#spending time over here - muse is just raging

[misswynters]

Winter’s Embrace — Chapter Two

Cregan Stark x targaryen!fem!reader

[warning: suggestive, cregan pinning the reader to the bed

[synopsis: You spend time with your husband, cregan. There’s a big snow storm happening outside, and you get caught in the middle.

[word count: 3.0k

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

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Winterfell had never seemed so bleak. The walls, which were normally a sanctuary, felt like a prison with the storm raging outside. Snow fell like thick sheets, obscuring everything beyond the castle's stone walls. The wind howled like a wild beast, its icy breath seeping through every crack and crevice, chilling you to the bone.

Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North, stood by a window, his silhouette stark against the swirling snow outside. His presence was as commanding as ever, even with the tempest raging behind him. His grey eyes, the color of storm clouds, were fixed on the blizzard, a deep frown etched into his features.

"It's worse than I expected," he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to resonate through the very walls of Winterfell. "We might be stuck here for days."

You pulled your cloak tighter around yourself, feeling the cold despite the fire. "At least we're safe inside," you replied, stepping closer to the hearth. The warmth was a welcome reprieve from the chill that seemed to permeate everything.

Cregan turned to face you, his gaze softening as it settled on your form. "Are you alright? You seem... uneasy."

You met his eyes, feeling a jolt of something you couldn't quite name. There was a strength in his gaze, a reassurance that made you feel safer despite the storm. "I'm just not used to storms like this," you admitted. "It's... overwhelming."

He moved closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. The contact was electric, sending warmth coursing through you. "Winterfell can be a harsh place," he said softly. "But you're not alone."

The intimacy of the moment caught you off guard. You had always admired Cregan from afar, his strength and stoic nature a constant presence in the Stark household. But now, with the storm raging outside and the world reduced to the confines of Winterfell, you found yourself drawn to him in a way you hadn't anticipated.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

Cregan's hand lingered on your arm for a moment longer before he stepped back, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. "Come, let's check on the supplies. We need to make sure everyone is taken care of."

You followed him through the dimly lit halls of Winterfell, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the stone walls. The storm outside seemed distant now, the only sounds the echo of your footsteps and the occasional gust of wind rattling the windows.

As you worked together, checking the stores of food and ensuring the fires in the various hearths were well-fed, you found yourself stealing glances at Cregan. There was a gentleness to him you hadn't seen before, a side that he rarely showed to others. And in those moments, you felt a connection growing, a bond forged in the midst of the storm.

By the time you returned to the Great Hall, the storm had intensified, the wind howling like a wild beast. Cregan stoked the fire, adding another log to the flames, and you both settled down in front of the hearth, the warmth a welcome contrast to the cold outside.

"It's almost beautiful, in a way," you mused, staring into the dancing flames.

Cregan nodded, his gaze fixed on the fire. "Aye, there's a certain beauty to it. But it's also dangerous. We have to respect its power."

You turned to him, finding his eyes already on you. The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. "Cregan, I..."

He leaned closer, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek. "Shh," he murmured. "No need for words."

The kiss that followed was like nothing you had ever experienced. It was tender and passionate, a release of all the emotions that had been building between you. The storm outside raged on, but in that moment, all you could feel was the warmth of his embrace, the taste of his lips, and the beating of his heart against yours. The fire crackled and popped, casting a warm, golden glow that danced across the stone walls. You and Cregan remained by the hearth, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

Cregan's hand traced a path down your arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," he admitted, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

You looked up at him, your breath hitching at the intensity of his gaze. "So have I," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I didn't think you felt the same."

His lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. "I've always felt it. I just... thought you didn’t like being betrothed to me."

You reached up, your fingers lightly brushing his cheek. "No…i was just scared. Everything here is new to me."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. When he opened them again, there was a fire in his gaze that matched the one burning in the hearth. "Come with me," he said, his voice husky with emotion.

You nodded, allowing him to take your hand and lead you through the dimly lit halls of Winterfell. The storm outside was a constant reminder of the world beyond, but here, within these ancient walls, you felt safe and cherished.

Cregan led you to his chambers, a place you had only ever seen in passing. The room was warm, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. It was a reflection of its owner—strong, steadfast, and filled with a quiet intensity.

He closed the door behind you, the sound echoing in the quiet room. For a moment, you both stood there, the silence filled with unspoken words and a palpable tension. Then, Cregan stepped forward, his hands gently cradling your face as he kissed you again, this time with a hunger that took your breath away.

You melted into his embrace, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The kiss deepened, a fire igniting between you that rivaled the one in the hearth.

The dim light of the hearth cast a warm, flickering glow across the stone walls of Cregan Stark's chambers. The winter chill was kept at bay by the roaring fire, but inside, a different kind of heat was building. Cregan's piercing eyes locked onto yours, and without a word, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

His hands found your waist, strong and sure, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, your fingers threading through his dark hair, tugging slightly as you tried to bring him even closer. His breath was hot against your lips, mingling with yours in a shared rhythm of desire and need.

Cregan's hands began to roam, exploring the curve of your waist and the small of your back. He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you towards the bed, never breaking the kiss. You could feel the strength in his arms, the controlled power that always made you feel safe and desired.

As your back met the soft mattress, Cregan's body pressed against yours, his weight a comforting presence. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down with you, desperate to keep him close. His lips left yours, trailing a line of fire down your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck.

You arched beneath him, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your skin, followed by the soothing touch of his tongue. He was relentless, each kiss, each touch, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on.

Cregan's kisses grew more fervent, his mouth exploring the hollow of your throat, the curve of your collarbone. His hands moved with purpose, one sliding up to cup your face while the other held your hip, anchoring you to the bed. His body pressed you further into the mattress, and you welcomed the weight, the feeling of being completely enveloped by him.

He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes were dark with desire, a smoldering intensity that made your heart race. "You are mine," he murmured, his voice husky and low. The possessiveness in his tone sent a thrill through you, and you nodded, your breath coming in shallow pants.

"Hmm…I am yours" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire. The words seemed to ignite something in him, and he captured your lips once more in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

His hands began to roam again, tracing the contours of your body, memorizing every curve and dip. He kissed his way down your neck, his lips and tongue working in tandem to drive you wild.

Each touch was electrifying, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your hands found their way under his tunic, exploring the hard planes of his back, feeling the muscles bunch and flex under your touch. He groaned into your neck, the sound vibrating through you, adding to the heady mix of sensations.

Cregan's kisses grew more insistent, his teeth scraping lightly against your skin, followed by the soothing caress of his tongue. He knew exactly how to drive you to the edge, and he was relentless in his pursuit. You were lost in him, in the feel of his lips, his hands, his body. With a growl of need, he claimed your mouth once more, his kiss demanding and consuming. You gave yourself over to him completely, reveling in the intensity of his passion, the depth of his desire. As he pressed you further into the mattress, you could feel him getting hard. You knew that this night would be one you would never forget, a night where he showed you just how much he loved you.

⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  ֗   ִ  ۫   ˑ

The next morning, the storm still showed no signs of abating. Snow piled high against the windows, and the wind continued to howl like a restless spirit. But the fire in Cregan's chambers kept the cold at bay, and the warmth of his embrace made you feel invincible.

