every morning and I always saw that gorgeous woman, all by herself, dropping her son, staying there and hitting on numerous men. I sometimes wished she would hit on me too, secretly, of course. I wouldn’t actually tell anyone that, some moms despised the brunette for some reason.

Until one day, she did hit on me:

- Hey, hot stuff! – Carla shouted from across the street as I walked back to my car

-You’ talking to me? – I point at myself, looking around confused

- Of course I am, hun, come here!

I walked over to her in a fluid semblance, trying to not fuck it up.

-Hey… - I spoke softly, feeling too seen

-I always see you dropping your daughter… Y/N, right? – I nodded my head and she continued – I’m Carla.

-Yeah, I know. I’m Y/N… but you already knew that… - I hissed at myself internally and she chuckled shortly

-Yeah, I did… Well, we’re both hot single moms with no apparent potential lovers, I was wondering if you might wanna go out someday, but if you have a partner or sum’…

I smiled softly at her and crook my head a little to the side, suddenly felling confident

-Are you asking me out, Dunkler?

-Don’t make a big deal out off it or I’ll change my mind. – She almost but huffed

-Ok, ok, I won’t! – I giggle for a second – I would really like to go out with you

She nod her head and climbed on her car’s window, picking up a pen, grabbing my hand and writing on the back of it

-My number. Hit me up and we’ll talk about that.

-Yeah, sure… - I look at her like she was the most beautiful creature in the world, somehow

-See ya’ later, gorgeous – she winked at me, hopped inside her car and drove away while I waved back

After that, I texted her, we talked, a lot, until we finally went on that date. Carla was dropping me at my house.

-Thank you, Carla, I had a lot of fun… hope we can do that again soon…- I spoke with a look of endearment, almost staring at her

-You’re staring, hun… - she hummed against my face, smirking

When I looked away and was starting to come up with an excuse, she grabs my chin and presses her lips on mine. Oh, such a sweet kiss, I felt like I could have her lips forever and never get bored. Until the hands started appearing, groping, grabbing and grinding against each other, making out for minutes. I separate from her breathless

-Do you wanna go inside?