You woke to find Cregan watching you, his grey eyes soft and filled with something you couldn't quite name. "Good morning," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

"Good morning," you replied, smiling up at him. "Did you sleep well?"

He nodded, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Better than I have in a long time," he admitted. "With you here... it feels right."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up to cup his cheek. "It does," you agreed, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I feel the same way."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. "I'm glad," he murmured. "Because I don't want this to be a one-time thing. I want... more."

You could hear the vulnerability in his voice, and it made you love him all the more. "So do I," you said softly. "I want to be with you, Cregan. Not just for now, but for always."

His eyes opened, a spark of hope and determination in their depths. "Then that's what we'll do," he said firmly. "We'll make this work. No matter what."

Hours passed by and what followed were a blur of snow and cold, but the warmth between you and Cregan never wavered.

Later that evening, as you sat together by the fire, Cregan took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "I want to show you something," he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity.

You looked at him curiously. "What is it?"

He stood, pulling you to your feet and leading you through the halls of Winterfell. The castle was quiet, the only sound the soft crunch of your footsteps on the stone floor.

He led you to a secluded part of the castle, a place you had never been before. It was a small garden, sheltered from the worst of the storm by high walls and ancient trees. The snow lay thick on the ground, sparkling in the moonlight.

Cregan turned to you, his eyes reflecting the light of the moon and stars. "This place... it's special to me," he said softly. "It's where I come to think, to find peace."

You looked around, taking in the serene beauty of the garden. "It's beautiful," you said, your breath misting in the cold air. "Thank you for showing me."

He smiled, his hand tightening around yours. "I wanted you to see it," he said. "Because you're special to me too. More than anyone or anything."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you stepped closer, your free hand resting on his chest. "And you mean everything to me, Cregan," you said, your voice filled with emotion. "I love you."

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, a slow, tender kiss that spoke of all the love and devotion he felt for you. "I love you too," he murmured against your lips. "More than I can ever say."

You stayed in the garden for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside forgotten. The storm had brought you together, and now, as the snow gently fell around you, you knew that nothing could ever tear you apart.

⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  ֗   ִ  ۫   ˑ

That night, as the snowstorm outside intensified, you found yourself alone in the library, seeking solace among the ancient tomes. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. You had just settled into a chair with a book when the door creaked open.

Cregan Stark stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He looked surprised to see you there but quickly masked it with his usual stoicism.

“My dear,” he greeted, his voice softer than usual. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

You offered a small smile, trying to hide your nerves. “I find comfort in books, my lord. They offer an escape from reality when the weather gets horrible.”

He nodded, his eyes studying you intently. “Winterfell can be overwhelming, especially in the winter months. If you ever need anything to keep you warm, do not hesitate to ask.” He winked at you with a small smile.

Before you could respond, a sudden gust of wind howled through the hallways, rattling the windows and extinguishing the fire. The room plunged into darkness, save for the faint glow of the embers.

Cregan moved closer, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Stay close. The storm is worse than I thought. We need to find shelter.”

As you followed him through the dimly lit corridors, the howling wind seemed to grow louder, echoing through the stone walls. The castle felt like a labyrinth, and you struggled to keep up with Cregan’s long strides.

Just as you reached a narrow stairway, a deafening crash resonated from above. The ceiling groaned under the weight of the snow, and you felt a sense of impending danger.

Cregan turned to you, his expression grim. “We need to hurry. Follow me.”

But before you could take another step, the ground beneath you shook, and a section of the ceiling began to collapse. The last thing you saw was Cregan’s outstretched hand, reaching for you as the darkness consumed everything.

© misswynters ‘24 - don’t modify or steal my writings

tag list: @beebeechaos @benjicotblckwood

[iris-qt]

𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚘

🫧 ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

🫧 ʙɢ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ: ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ!

🫧 ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

🫧 ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪᴄ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴏɴᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴜʏꜱ’ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ꜱᴏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴏɴᴇ!

🫧 ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴜɴᴡɪɴᴅɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜꜱ ᴠᴀᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ɪᴛᴀʟʏ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ᴅ ʀᴜɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ: ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ

Azure blue skies and endless summer breeze tails you through the rolling green countryside of San Gimignano, Italy. This was true, pure bliss. A flow of relaxation that you haven’t felt since…Merlin knows when. The stress of endless exams and finals, everlasting prefect duties, and bickering with your horrid nemesis really left a mark; as represented by your unrelenting dark circles and deep forehead lines.

But at least all of that was giving way to the Italian atmosphere and it left behind a happy girl that would donate a kidney to spend her entire summer here. Unfortunately you were only visiting for a week before school began once more; your final year. This brought a sense of dread to your heart as you would miss the enchanting castle. Your second home.

You pushed that aside as you zoomed through the countryside of this ravishing country on your cute little teal Vespa. Truth be told you’d never driven a muggle vehicle before, but there’s always a first time for everything.

And so your lack of experience with muggle vehicles was the cause of you not being aware that gas has to be filled. You thought the meter getting closer to 0 represented the dissipation of your happy mood as you were, per usual, plaguing yourself with paranoid and pessimistic thoughts. The sudden shuddering of the Vespa made you lose balance and you began veering off track, you and your precious vehicle zooming down a hill with the sheer force of gravity. You screamed for dear life, and, at last, landed in a shallow pond with an enormous splash.

You bobbed up, gasping for air, and scrambled out of the lake quite ungracefully, summer outfit ruined and soaking wet. And suddenly, you heard a scarily familiar, devilish chuckle that just so happened to find your tragic predicament amusing: your mood as drenched as your clothes.

As you slowly glanced up trembling, not knowing if your shaking was from the water, shock, pure rage, or all three, you made direct eye contact with a certain boy musing at your tragedy. His eyes were overflowing with humor as he was leaning against a tree, his tanned legs crossed over each other. He seemed to be reading a book which he put down as he had found something better worth his attention. He gracefully stands up, a complete contrast from how you scrambled out of the pond, much to your annoyance.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, angioletto mio?” He smirks.

“Nott,” you scoffed. “Small world…or cruel fate,” you stand there, dripping wet, arms spread out like a martyr.

Of course you knew the insufferable Theodore Nott was Italian and often visited family here, but you didn’t think you’d be subjected to his presence in such a big country, especially in the less populated countryside. It was truly just cruel fate that brought this spawn of satan before your eyes.

“I didn’t know you were that desperate to see me,” Theodore cocks his head to the side, quite enjoying this arrangement. “Risking your life on a muggle vehicle zooming to my town.”

You roll your eyes, and if you were in a cartoon universe, trust that there would be steam coming out of your ears.

“Trust me Nott. I had no intention to run into a walking headache on my vacation.”

The insufferable git kept smiling, moving closer now, standing right in front of you so you could smell the usual dizzying scent of sandalwood and pine. Summer edition Theo had a hint of citrus mingled in with his intoxicatingly annoying scent.

“I already got you soaking wet, now you just have to get naked,” he laughed with the most disgustingly smug look on his face that you almost slapped off.

“Are you done?” You glared at him, ready to storm off and free yourself from the torment of his presence.

He shrugged, looking you over.

“Need help drying off?”

“I need help out of this conversation.”