- I sure do, hun…

Carla really was gorgeous.

~~~~~~~~~

notes 2: i do think I write too bookly poetry shit to tumblr fanfiction but i will get better i swear😶‍🌫️

#carla dunkler x reader #agatha all along #bad moms #kathryn hahn #wlw fanfic #lgbtq

58 notes · View notes

lazarushound · 10 months ago

Text

My Best Friend (who has never seen Supernatural) Writes an Episode of Supernatural

Everything they know about this godforsaken show is based on my poetry and my insane, autism fuelled ramblings. Enjoy.

[Opening Scene in a forest with a car. Also Sam and Dean are there.] Sam: I told you not to fuck with my car! Dean: Fuck you, I didn't fuck with your car. Sam: This is why dad beat you as a child. [The two begin fighting, shouting unintelligible insults at each other which show their deeply messed up psyches as a result of their poor childhood.] [A vague monster appears, grabbing Dean tightly by the throat. He comes to him as a really really hot guy, and Dean actually doesn't seem to mind.] Monster: I know what you are. I know what you are really looking for. I know what you have been waiting for for all of these years. [Dean's eyes trail to the monster, looking at him brotherly and admiring his totally sick bod.] [A beat. Dean is about to open his mouth, his eyes trailing from the monster's to his lips before-] Monster: A brother. [Dean's expression falls. He's not so bricked up now, and in fact seems disgusted. Was it himself he was disgusted with? Or was it... his father? He goes to the nearest tree and punches it, his knuckles bleeding. He watches the blood fall. He thinks he deserves it.] [Cas appears, out of nowhere or something, or maybe he walks. It's probably a bit awkward at first to be honest. Dean is crying, or maybe he's not. He never cries, so it's a bit hard to tell.] [Cas looks at Dean with a vulnerable expression. He looks like the epitome of an open wound. Too soft for his own good. He puts a hand on Dean's, who almost seems to flinch at the touch.] [Another beat. The two are staring into each other's eyes. But it's not romantic, they're just good friends.] [Except not really. It's hard to love someone who doesn't want to know the truth about themselves.]

Cas: Are you okay, baby doll? [Dean is angry again.] Dean: I'm fine. Get your little fmaggot fingers off of me. Cas: Why won't you let me treat you like a companion? [Dean cries at the touch. Or maybe he doesn't.] Dean: I'm not worthy of healing. Cas: But I love you. We're brothers. [Dean is bricked up rn, and this is a total mood killer.] Dean: We're not brothers. [Sam is just kind of there. With a girl or some gaping hole in his heart just like his brother.]

Cas: We're companions. We are life partners. We are civil mates forever. [There is a lot of sexual tension right now, but it's actually a bit awkward and quite uncomfortable. The shuffling of Sam's feet on the leaves is a pathetic space filler.] [A beat.] Cas: You're my sweet cheese, man.

#every line of this is golden #dean is angry again #but it's not romantic. they're just good friends.#some lines actually hit me kinda hard though #he thinks he deserves it #with a girl or some gaping hole in his heart just like his brother #ebony ily #supernatural #cw supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #dean and cas #deancas #destiel #sam winchester

169 notes · View notes

emmatgc · 5 months ago

Text

#Jonsa ❤️ A Tribute

House of the Dragon anticipation took me back a decade ago when Game of Thrones rule the world of television. I was a fan but not enough to call myself an expect or an avid really. Season 1 will always be my favorite but Season 6 has my heart. I have always belonged to the house of stark and the wolves of the north. I always knew and expected their family to be the last ones standing. Never cared for any love story or ship due to the fact it seems all are political maneuvers, as it should be. Until S6 came, Jon and Sansa reunited. I was shocked by the moment. It was emotional and poetry in motion and it was miles better than other reunions , hands down even if their history just shouts the opposite. Kudos to Kit and Sophie. Their chemistry was magic on screen, unexpectedly. Perhaps, that's why a fandom was born. S6 for me was the last season that has great writing, the other last 2 it seems was rushed. Im fine with the ending but it was rushed. Jonsa, as we call it made sense if it happened though.

Jon was about to give up fighting until Sansa returned.

She made him smile a couple of times.

They argue like an old married couple.

They challenge each other.

They were equals.

Jon wanted Sansa's approval. Always looks for it to trust him and believe in him.

Say the word Sansa they say and Jon appears 🤣

Sansa is the safest with him.

Yeah, complicated relationship. A lot hates Sansa for telling the truth about Jons real parents but Sansa , like Jon chose drastic measures to save and will always choose their family & the north always.