“Oh stop, y/n, you can do better than that,” he grinned

You sigh very well aware you had no other option. You hold out your arms and shut your eyes waiting for his casting of the Hot Air Charm. Since you had resolved to live the simple muggle life for this vacation, your wand was locked in a vault at your hotel room.

Theo laughs, “Are you waiting for a kiss, principessa?”

You open your eyes, confused. “No, I’m waiting for you to dry me off like you said, idiot.”

He laughs again shrugging and says, “I don’t carry my wand around my domain, there’s no need.”

“Then, pray do tell me, Nott, what was your plan in helping me?”

He gives you the most shit-eating grin and grabs your hand, scaring you a bit, then begins pulling you up another grassy, verdant hill: one that isn’t hiding a body of water behind it. You have the urge to resist, but just give in. The drop from your adrenaline-rush you’d been maintaining for the past 3 days had collapsed, causing you to come down with an attitude of resolve. He dragged you up the hill, your wet sandals making squelching sounds, each one demeaning you more and more. You hated this shift in power where the perfect git was overshadowing you. You hated it. You hated him. I think.

“So why were you in the countryside? Other than wanting to see me so badly, of course.” He looks behind him and shoots his watercolor poison into your soul as he makes that unblinking eye contact. Another thing on the meter-long list of things you despise about him.

“I was in a self-deprecating mood and decided to ruin my record streak of relaxation by finding you,” you deadpanned as you rolled your eyes for extra affect.

“Y/N relaxing? You must be lying.”

He chuckled a bit as you two stopped at the top of the vast hill, looking down to a meadow of wildflowers. They glowed like colorful jewels in the blinding, comforting summer sun.

“What’re you gonna do, push me off?” You smirked, half wishing he’d do so. Maybe this was all a nightmare. A beautiful, lush, tinged with the familiar scent of Theo nightmare.

What you didn’t expect, however, was him saying:

“Precisely.”

And with a surprisingly gentle tug, he pulled you down on the top of the hill, pushed you back in a laying position before you could protest, and quite literally pushed you down the hill. You screamed as you, for the second time that day, gave all free will up to gravity, rolling down the hill at a crazy speed. You knew Nott was your unproclaimed but painfully obvious nemesis but you never thought he’d attempt murder. You finally stopped and lay there, sprawled on your back, heaving from the rush. It was kind of…fun?

Theo rolled down right next to you, laughing, as he sat upright. There was grass in his curly, brunette hair that you couldn’t help but reach out to pluck. He looked away quite shyly. Did your eyes deceive you, or did he just blush? You must have heat stroke. Good thing you had your wet clothes to keep you cool: they were significantly drier now.

You stand up and Theo starts laughing in a way you’ve never heard him laugh before. It was almost…endearing?

You put your hands on your hips teasingly and ask, “What? Do I have something on my face?”

He chuckles affectionately. “Mio angioletto, you have something…everywhere.” He bursts into laughter again. “Beware grass woman rising from the Italian hills,” he gasps through his fits of laughter.

You couldn’t help but smile so wide; his happiness was almost as contagious as his teasing.

You look down and realize the grass was sticking all over your outfit, covering you in verdant greeness. There was an itching sensation bubbling to your skin, but you ignored it. You couldn’t help but join in with his laughter as you could imagine you looked like green Chewbacca.

“Is this your sick way of tar and feathering me, Nott?”

He recovers from his laughter and stands up with you, peeling a wet blade of grass from your cheek.

“Alas, you have uncovered my motives,” he teases, grinning.

“Well, your actual motives didn’t work. I’m still sopping wet.” You wringe out the side of your shirt for dramatic affect as it produces a downpour of water.

“There’s more to my motives, mio angioletto. If at first you don’t succeed, try try again.” He grasps your hand again with a beautiful look on his glowing face and pulls you up to do it all over again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Until the sun is caressing the distant hills, getting ready for its nightly departure. The sky is painted shades of teal and purple; still bright but just so. The breeze is still gentle, and so is Theo’s hold on your hand, as he guides you back to his tree by the wretched pond.

Don’t ask yourself what you and him were at the moment. Don’t ask yourself how years of rivalry and pranks. Of stress related to the both of your never-relenting efforts to beat the other. Don’t ask how that all faded away, as you sat in the setting sun.

Unfortunately, it isn’t in your nature to just ignore logic. And Theo knew it. So he distanced himself from you in light of the passing moment of rolling down flower dotted hills, letting go of your hand. It was as if an igniting flame in your heart had been stifled. He sat across from you by the tree. A silence falling between you two.

The slight itching you had felt earlier had been slowly increasing, and as the fun fell away, it began grabbing your attention. The feeling was in your throat now…something wasn’t right. And that’s when you remembered something that Theo’s warm presence had melted away from your mind. As if your brain had tricked itself to forget about this important fact to permit you and Theo’s fun. You were allergic to wildflowers. If exposed to them for a long time? Horribly allergic.

You started coughing and then choking, pointing to your neck to alert Theo to the problem. His eyes widened as he realized what was happening…he had noticed your uncharacteristically red skin, but he had dismissed it by thinking it was the sun’s doing. How could he overlook this?

Your choking grew louder as you fell onto the grass, Theo scrambled around crazily not knowing what to do in his initial panic.

But then he remembered

He pulled out his wand and cast a healing spell which would diminish every affect of an allergic reaction. You started being able to breathe again and your throat cleared, along with your skin returning to its original color and texture. You were gasping in shock, slightly embarrassed that you had been in such pathetic situations in front of Theodore twice today. You were both holding each others’ arms and breathing deeply. You recovered slightly, attempting to lighten the tense mood.

“Well, if your true motive was to kill me, Nott, I’d say you almost succeeded.” You let out a weak, unconvincing laugh.

“I..I am so sorry, y/n, I genuinely didn’t know..” he looked crestfallen. More shaken than you in fact. Wait a minute…

“Hold on,” you raised an eyebrow, your shock of almost dying completely gone and replaced with a new shock. “I thought you said you didn’t have your wand?”

Theo’s eyes widened sheepishly and he grinned, looking as guilty as ever.

“Ok listen before you throw a fit-“

“I don’t throw fits, I diplomatically argue.”

“Before you throw a tantrum, let me explain.” Theo runs his fingers through his hair looking nervous, and, for the first time, failing to make eye contact.

“I just…I knew you’d leave if I just dried you off. You only stayed because you needed help and, well…” he sighs.

“Well?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about you all summer, y/n. I lay awake all night and I day dream all day. I swear I even saw you in the stars..” he gives a nervous, strained laugh.

“You never leave my thoughts, but I was sure it was just because I had to prove myself. To beat you. But you didn’t even leave my brain after school ended. You haunt me every day. When I saw you I thought I was hallucinating, like, genuinely.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking the most vulnerable he’s ever looked.

You look at him, eyes blazing with emotions you had denied yourself. Emotions that fought to be seen but you always pushed them back. You couldn’t fight back anymore. What were you even fighting against? God, you had some serious issues.

“And so you lied to make me stay?”

Theo nodded, looking to the side, up at the darkening sky.

“Maybe it was the universe that brought me here, because what are the fucking odds?”

You both laughed at that, eyes shining despite the escaping light around you.

“Theo, in my last 3 days I’ve been in your beautiful home country, I’ve visited so many places. The Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Uffizi Galleries. So many amazing places, and I’ve experienced the most inspiring ordeals. But today was, by far, my favorite day.”