Their sibling relationship was great but it was at times borderline overprotective, yeah he should be as a brother and cousin but somehow kinda romantic and full of undertones. Maybe it was the writing, idk.

The forehead kiss shouldnt have been like that and Jon shouldn't have looked at Sansa's lips or the script shouldn't have that extra seconds each and every time they stare, look and bicker with each other. Again, maybe its just Kits and Sophies acting skills.

In the end, i do believe not only Jon chose his family but he chose and fulfilled his promise to Sansa to protect her. He trusts her that much to be the Queen in the North.

Its 2024. Nothing will change my mind.

Their love and relationship was intriguing, fascinating and whatever happened in the series and books, Jonsa will always be my ship. The way their characters made us feel...there was something more.

Both are alive. Until they reunite again then anything is possible.

#jonsa #sansa stark #jon snow and sansa stark #gotsansastark #gotjonsa #fire and ice #sophie turner #kit harrington

74 notes · View notes

ghosttotheparty · 2 years ago

Text

exhibit a (detective mongomery)

ao3 more songwriter!eddie can be found here more songwriting/poetry; mildly nsfw bc eddie is eddie

***

Jeff has a theory.

Gareth agrees with the theory, though he's less confident about it, and Ian disagrees, though he's expressed that there's a chance Jeff may be right.

The theory is that Eddie fucking Munson has a boyfriend.

And Jeff has evidence.

EXHIBIT A: THE RING

Jeff notices that one of Eddie's rings is missing one day.

Granted, it's not the most concrete of evidence, because Eddie is Eddie, so Jeff assumes that he forgot it. Dropped it between his bed and his bedside table and just couldn't be assed to fish it out or to move his furniture. Maybe he was fidgeting with it in the car and dropped it to the ground and forgot about it by the time he got to Gareth's.

So he doesn't say anything.

But the next time he sees him, he isn't wearing it again.

So maybe he dropped it in a crack in a porch and couldn't reach it.

But if that were the case, Jeff feels like Eddie would have complained about it by now. Eddie once proclaimed that bitching is one of his favorite hobbies, along with getting stoned and sucking dick (at the same time or not, which he clarified after Ian questioned it), and the last time he misplaced a ring, he wouldn't shut up about it for three days until Wayne found it in the laundry basket. But maybe Eddie is just maturing. (Hah.)

They're in Jeff's living room, bantering and fucking around, the music from Jeff's record player low so they can hear each other, and as Eddie is watching Gareth and Ian bicker like he's watching a tennis match (not that he'd ever watch a tennis match), looking back and forth and back and forth, Jeff sees him reach for his ring finger, fingers poised to twist it around the way he usually does. The ring isn't there, obviously, and Eddie glances down like he's forgotten, and then a brief smile flashes across his face for a moment before he looks up and shouts that Ian is right, and Gareth, shut the fuck up.

And Jeff wonders.

EXHIBIT B: THE BASKETBALL

Eddie and Wayne live in a new apartment in town. (New being relative. It's a little run-down, with creaky floors and squeaky doors, but it's new to them.) Eddie's room is smaller than it was in the trailer, but Wayne has his own room in the apartment now, with an actual bed instead of a pull-out sofa.

Eddie's room is practically the same. Messy and covered in posters and tapestries and cut-out photos from magazines. His desk is covered in D&D pamphlets and character sheets, messy sketches of characters that he started and forgot about, uncapped pens and markers that must be dry by now. There are clothes covering the floor, hiding the fuzzy rug, and the blankets of his bed are always cast aside, almost falling off the bed because apparently Eddie throws them aside in the morning (or afternoon, depending on the day).

Eddie is searching for the weed he was supposed to bring to Ian's, and Jeff is waiting, leaning against the doorframe, watching as he rummages through some drawers.

"I swear I have it."

"I believe you," Jeff says dryly. "There's gotta be weed in here somewhere." Eddie shoots him a look, sticking out his tongue. He keeps rambling, I thought I fucking put it in here, I don't know how I get all these drawers confused, there aren't even that many, Jesus Christ, and Jeff looks around the room. There's a new poster of Bowie on the wall near his window. Jeff eyes it. It's not really Eddie's style, but Jeff's heard Eddie talk about how hot he is.

He looks at his blankets as Eddie rummages through another drawer. His bed wasn't raised when they were in the trailer, but he has a new bedframe, and now he has boxes and bags and a pizza box and... Is that a basketball?

Jeff looks at Eddie, who has his back to him, groaning as he tosses things aside onto the floor, and he steps to the side, tilting his head to see the orange ball that's partially hidden by a striped blanket that's falling off the bed. Jeff raises an eyebrow.

Eddie Munson has never voluntarily played a sport in his life. Jeff knows it. Gareth and Ian know it. The queen of England knows it. There is no reason for there to be a basketball in his bedroom. Unless it's someone else's. Someone he hasn't mentioned to them.

"Got it!"

Eddie stands, holding up the baggie triumphantly, grinning as he turns to Jeff.

"You really to stop losing illicit substances."

"'S fine," Eddie says, swaying to turn off the light. Jeff glances at the basketball one more time before following him out of the room.

"You're gonna get in trouble one of these days."

"Nah," Eddie says easily, still grinning, and he turns to face Jeff, walking backwards and spreading his arms like a challenge. "I'm immune, baby."

Jeff rolls his eyes, fighting a smile.

"What have I said about calling me baby?"

"Oh my god, it's a general term, I'm not calling you baby, it's just--"

EXHIBIT C: THE EXCUSES

"I forgot I need to help Wayne sort out some boxes before he leaves for work," Eddie says, swinging his guitar over his back. He's still a little out of breath, his hair falling from where it's tied up, exposing the scar around his neck. He won't talk about it. They don't ask. "I'll see you guys later."

"You guys aren't done unpacking?" Gareth asks before he guzzles some water.

"You know Wayne," Eddie says. "He'd put off unpacking for five more years if I didn't volunteer to help."

He's cheerful, going around and smacking loud kisses to their cheeks. Ian grins when he gets to him. He's always liked the affection that Eddie gives out so freely.

"Have you noticed he's been doing that a lot lately?" Ian asks as Eddie's van is pulling out of Gareth's driveway. Eddie rolls his window down and flips them the bird. They do it back. He cackles.

"God, yes," Jeff says, grateful he's not the only one.

"Doing what?" Gareth asks.

"'I have to help Wayne unpack,'" Ian repeats. "'I said I'd help old man Cooper fix his A/C. Henderson needs a ride to an appointment. Little Sinclair is going to the salon and her mom can't take her.'"

Gareth stares at him.

"How can you remember that all word for word but you don't remember when my birthday is?"

"...July--"

"No."

"Fuck. I don't know, my brain's weird. Anyway, he's been doing it a lot lately."

"Yeah," Jeff says, smiling after watching the interaction. (Gareth's birthday is in June.) "I mean, it's not like it's every time we hang out, so I'm not, like, offended or anything, but it's more often than he used to."

Gareth pauses as he spins his drumsticks, holding the door open for them to go inside.

"Do you think it has to do with... everything?"

Everything is code for Eddie going missing and being framed for three murders.

"I don't know," Jeff sighs, swinging open the fridge and finding a bottle of soda before he passes it to Ian. "He seems to have actual stuff to do, like with Erica and Dustin, but if he is lying, I mean... He's gotta have a reason to, right?"

Ian cracks open the soda, leaning against the counter.

"And if it has to do with everything, then, like... I don't know. I don't wanna, like. Pry."

"Yeah," Gareth says.

Jeff agrees. Eddie's been keeping quiet about the whole thing ever since he got discharged from the hospital. He's lost his memory, doesn't remember a lot of what happened, but they've seen him get lost in space, seen him breathe so shallowly it barely looks like he's breathing at all. These episodes (Jeff doesn't know what else to call them) sometimes last a few minutes. The first one was after they played Master of Puppets together for the first time. Eddie had learned it himself on guitar, but when they played it all together in Gareth's garage, he played for about fifteen seconds before he stopped abruptly, his eyes wide and trained on some spot on the ground. It scared the shit out of all of them.

He snapped out of it after a minute, blinking and startling and looking around at them gathered around them, and he was suddenly pale and shivering and holding his side like he had a cramp from running, and when they worriedly asked what happened, he just said in a rough voice I don't really like that song. He left after Jeff forced a bottle of water into his hands.

He's covered in scars. He has a skin graft on his chest, and when they asked about it, about what the fuck is going on? he just shrugged and said, "You know how much I paid for that zombie head?" in reference to the tattoo that's mostly covered in scar tissue now.

He doesn't want to tell. So they don't ask.