Theo regains his composure after hearing that, playfully judging her with his shoulder .

“Because of me, hm?”

You roll your eyes, looking away.

“Say it, principessa..” he prompted, gently holding your face and focusing it towards him.

You dramatically sigh and admit, “Yes, Theodore Nott. Because of you.”

He smiled the most breathtaking smile. If only you could capture a picture of it, but unfortunately your camera went down with the Vespa. You lay your head on his shoulder and squeeze your eyes shut, so that his bright smile could be engraved into your mind. Definitely a core memory.

After many moments of comfortable silence, Theo perks up.

“Oh! By the way, dolcezza, I realized I said the pickup line wrong when you struggled out of the swamp.”

You rolled your eyes at his impertinence and said, “First of all, it’s a pond, Theo. And second of all I did NOT struggle. I emerged like Aphrodite in a shell.”

“Ok my little swamp monster,” he annoyingly nuzzled his nose into your hair as you fought to hold back a giggle.

“Okok let me say the line.”

“Go ahead, Theo.”

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Because you have the face of un angelo.”

He grinned his shit-eating grin as you pretended to retch at the line. Jumping up with the fireflies around you, you tagged Theo, reigniting that competitive streak you both so closely shared. You both laughed like maniacs as you raced up the hill again, fireflies dancing around you in a waltz.

[twstowo]

Hi, there! :D

Okay, I ended up getting crushed (in a good way) by the: True love's kiss, but he's not the one. But what if we up the ante on anguish and pain? In another example and characters?

That the boys who kissed the prefect (Sebek, Ace, Floyd and Cater) saw that his "best friend" (Silver, Deuce, Jade and Trey) managed to wake up the prefect by kissing them proving that him are his true love💔

I think that would be much more painful to see, that your most loved person already has their loved one and it's not you.

But hey, it's an idea that occurred to me, I'll leave it in your hands if you want to do it. No pressure! Your twst writings are so entertaining <3

♡︎I took way to long to write this, sorry!!! I just kept on writing more and more and more.

♡︎As an Angst fan this was purelly briliant, I might write this prompt with more characters in the future!

♡︎Warning: Angst ofc

⋆⋅☆Sebek

When he learned of the spell that had befallen you, he hurriedly made his way to find you as swiftly as possible. Many were impressed by the unusual sight of him forsaking his duties, yet had they witnessed the concern etched across his face as he dashed through the school's hallways, it would have unveiled the depth of his worry.

Discovering you peacefully asleep in the infirmary, a serenity washed over you that made him yearn for the days when your exasperated expression met his loud voice, longing to hear your requests for help with homework. He sighed, a sigh not of annoyance, but rather of the realization that you had been ensnared by a sleeping spell – a rather foolish predicament, he mused. Nevertheless, his true sentiments lay in the admission that weeks ago, he had acknowledged his profound feelings for you.

Summoning the courage to kiss you, he envisioned your smile and your eyes meeting his. Yet, as he leaned in with hope, only to find you still unconscious, a surge of rage consumed him, making him leave the room with heavy steps.

By the end of the day, guilt had settled within him, recognizing the immaturity of his earlier outburst. Compelled to address his mistake, he visited you, only to be met with the sight of Silver tenderly kissing your slumbering form. Frozen in place, he observed the scene unfold until your eyes fluttered open, and you exchanged an enamored smile with Silver, your hand gently caressing his face.

Retreating from view without being noticed, he adopted an uncharacteristic coldness in his next encounters with Silver and you. In training sessions with Silver, he became a forceful contender, driven to win, yet even here, victory seemed to elude him.

With time, he allowed those emotions to vanish, redirecting his focus to his role as a knight, dedicated to safeguarding Malleus.

Love, he concluded, was never intended for one whose sole pursuit was the protection of his liege.

⋆⋅☆Ace

Ace and Deuce were around when the spell hit you. They were a mess, trying to figure out how to wake you up. When they thought about the true love kiss, things got awkward. Ace noticed Deuce blushing at your sleeping form. He shook off the idea that Deuce might like you because, according to Ace, you preferred spending time with him. You always came to him first in the morning, helped him with school stuff, and he was sure that if he kissed you, you'd wake up because you loved him as much as he loved you.

So, why didn’t you wake up when he kissed you? And why did you wake up when Deuce did?

Was Ace that blind? He didn't even remember you and Deuce being that close. Well, except for when you chatted in class, sent papers to each other, or when Deuce started giving you cheek kisses. By the Seven, he felt so clueless.

To deal with his feelings, Ace decided to distance himself for a bit. He didn't feel good being around you two. However, being without his closest friends at Night Raven College felt weird.

Sure, Ace could make new friends, but would they ever be as fun as you two?

⋆⋅☆Floyd

Floyd found himself carrying you like a sack of potatoes on his shoulder after overhearing that you had fallen victim to a sleeping spell. In an attempt to wake you up, he sought Azul's expertise to brew a potion. However, as he gently laid you down on the VIP room's sofa, he witnessed Azul becoming uncomfortably affectionate with you. Suppressing the impulse to grab you again, Floyd's told Azul to back off and quickly he got an answer. He listened as Azul explained that a love kiss could wake you up.

In typical Floyd fashion, he took those words like nothing, leaning down to kiss you without considering whether you reciprocated his feelings. In his mind, the two of you were unequivocally in love. So when you didn't wake up, he erupted into a fit of denial, accusing Azul of playing around with him regarding the concept of a love kiss as a cure. Despite his protestations, Azul reassured him that he wasn't lying. Frustrated, Floyd stormed out of the room, leaving behind an aura of annoyance that he redirected towards others, likely ending in detention.

Upon his return, still perturbed by your lack of reciprocation, Floyd witnessed Jade holding your hand as you sat on the sofa, engaged in conversation. Barging in, his gaze pierced you as he interrogated his brother about how you woke up and Jade, with a teasing look, disclosed that he had just kissed you.

Now, Floyd's annoyance escalated as he watched you, the person he harbored feelings for, being affectionate with his brother. In his perception, his own brother had betrayed him. Consumed by anger, it took him weeks to talk with both of you, maintaining a consistently sour mood. However, with time, Floyd moved on, losing his feelings for you. The three of you eventually resumed normal interactions, as Floyd couldn't sustain his frustration with his brother for long.

If Jade was happy with you, Floyd was fine with it.

⋆⋅☆Cater

Cater sprinted to your side as soon as he heard the news of you being placed under a sleeping spell. Worry clouded his thoughts, preventing him from thinking straight as he entered the room. There you were, surrounded by Riddle and Trey, who appeared to be brainstorming a solution to wake you up. Cater observed as Riddle approached him, a slight blush adorning his face, to convey that the apparent cure was a love kiss.

The information left Cater at a loss, unsure of how to navigate the situation. Despite harboring feelings for you and being exceptionally close, he had always believed that your relationship was purely friendly. While he cherished your friendship, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was just one of many in your life. Riddle, always there to assist you with studies, smart, kind, and a housewarden, seemed like a more fitting companion. Adding to the mix were Ace and Deuce, who were constantly by your side, creating a tight-knit trio. Cater vividly remembered the day he invited you to the music club, eager to spend time with you. However, he watched as Kalim quickly captivated your attention with his lively personality. Even though he knew he could have joined the conversation, Cater felt a sense of exclusion. Seeing you so engrossed in Kalim, despite his own efforts to plan a special day for the two of you, made him question his place in your life.

So, he didn’t even entertain the thought of kissing you, he knew deep down that such an action wouldn’t awaken you. His assumption was quickly validated when he returned to the room after his classes to find you awake. And even after assuring himself that you would never love him back, he still felt his heart sank as he witnessed Trey fully captivating your attention.

Even in that moment, you didn’t spare a glance his way, never once acknowledging his presence.

[lunaroserites]

Art and Ice - Ground Rules

Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Characters: Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, Loki, Bucky, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, a lot of the avengers cast is mentioned.

Summery: Bucky and Doodle spend some quality time together.

This might a 2 or 3 parter (it's gonna be more because cannot help myself). College AU, our boy Bucky is on the hockey team, and reader is an art major (because I love that trope and couldn't help myself)

Warnings: Not beta'd! All mistakes are my own. Friends fluff, swearing, mentions of college students being college students. Bit of friendly harmless flirting between friends. Bucky is a playboy. Flirting. Mentions of not eating or drinking for a hours (ADHD Brain)

Word Court: 2859

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! ❤️

Please do not repost, translate or otherwise copy my work elsewhere, without my express permission, thank you! Lunaroserites on tumblr and ao3

Catch up here: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 ❤️

You didn’t see Barnes the next day, which wasn’t surprising, it was Friday night after a win so celebration extended into the start of the weekend. Saturday was much the same, you toiled away in the art room in front of a large sketch pad trying to get something together while your canvas dried. 

You also had a small piece you were working on for a gallery wall you were doing for a local gallery that was happening once the semester ended. So your plate was full and adding the insistent nagging from your brain to find Barnes, your patience was wearing thin. 

You threw the paint brush at the sink, it sailed in a smooth arche before clattering in the paint covered sink. You ran your hands over your face and groaned as you leaned forward, elbows planted in the table. Your mind is running amuck and making you lose patience. 

“Doodle,” the new brush you were holding snapped in your tense grip as you looked up, startled. Barnes was standing at the door holding a bag that smelled delicious and your stomach growled. You may have forgotten to take a break and eat. 

“Barnes,” you said, your tone tense. His eyebrow quirked up as he walked in and placed the bag down a few feet away. 

“Are you okay,” your hand kinda hurt from snapping the brush a moment ago, and your head was killing you with a raging headache. Which might be because you haven’t eaten in a while or because you were thirsty. You took a deep breath and nodded. 

“Yeah, just a little stressed,” you answered. The smell of the food in the bag makes your mouth water and your stomach twist in an uncomfortable way. “What can I do for you?” 

“You weren’t at practice all weekend. Nat said you were hauled up in the art room,” he said nonchalantly, you just stared at him. “And I figured I would stop by and check on my favourite girl,” he said confidently, and you rolled your eyes in response. Your stomach decided that moment was the best time to make its presence known and grumbled loudly. Your cheeks immediately darkened in embarrassment. 

“And she said you most likely didn’t eat,” the look on his face caught you off guard, he had a look of genuine concern etched on his features. “She knows you well,” he mused, his tongue poked between his teeth as he winked at you. You leaned back against your chair and extended your hand and gestured to the chair across from you, prompting him to sit. He took a seat across from you and smiled. “I hope you like burgers,” he said as he pulled the bag over. 

“I don’t mind them, are they from Gus’s?” You asked, he nodded. 

“I wasn’t sure what you drank so I got water,” he added, pulling a couple water bottles out of his gym bag. You smiled and chuckled a little at how thoughtful he was being. 

“Waters fine,” you accepted the bottle and cracked it open and drank half it one go. He eyed you suspiciously and you gulped down hard. “I get lost in what I’m doing and sometimes forget to eat or drink,” you mumbled under his intense gaze. 

“That’s not healthy,” he muttered, pulling out a burger and handing it to you. You accepted and opened it up, taking a bite and biting back the moan you almost let out. 

“I know, but when I’m in the zone. I just don’t realise how much time passes,” you said softly, he nodded and you two ate the food in a comfortable silence. 

“Thank you,” you said as you threw out the garbage and sat back down. 

“No problem, can’t let ya starve,” he chuckled and rubbed his chin in his hand. “What’s ya working on?” He asked and looked at the few pieces shattered behind you and a shadow box a few feet away from you. 

“Uh, a project for an art exhibit once schools out,” you answered. 

“Mind if I work on some homework? It’s quieter here than my house,” you raised an eyebrow at him, that was unexpected. “What?” he asked. 

“Nothing, don’t mind me,” you said as you looked down to work on the piece for the shadow box. Your eyes drifted up every now and then as you observed him working on what looked to be some kind of science homework. 

His eyes wandered over your frame every now and then as he took in your look of complete concentration as you worked with a small piece of clay. He couldn’t help but appreciate the dedication you had toward your craft. 

“What are you working on?” You asked after some time. 

“Science homework,” he gave you a cheeky smile. You gave him a deadpan expression. “It’s space stuff,” he answered. 

“What about space stuff?” You asked, genuine curiosity laced your tone. 

“I’m learning about stars,” he tilted the book he was reading, it was open to a diagram of a star. 

“Oh neat!” You took a closer look at the diagrams and then looked back at him. He was rubbing his neck with a sheepish look on his face. “I did a project a couple years ago on Saturn,” you pulled your phone out and showed him a picture. 

“Wow, you did a fantastic job,” he took your phone for a moment to get a closer look at it. “Wait, that looks familiar,” he looked up at you again. “That looks like the one in the observatory.”

“That’s because it is,” you chuckled. His eyes widened a little and his smile broadened. 

“I made out with a girl right next to it,” he chuckled and your smile dropped and you busied yourself with another piece of clay. 

“That’s great,” you forced out through the firm line your mouth was now set in. 

“Why do you do that?” He asked suddenly, noticing your immediate change in demeanour. You looked up and your eyes narrowed at him. 

“Do what?” 

“That? Get all closed off when I say something you don’t like,” he asked. 

“Because I really didn’t need to know you made out with a girl next to my art piece,” you stated. “I was told if I have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” 

“I’m not a child, I can handle criticism,” he defended. 

“That’s not the point. Have you ever once sat down and just chatted with a girl without the expectation of sex afterwards?” You asked, your tone very genuine. He sat back in his chair and looked anywhere but your face. 

“No. Not in a long time,” his answer caught you guard. You were expecting some snide comment or a lie. When you looked at his face, he looked completely sincere. You took a deep breath knowing the answer to the question you were about to ask. 

“Is that why you’re here now?” You didn’t recognize the voice that asked the question. It was soft and meek, nothing like your usual cadence. He didn’t answer right away, and based on the look on his face he didn’t really know what to say or how to answer. 

“Honestly,” he took a deep breath and looked at his hands. “Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. At first definitely. The first time I spoke to you it was. But I don’t know,” his rambling gave away how honest he was being. “I still want to,” he paused, “to still sleep with you. I also want to hang out with you. And get to know you.” 

You couldn’t help the slight upturn of your lip as you released a long inhale, “thank you for being honest.” 