"Do you guys think..." Jeff hesitates, sipping his own soda, hopping up on the counter next to where Ian is leaning. "Do you guys think he might be seeing someone?"

They blink at him.

"Why the fuck would we think he might be seeing someone?" Ian asks, almost smiling.

"He..." Jeff hesitates again, realising how dumb the ring and basketball seem. Eddie loses shit. Maybe he forgot. Lucas plays basketball, and Jeff knows he and Eddie are pretty close now. Maybe he just convinced Eddie to help him practice. "I don't know."

But Gareth is nodding, staring at the ground, frowning.

"No, I can see that."

"You can?" Ian says.

"I mean, he's probably not, but it kinda makes sense. He's been ditching more lately, he's all smiley all the time. Et cetera."

"I don't know," Ian says, grimacing, but Jeff nods.

"He's smiling so much," he says, pointing at Gareth with his bottle. "Especially, like, in the past few weeks."

"Right?"

"Maybe he's just recovering," Ian says.

Oh.

Gareth and Jeff look at each other, wincing.

"Maybe."

EXHIBIT D: THE HUMMING

Jeff leans back in his desk chair, lifting his legs up onto his desk, pulling his comic book closer to his face. He should probably get his eyes checked.

Eddie is laying upside down on Jeff's bed, his head hanging off as he draws in a notebook. (Jeff's never understood how he does it; his head hanging off the edge of the bed, holding up a notebook in front of his face, drawing without a care in the world.) It's quiet.

Jeff flips the page of his comic book, careful not to bend the pages, but as he's looking at the first panel, he hears the distinct, low rumble of Eddie's voice. He looks up, thinking for a split second that Eddie is speaking to him, but he's just humming. He does that a lot. He doesn't even notice himself doing it.

Jeff looks back at the comic book, listening, but he pauses again, looking up at the wall in front of himself as he furrows his brows, listening closer until he recognizes the song. He doesn't know the name of it, but he's pretty sure it's by Tears for Fears.

Tears for fucking fears.

Jeff looks at Eddie, who's still drawing, the notebook wavering as he looks at it, and after another minute, he moves, rolling over and shifting to lay on his stomach, setting the notebook down in front of himself. His brows are furrowed in focus, lips pouting a little bit, but he doesn't stop humming, and Jeff narrows his eyes.

He doesn't know anyone that listens to Tears for Fears. Maybe Dustin, but Eddie would probably, definitely tell him to shut it off because he has a musical superiority complex. (Jeff has no idea what Lucas listens to, and Mike probably listens to the same stuff as Eddie. Ian and Gareth both like rock and metal, and Erica probably listens to Cyndi Lauper or something.)

But here Eddie is, about a minute into a Tears for Fears song that Jeff can't even name, humming softly, happily to himself.

And Jeff wonders who the fuck Eddie is allowing to listen to, is tolerating listening to, Tears for Fears in Eddie's presence. And often enough that Eddie apparently knows the words.

It happens again the next week while they're all at Gareth's house, sitting in the kitchen and helping Gareth's mom make dinner. Jeff is peeling carrots, passing them to Eddie to chop, and Mrs Emerson's radio is playing, sitting on the windowsill. It's just on some Top 40s type station, which Eddie tolerates for Mrs Emerson because she tolerates their band practice in her garage.

The song fades out and there's a moment of quiet static, accompanied by Eddie's knife on the cutting board, the smooth sounds of the peeler, the clinking of the dishes that Gareth is putting away, the clicking of the stove turning on as Ian follows Mrs Emerson's directions. The next song starts, and Jeff passes the naked carrot to Eddie, pushing the peels to the side where he's collecting them to give to Gareth's dog.

He pauses the peeling when he hears Eddie's low hum, under his breath, and he stares at the carrot, listening before he slowly turns to look at him. He's just chopping the carrots, as easily as he always does, scooping them onto the knife and pouring them into the salad bowl next to him, humming and humming.

His voice is lower than the singer's voice, and it harmonizes nicely, but Jeff doesn't know what to think.

He glances over his shoulder across the kitchen, catching Ian's eye as he's mixing something in a bowl, also frozen and staring at Eddie.

Toto? Ian mouths at Jeff, looking more confused than he's ever looked, and Jeff shrugs, wide-eyed. Gareth leans up next to Ian, staring at Eddie's back intently before he looks at Jeff and mouths What the fuck?

Jeff shrugs again.

They don't say anything.

Eddie never notices that he's humming.

Jeff can't stop thinking about it, about what kind of person Eddie would listen to pop music for. He has a boyfriend. There's no way it can be anyone else.