“I might be a prick. But at least I’m an honest one,” he tried to joke. His smile dropped when you didn’t laugh. “So where does that leave us now?” 

“I don’t know Barnes. I don’t want to sleep with you. But I don’t want you to take that as a challenge to get me to sleep with you. If you truly want to be friends, and we get to know one another with no ulterior motives, then we can do that,” you didn’t want to sugar coat it. You also didn’t have the balls to admit you had a tiny crush on him because that would go straight to his dick and this conversation would be pointless. 

“Well to start you could start calling me Bucky, Barnes is so detached,” he gave you a small smile. 

“Well that was the point,” you chuckled. “But okay, Bucky.” His smile grew larger and he pumped his fist in the air. 

“I’m still calling you Doodle though,” he said, his tone serious as he stared at you. 

“That’s fine, I guess,” you chuckled while rolling your eyes at him. 

“So how much of my piece is finished?” He asked, you couldn’t help but laugh and pointed over your shoulder to the large canvas behind you. “That’s empty.” 

“I know. I have to get some practice sketches  done first before I paint on the big canvas,” you decided to not mention the two you ruined.

“Can I see the practice sketches?” He asked hopefully. 

“Sure,” you relented and passed the sketch pad over and watched him look at it. 

“How do you do that?” He asked, passing it back a moment later. 

“Draw?” You raised an eyebrow at him. He nodded. “I just do, it takes a lot of practice and effort. I could ask the same of you, how do you skate so effortlessly?” 

He smiled for a moment before answering, “I guess it’s the same. I just get on the ice and go. The moment I lace my skates up and I hit the ice everything else just fades away, it’s just me, my stick and the puck.” 

“For me, I pick up the pen, or brush and just start somewhere and get lost in it. It’s me, the brush and the canvas,” you finished. 

“Hey,” he was serious now, that caught your attention fully as you looked at him, “I wanted to apologise for what I said the other day…”

“Bucky,” you reached out and placed your smaller hand on his gently as you cut him off, “stop, it’s okay. We both said things that weren’t very nice. For what it’s worth.” You looked into his eyes sincerely, “I’m sorry too. It’s behind us now.” 

He smiled and nodded, “okay Doodle.” 

That conversation was the catalyst to your developing and lively friendship with Bucky, when the team wasn’t travelling for the away games over the next week he would sit in the art room and do his homework while you worked on the art projects you had due. 

It was Thursday night, Bucky was just getting to the art studio after practice when he saw you hunched over your sketch pad, your hands in your hair and you were sniffling. He entered and quickly threw his gym bag down and came around the table and crouched down next to you. He placed his hand on your forearm, trying not to startle you too much. You jumped anyway since you didn’t hear him come in, you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts to notice anything else.

“Doodle,” he said softly. “Everything okay?” You shook your head and slumped into his chest, that caught him off guard, he quickly wrapped his arms around you and hugged you back as you cried into his chest. As quickly as you collapsed into him you pulled back and shook your head. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out and placed your head in your hands. Bucky was a little stunned at how quickly your demeanour changed. 

“It's okay,” he stood and took his usual seat across from you. “Wanna talk about it?” You let out an exaggerated sigh and sniffled loudly. 

“My art professor is a bitch,” you groaned. “And I have a bunch more projects due and she’s just awful. If I didn’t need this course to graduate I would have dropped it.” You pressed your cheek against the table and closed your eyes. 

“What did she do?” Bucky asked.

“After class she decided to tell me she doesn’t know why I bother trying, and that the school was foolish to offer, a no talent, wannabe one of the only full ride scholarships offered for the arts,” you were crying again. You had spent years honing your craft, and fought tooth and nail for the scholarship that allowed you to attend school here. 

“She’s probably just jealous,” you laughed at that, Nat had said the same thing when you texted her earlier about what happened. 

“I have an appointment with the head of the department tomorrow afternoon. This isn’t the first time she’s been awful to me,” you didn’t see his fist clench and the momentary anger flash across his face as you said that. 

“I wouldn’t listen to her Doodle,” Bucky reached across the table and patted your arm gently. “Your art is awesome, and you’re incredibly talented,” he finished. You smiled against the table and lifted your head up to send him a thankful look.

“Thanks Bucky, that means a lot,” you sighed and whipped your eyes with the back of your hand and rolled your shoulders. “I got some stuff done on your portrait,” you said, your voice still a little coarse, but you felt a lot better. His face lit and his full attention was on the covered canvas behind you. You stood and pulled the cover off and showed him, you had some of the out lining done, the positioning and scale perfect. You felt very proud of it so far. 

“Holy shit Doodle,” Bucky stood and got closer to admire the outlining. “You know, once this is done, you should get them to let you display it in the sports annex,” he had a smug tone as he said this. You chuckled and rolled your eyes. 

“Maybe if you bat your eyelashes at the department head, and ask him really nicely, he’ll let me,” you bumped your hip into his and smirked up at him. He smiled down at you and the softness in his eye made your heart skip a beat, you quickly cleared your throat and moved from him to grab a pencil. 

“I’m going to work my homework, and stay out of your way,” Bucky said softly as he moved from your side to sit down again. You smiled looking down at your feet before you started to do some more outlining. 

His eyes would shift from his homework every so often and they would rove over your body. He knew he didn’t have a shot in hell at getting you to agree to sleeping with him, you made that clear and he was really trying to make sure he kept that at the forefront of his mind when he was around you because he really did want to be friends with you.

But those leggings you wore hugged the curve of your ass so perfectly it was making it difficult. He felt his mouth dry out a little as he watched you rock from side to side as you drew on the canvas, and he involuntarily let a low whistle when you stretched up and exposed some of the soft skin of your back. 

You immediately turned and looked at him with a raised brow and squinted at him, full judgement. “Barnes,” you were warning him, he raised his hands up in surrender. 

“Not my fault you look amazing, it's a crime,” he defended himself with a cocky tone. You couldn’t stop the blush that crawled up your neck and on to your cheeks. 

“You’re insufferable,” you groaned, turning your back to him again, the blush still strong on your cheeks. He laughed loudly, before going back to his homework. You couldn’t keep the little smile off your face, you knew he used that line on countless girls, and it was probably a line he used often to get in their pants, but damn he was such a smooth talker, and he said all the right things in the right tones. You hated that you longed for his compliments. 

It was quiet for a while longer, just the sounds of pencils on paper and canvas filling the air.   

“Hey Doodle,” you hummed in response, not wanting to look away. “There is a final game just before playoffs, it's here, do you think you’ll come?” 

“I thought Nat said you guys were done with the home games now,” you still didn’t look at him, trying to make sure your scale was correct. 

“This one isn’t a regular season game, but I think you’ll really enjoy it,” he was being incredibly cryptic about whatever it is. You turned now, and raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Then what is it?” You asked as you eyed him. 

“Surprise, but I promise you’ll love it,” he sounded so earnest that you couldn’t help but believe him. 

“Okay,” I chuckled. “I’ll go,” you relented, trying to hide your genuine excitement. 