EXHIBIT E: THE SONG LYRICS

Eddie is the main songwriter of the band. They all trust him with it all, and add their own bits and pieces when they play all together, like a drum solo for Gareth, and his lyrics changed a bit when he came back after everything.

His words were more intense, less literal. One lyric sings about the sky turning red, and the silhouettes of monsters. One song was called Batshit, about demon bats with steak knife tails. One sings about a girl with curly hair and a sawed-off shotgun, and another girl with vodka bottles and a lighter.

Save the world, save my life, Get your guns, I'll get my knife. Cut the shit, ignore the scythe And blow that shit to pieces

He sings about carnivorous flowers and flickering lights, about floating girls and broken bones, about blood-stained ceilings and sneakers and a bottomless lake.

Oh, it's a nightmare I'm living God, the world's flipped inside out There's spiders in my veins I feed them coffee and self-doubt

And then after a while, the vibes shift. He still sings about it all, about the fantasy, nightmarish world that comes up time and time again, but then he shows up with lyrics about a boy.

A boy. No one by name, or by description, almost just the idea of a boy rather than an actual one. When they ask who the lyrics are about, he gives them a Who knows? shrug, and Jeff's suspicions might as well be confirmed.

Some are sexual, very Eddie-esque, about lungs filled with smoke and mouths filled with cock, about the taste of sin on his tongue and hair tangled in rings. About being roughed up and cuffed up, the bite of metal around wrists, about being watched and known. Something about if they knew what we knew, they wouldn't care at all.

Others are sweeter, which just confirms Jeff's suspicions even more. Some sing about soft hair and sparkly eyes, about going stargazing by staring at his skin.

Kiss me 'til I'm flushed all red I wanna be your favorite color, baby

Eddie smiles while they go through the lyrics all together, his cheeks pink, but they still don't say anything.

EXHIBIT F: THE HICKEY

"Afternoon, fellas," Eddie says brightly, hopping into the room, dropping his bag on the ground next to where Ian is sitting and headbutting him affectionately. Ian beams. "How we doing?"

They talk as he gets sorted, finding his place on Gareth's bed between Ian and Gareth, laying on his back so his head is hanging over the edge, upside down, his hair falling. It almost touches the ground. He laughs at something Gareth says, but Jeff doesn't hear it, because from where he's sitting he has the perfect view of Eddie's neck.

Hence he has the perfect view of the purplish-red bruise above the collar of his t-shirt, and Jeff finally can't stop himself.

"Eddie."

"Hm?"

He turns his head to look at him, and the second their eyes meet, Jeff knows he knows. Eddie's eyes widen, and he slowly reaches to his shirt collar, pulling it up (down?) so it covers the bruise.

"Is there something you want to share with us?"

"...No?"

"What's going on?" Gareth asks, watching them.

"Eddie has a hickey."

"Jeff!"

"You wore a loose t-shirt, did you think we weren't gonna see it?"

Eddie just groans obnoxiously, throwing his arms up to cover his face, and Jeff grins when he sees how red he is. Ian laughs, reaching out to poke at his legs, ignoring the way Eddie is kicking at him.

"Eddie-e-e," Gareth sings. "Who is it?"

"It's no one, fuck off."

"Edmund. Edward. Eduardo."

"Oh my god."

He pushes himself to sit up, avoiding their eyes, and he sits at the edge of the bed, turning a little to make sure Jeff can see him too.

"Okay," he says, huffing. "I..."

"Who is it?" Gareth prompts. Jeff is beaming. He loves being right.

"I can't... I can't give you a name, he's not... out." Eddie's looking down at his lap.

"Okay," Gareth says, still waiting. "Is he your boyfriend?"

"...Yeah."

"Is he the reason you listen to Toto and shit now?" Jeff says, and Eddie looks up at him, his hair flying.

"I don't listen to Toto and shit," he says defensively. "He listens to Toto and shit and I allow it because I love him--"

Ian and Gareth let out identical shouts, and Jeff's eyes and grin widen. Eddie turns redder, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and covering his face.

"You love him?" Gareth says loudly, reaching out to rustle his hair. "Love?"

"Shut up," Eddie groans, but he's starting to smile under his hands as they all laugh.

"Why?" Ian asks.

"Why do I love him?"

"Yeah."

Eddie sighs heavily, rolling over the edge of the bed and falling to the ground with a heavy thud that makes them laugh again. He lies on his back, laying starfished on the ground and looking at the ceiling, eyes wide and dreamy.

"He's just... He's so great. He's beautiful. Fucking gorgeous. And funny as hell, even though he doesn't even try to be. And he's... kind. Like really, genuinely kind, and-- and selfless. He loves his friends, he'd do anything for them." He pauses, his smile faltering for a moment, tilting his head. "He makes me feel safe."