Taglist: @vicmc624, @calwitch, @learisa, @aaqua-tofana

Feel free to send me a message if you have a request or would like more, or would like to be added to the tag list ❤️

[weepingwonder]

Lost Boy

In which there is a portrait of Regulus Black hanging in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

-

The first time Sirius Black steps into Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and finds the screaming portrait of his mother, he nearly decides to burn the place down with the memory of her in it. Even after he’s pulled the curtains shut on her snarling, furious face, her yells echo off the walls and reverberate in his skull. He might as well be back in Azkaban for how miserably sick it makes him. He wants to sink his nails into something, to feel blood gushing up between his fingers.

Grimmauld Place is a knotted, twisted sort of space. It is dark and disorienting, and even a whole childhood spent within its walls was not enough for Sirius to become fully familiar with it. Layers and layers of old magic leave a sort of burnt smell in the air and wrap around his chest like a vice. For some, it would feel comforting, like coming home. For Sirius, it is a tight, oppressive thing. He's been running out of air since the moment he stepped inside.

There is a part of him that is tempted to sit there in the hall and tuck his knees into his chest with his hands over his ears. For one despairing moment, Sirius wonders if he's merely traded one cell for another. Not even the dementors could make him feel as small as his mother could.

But Sirius, for all that he has tried to shed his family name, is still a Black. So he straightens his back, tilts his head up, and puts his shoulders back as he walks through the house. They are all dead, he reminds himself, and he is alive. And isn't that just ironic? That he could spend his whole childhood raging against his family, only to be burdened with the task of carrying the name alone. It makes him want to vomit.

As he walks, lights flicker on, though it does little to brighten up the place. He makes his way to the kitchen, stepping gingerly through the sitting area and halting at the sight of his mother’s favorite chair next to the fireplace, the cushion still slightly depressed from years of carrying her weight. It’s as if she has only just gotten up, perhaps to greet a guest or grab the morning paper to read.

“Never thought I'd see you step foot in here again.”

In Azkaban, Sirius often replayed every conversation he could remember having with James. He would agonize over every inflection, clinging to the cadence of his friend’s voice. He was so afraid of forgetting.

But this voice. He could never forget it. He'd know it anywhere, no matter the horrors, no matter how much time has passed.

He looks up, and his heart seizes in his chest. There, just above the fireplace, sits a portrait of his little brother. He is depicted just as Sirius remembers him: sharp features, steely eyes, an impassive expression on his face, still slightly rounded with youth. It is so undoubtedly Regulus that Sirius wants to run. It is all at once too much for him to handle: the hurt, the longing, the resentment, the disgust, the grief. But he can't run from it, so he does the next best thing.

He turns into a dog.

Regulus looks down at him with a raised brow. “This explains a lot. You never were very good at getting a handle of your emotions,” he all but sneers.

Padfoot raises his hackles, muzzle pulled back into a snarl.

“Really, Sirius,” Regulus sighs. “Aren't you a bit old for the dramatics?”

Padfoot growls.

“I suppose they didn't just let you out of Azkaban, then?” Regulus muses. “Not sure the life of a fugitive suits you, but even Mother would be impressed you managed to break out.”

At the mention of their mother, Padfoot barks loudly.

“Of course, we both knew you didn't belong there,” Regulus continues. “No one knew better than us that you'd never betray the Potters.” Even to Padfoot’s ears, Regulus’ voice sounds bitter. “Mother was most displeased that they wouldn't even give you a trial. Said it was an insult to the family. Stormed the Ministry, even, but Crouch was too eager to have everything wrapped up and much too righteous to be bribed. Truly pathetic.”

Despite himself, Padfoot finds himself listening intently. Most people, he thinks, would take this story as a show of Walburga Black’s love for her son. But Sirius knows better, and so does Regulus.

“She only made it a few years after your incarceration. I watched her go mad. I don't suppose talking to a portrait of her dead son everyday helped much,” Regulus says, as if he's simply filling Sirius in on the morning news. As if they're old friends catching up over tea. As if there's not a chasm of grief and anger that sits between them. But Regulus was never very good at voicing his emotions either, so maybe it’s fitting that they've both reverted back to doing what Blacks are best at: enduring.

“There were times, near the end, where she thought she was talking to you. Her greatest failure, she always said. Her biggest regret.” Regulus looks down at Sirius with a look he can't quite parse. And you? Sirius wants to ask. What do you think?

He's not sure either of them could bear for him to ask it aloud, and he's sure he already knows the answer anyway. Padfoot flattens his ears back, and growls again. It comes out a bit like a whine instead.

For a long moment, Regulus simply watches him. Then, quietly, he murmurs, “Welcome home, Sirius.” His mouth quirks into the barest hint of a smile, no doubt indulging in the irony.

And Sirius, well. He can't do this. He can't do this. Above all things, Azkaban was a monument of grief. He had cried for Lily and James, cried for Remus, cried for his old life. His life Before. But when he was most cold, and equally as out of his mind, he’d cry for Regulus. He thinks, in some ways, he will always be crying for his brother. And having an echo of Regulus here in front of him makes Sirius feel as though he's going mad all over again. He just can't do it.

So Padfoot tucks his tail between his legs with a whimper, turns around, and runs.

-

From then on, Sirius makes a point of avoiding that room altogether. And if, for some reason, he has to go through it, he turns into Padfoot before Regulus can speak to him and trots by as quickly as he can, but not usually before he catches Regulus muttering something to the effect of, “I see your immaturity is still intact.”

Some nights, though, Sirius just cannot bring himself to close his eyes. He's afraid he’ll wake up in a cell again. He's afraid he’ll wake up in his childhood bedroom. He's afraid of being alone. And god, but he just wants to hear someone talk, to hear a voice outside of his own head.

Before he can even think too hard about it (he tries to avoid thinking entirely these days, except for where Harry is concerned), he makes his way to the fireplace. More importantly, he makes his way to Regulus.

Against all instinct to transform into a dog so that he may bear it easier, Sirius stays himself. The painting of his brother is asleep, and Sirius can't help but notice that it doesn't quite capture how much younger Regulus always looked when he was sleeping. There is a lack of depth to the painting that will never do justice to real life, and Sirius is reminded all over again that his brother is really and truly dead. Looking at it is like pressing his thumb into a bruise.

Regulus opens an eye. “Can I help you?”

Sirius laughs like it was punched out of him. How can he? he thinks somewhat hysterically. What could he possibly fix now?

“Have you ever?” Sirius retorts. He grasps, desperately, at the thread of anger inside of him, and pulls, letting the grief fall away around it. He does not know yet, that anger and grief are one and the same.

Regulus raises a brow. “That’s hardly fair.”

"When has a Black ever played fair?”

“I thought you weren't a Black,” Regulus challenges.

“I thought you were,” Sirius shoots back, but there is a question in it.

“Of course I am,” Regulus tells him, and there is something in Sirius that is inexplicably disappointed. Regulus died upholding Black family values. What did Sirius expect?

“You always did like to lick Mother and Father’s boots,” Sirius sneers. “Was it worth it? Dying for your cause.”

Regulus tilts his head then, considering. His lips quirk for a moment, like there's a joke somewhere that Sirius is not picking up on.

“Yes,” Regulus says simply. “I think it was.”

And it makes sense. Of course it makes sense that the boy who was a blood purist and showed nothing but devotion to Lord Voldemort would think that dying for him in a blaze of glory was worth it. In death as he was in life. It makes Sirius want to burn the portrait in front of him.