They're all quiet. Eddie hasn't gushed about any of his crushes in ages, not since Steve Harrington graduated. (And, God, wasn't that a time. Eddie was bitter about it, about how much he liked him, but every time someone brought him up, Eddie would turn into a blushing, smiling mess. Embarrassing.)

"Was he involved in everything?" Ian asks softly, and Eddie swallows, blinking at the ceiling, his face going a little blank. That happens every time it comes up. Everything. He'll zone out or look distant, and his voice will become a little empty in a way that makes Jeff feel sick.

"Yeah," Eddie says, blinking again. He takes a deep breath, and he looks like he's trying to stay there, in his body. "He's... He's the reason I'm alive."

They're quiet.

"Shit," Gareth says succinctly.

"Yeah."

"He's good to you?" Jeff asks.

Eddie sighs, smiling again.

"He's so good to me. He listens to me talk nonstop about D&D and shit even though he doesn't know anything about it, and he asks me questions, and he shows me stuff that he likes and he always looks so excited that I just... Like. Can't help but like it too."

"Is the basketball his?"

Eddie lifts his head, squinting at him.

"You saw that?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, it's his."

"Did you give him your ring?"

"Jesus, are you a fucking detective?"

Jeff grins. Eddie lays his head back down.

"Yeah, I gave it to him."

"Wait," Gareth says, leaning over the edge of the bed, looking at Eddie. "I didn't see the hickey, lemme see."

"Absolutely not."

"Lemme see-e-e..."

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

It's Friday night at the Hideout. They've been getting bigger crowds since Eddie's charges were dropped, metalheads and weirdos coming from across the state to see Eddie Munson live on stage, with his wild hair and scarred neck.

They're nearing the end of their setlist, pausing to drink water, grinning and laughing across the stage. Eddie is having a blast. He hasn't stopped beaming, even as he sings about hell and a house on fire. Jeff wonders if his face is sore from smiling.

The next song is called Midas. Jeff assumes it's about Eddie's boyfriend. It's heavy, bold and screamy. It makes Eddie's voice rough, but he doesn't seem to care at all.

Would you let me kneel at your feet and press my lips to your ring? Would it bring you a spark of joy? Will your smile make the clouds sing?

Jeff looks into the crowd, squinting in the blinding fluorescent lights, and he feels fucking alive here, like the music is coursing through his veins, like every shout from the crowd is rejuvenating him. His eyes scan the front row, looking at the girls with dark makeup and the boys will long hair, at the leather jackets and denim vests and pins that flash under the lights and-- Is that Steve fucking Harrington?

Jeff almost falters, but he looks away from the boy, keeps playing, pretends he isn't there, but he can't help but look back by the next verse, his propped up as he plays. It sure looks like Harrington, complete with the floppy hair, but there's no way Steve Harrington is in the front row of a metal show, wearing a battle vest and smiling. The lights are flashing, running over the crowd like water, and Jeff can't see clearly, and it can't be.

My man with his holy touch Won't you turn my heart to gold? Press your hands into my chest My heart is yours to hold

Eddie's voice is breaking, and Jeff glances at him, curious if he's seen the Steve look-alike in the front row, the Steve look-alike that seems to be beaming up at him, wide-eyed, but Eddie's eyes are squeezed shut as he sings and strums his guitar.

Take my hand baby, make me yours My beautiful king Midas They'll tell us gold's a sin, but They can't stop what's inside us

Jeff's ears are ringing when it's all over, when they get off the stage to talk with some people. (It feels weird to call them fans. They aren't fans, Corroded Coffin isn't big enough to have fans.) Some people that work at the Hideout are moving the equipment, taking the drums and guitars and amps, and Jeff is sitting at the edge of the stage, talking with a girl that sat toward the back of the bar. She's holding a beer bottle, and she has a beautiful smile, but even as she talks to him, he can't help but realise that Eddie is nowhere in sight.

So he excuses himself politely, slipping past her and finding his way backstage, looking around until he opens a door, and Eddie has his back to the wall, holding a boy against himself. A boy with bare, scar-covered arms, wearing a denim vest, with floppy brown hair that's twisted around Eddie's fingers as Eddie groans loudly because the boy is slipping a leg between Eddie's, and it's nearly filthy, the sounds they're making, because they're licking into each other's mouths, groaning and whining and murmuring and Jeff can't look away.

"Fuck, Stevie," Eddie chokes as the boy buries his face in Eddie's neck, and--

"Oh my god."

Eddie and Steve part with startled shouts, detaching and stumbling as they both flush red and look at Jeff with wide eyes.

"Jeff, why?" Eddie says loudly, breathing hard.

"Uh." He blinks. "You're the one making out in a public place."

"Oh, Jesus." Eddie bends over, taking a deep breath, groaning. Steve is staring at Jeff, wide-eyed and terrified, and Jeff takes a moment to take him in. He's wearing eyeliner, smudged and dark around his eyes (sparkly eyes), and his hair is touselled, longer than it was in high school. He's wearing a black shirt under the battle best, and oh, that's Eddie's vest. His jeans are light blue and fitted, and his hands are shaking, and he has the same scar around his neck that Eddie has. Jeff's body is consumed with curiosity and confusion, but it doesn't matter, because Steve is shaking, and Eddie is taking his hand, squeezing.

"Jeff, can you keep your mouth shut about this?" Eddie asks, his eyes imploring, begging, and Jeff nods.

"I saw nothing," he says. "I don't even know where I am, I was just trying to find the bathroom."

Steve cracks a smile, and he's totally Eddie's type.

"Oh," Jeff says, blinking. "King Midas."

Steve's cheeks flush with color again, and Jeff says, "Oh, right, sorry," before he turns on his heal and walks out.

"Where'd you go?" Ian asks when he gets out to Eddie's van.

"Bathroom."

"Where's Eddie?"

"No idea, I couldn't find him. Dumbass probably got lost."

He's always been good at lying.

Eddie comes out after another ten minutes, looking a little touseled but no more so than he does after most gigs. He apologizes, and jokes that he got lost, and Gareth and Ian laugh. Eddie hops in the front seat, asks if they want to go to his place for drinks, and they all say yes. As they're headed to his apartment, crossing the parking lot, Eddie lingers back and speaks quietly to Jeff.

"He's, uhm. Gonna meet us at my place."

"I thought you guys were keeping this quiet."

"We are, mostly, he just... His best friend knows about us. And you know--"

"Sorry about that, by the way."

"No, it's..." Eddie shakes his head. "Not your fault, we were fully making out in a public place, we just, uhm."

"Were worked up," Jeff finished for him, and in the light of the streetlights above them, Eddie flushes red.

"...Yeah."

Jeff snickers and pokes at him.

"So he wants to... meet the guys?"

"Yeah. I talk about you a lot, so he said he trusts you guys if I do, and I do, so."

Jeff nods, smiling.

"He's pretty cool."

"He's a prep, Jeff, he's adorable."

"I cannot believe your type is normies."

"Shut up."

When Steve shows up, he lets himself in. He has a key.

"Hi."

Ian and Gareth both look up at him from where they're sitting on the sofa, glancing him up and down, recognizing him, questioning him, wondering.

"Hi?"

"So, uhm..." Eddie goes to stand next to Steve, his eyes shining at him like he's asking something silently, and Steve nods a little bit, taking a breath. "Ian, Gareth, Jeff. Steve." He gestures to all of them, and Steve waves awkwardly. Jeff sees Eddie's ring on his finger.

"Hi," Ian and Gareth say again. Jeff lifts his chin up at him, smiling when their eyes meet.

"Uh." Eddie pauses, gesturing to Steve again. "...Boyfriend."

Ian and Gareth both blink, and Jeff grins, watching the gears turn in their head.

"Oh," Ian says. "Cool."

Gareth stares for a second before,

"I cannot believe you got with your high school crush after high school."

Steve beams.

He ends up going to Eddie's room and coming back in Eddie's clothes, in a sweater and some sweatpants, and they sit on the floor together as the guys ask them questions. They skirt their way around some of them, without even glancing at each other to figure out what the other will say, It's like they're perfectly in tune with each other. Eddie plays with Steve's fingers while they all talk.

Jeff can tell that Ian and Gareth are also surprised but are keeping it under wraps. Surprised that King Steve is the boy Eddie was talking about when he described his boyfriend's kindness, selflessness, bravery, when he said He makes me feel safe, but even now it's obvious that it's true. Eddie leans up against him and holds his arm, gazes at him and kisses his shoulder for no reason. He's in love.

Jeff tells Eddie later all the clues he gave without meaning, and he realises the Bowie poster was a clue after hearing Steve humming Heroes. Oh well. He was still right.

#i need to work on my sleep schedule its almost seven am lmao #anyway #this was fun #jeff <333 #corroded coffin #corroded coffin boys #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steddie #steddie fanfic

614 notes · View notes