“I hate you,” Sirius spits, and Regulus just looks at him, face unchanging. Still a little amused, even.

“I know,” Regulus agrees, and it's not, I hate you too, which, to Sirius, counts for something. Maybe even everything.

He doesn't want to think about it. He turns on his heel, ready for some much-needed distance.

“I’ll be back to burn you,” Sirius mutters.

He thinks he hears Regulus laugh as he goes.

-

Sirius does not burn the portrait, but of course they both knew he wouldn't. They were always each other’s weakness, and no amount of time or space could change that.

But the days persist, each followed by a night plagued by nightmares and twisted memories. He wakes up gasping, with James’ name on his lips, followed by Lily’s, and always, always followed by Regulus’. These days, Sirius is nothing more than a waking, walking graveyard. He stumbles through the halls of Grimmauld Place, both haunting and haunted.

Almost inevitably, he finds himself back at his brother’s portrait. On this particular night, Regulus is already awake, as if expecting him. Maybe he was. Maybe Sirius has become predictable in his mad sort of grief, and he hates himself for it. He hates how weak he feels, like a child climbing into his brother’s bed after a bad dream. It had always been the other way around.

“You're back.”

“I don't want to be,” Sirius admits.

“I'm not real,” the portrait reminds him. Regulus is not gentle or kind when he says this. His voice is sharp and vicious, merciless as Regulus so often was, as he had to be to survive in a family like theirs.

Sirius clenches his jaw. He wants to reach through the frame and shake his brother’s shoulders. He wants to pull him close, he wants to shove him as far away as possible. The conflict in him swells and spills over, a wretched combination of longing and hate and years of bitterness wrapped in love and life. He does not know what to do with it, he wants to shed his own skin to be rid of it. For one hysterical moment, Sirius thinks he might cry.

He hastily turns himself into a dog and sighs as the transformation dampens his emotions. Regulus gives him a pitying sort of look, and it makes Padfoot’s hackles rise.

He says nothing else, though, and Sirius, in spite of himself, can't get himself to leave. Padfoot’s head droops in exhaustion, and before he can think too hard about it, he lets himself drop to the floor, curling his tail around his body. He knows his brother is still watching him, and as Sirius starts to fall asleep, he can't really bring himself to care.

-

The first time Sirius brings Remus into Grimmauld Place, it goes about how Sirius would've expected. He was half-afraid the Blacks had drenched the place in some sort of dark magic that would burn anyone deemed less than “pure” the moment they walked in, but instead they were simply met with Walburga Black’s enraged portrait, spewing a litany of curses and slurs their way.

So, it could have been worse. After they've pulled the curtains shut, Remus gives Sirius a look. “That can't be good for you.”

“Well, it's not like it's my choice,” Sirius says bitterly, and Remus gives him a sad look. It makes Sirius want to snarl at him. “Anyway, it gets worse.”

“Worse?” Remus asks, looking slightly ill at the thought. Sirius smiles grimly and leads him to the spacious living room.

Regulus looks up at them when they arrive.

“Bringing half-breeds into the house, now, are we? Mother must be rolling in her grave,” he comments, and Sirius wishes he could punch him.

"Mother no longer has a say in anything. And neither do you,” Sirius says coldly.

“Sirius, what—” Remus looks like he's seen a ghost and, well, he basically has.

“My mother apparently saw fit to have a portrait of Regulus installed,” Sirius informs him. “Of course she couldn't live without her precious son. It's all very sweet.”

Regulus sighs.

“Sirius, you've got to remove this portrait,” Remus says. “This is definitely not good for you.”

At that, Regulus looks supremely offended. “I have more of a right to be here than you do, werewolf,” he says haughtily.

“How do you even know—?” Sirius starts to ask, and Regulus gives him a deadpan look.

“You and your friends weren't exactly subtle in school. Besides, I have been known to actually shut up and observe, unlike you—”

"And yet, you're the one who's dead—”

"Thankfully,” Regulus mutters darkly.

“—and I'm still very much alive, so I will continue to do as I please,” Sirius says hotly.

“You mean do as Dumbledore pleases,” Regulus practically spits. “The man who left you to rot in prison.”

And Sirius flinches back at that because… yeah. He has thought, several times, that maybe he's still in prison, except this time, it’s Dumbledore holding the keys. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and his jaw clicks shut.

Regulus tilts his head. “So you aren't just his brainless lapdog.”

Remus grabs Sirius’ arm. “Why don't we go make some tea? We can talk about… whatever this is.”

Sirius shrugs his arm away, and Remus coils back, as though burned. Sirius can't bring himself to care.

“Fine. Let’s talk,” Sirius all but snarls and heads for the kitchen without a second glance at Regulus or Remus.

Remus sighs, steeling himself for an overdue conversation with a very volatile Sirius. He's not excited for it. He makes to follow Sirius, and gives the portrait one last disapproving look.

Regulus is looking exceedingly smug. Remus scowls.

-

Sirius knows Regulus’ portrait will pose a problem as the Order moves in, but he still can't bring himself to move it.

For the most part, Regulus just watches people come and go without comment. A couple of them give his portrait a nasty look as they recognize him, but most of them pay him no mind. But Sirius knows his brother. He knows Regulus is listening and watching intently. He's interested in news of Voldemort’s second rise to power, and Sirius cannot wait to rub Voldemort’s defeat in his brother's face when this damned war is over.

Because it will end. It has to.

So, all in all, Regulus listens a lot and talks very little. That is, until Hermione Granger comes in.

Sirius finds himself quite fond of her. Not just because she's one of the reasons he's free, and not even because of her loyalty to Harry. No, Hermione reminds him very much of Lily Potter. Not just because she's a fiercely intelligent and talented muggleborn witch, but because she, like Lily, is also the perfect mixture of kind-hearted and hot-headed.

Hermione avoids Walburga Black’s portrait like the plague for obvious reasons, but when she finds the portrait of Regulus Black, she can't help but approach it curiously.

“Hello,” she says politely. “I didn't realize Sirius had a brother.” She shoots Sirius a questioning look, and he just shrugs, unapologetic.

Regulus gives her an assessing look. “Yes, well, ‘had’ is the key word there. In any case, Sirius is rather averse to acknowledging me as such. And you are?”

“Hermione Granger,” she says confidently.

“Granger,” Regulus repeats slowly. “How… mundane. Half-blood?”

“Muggleborn,” Hermione says firmly, without shame.

Regulus looks past her to where Sirius is standing. “Mudbloods and blood traitors and werewolves,” he tuts softly. “You always did have such… peculiar taste in company.”

"Fix your language,” Sirius says sharply.

But Hermione, used to Draco Malfoy’s liberal use of the term, remains unfazed. “You're not very kind,” she tells Regulus.

He looks amused. “No, I’m not.”

"Hermione is one of the reasons I escaped the Dementor’s Kiss,” Sirius tells him.

“What a shame,” Regulus says mildly. “I think it would have been an improvement.”

“It would have been cruel,” Hermione says heatedly. “Nobody deserves that.”

“Oh?” Regulus raises an eyebrow. “Not even the Dark Lord?”

“I can't say I think he has much of a soul to suck out of him,” Hermione says icily. Regulus barks out a laugh, and it's so uncharacteristic of him that Sirius does a double take.

“Indeed,” Regulus agrees.

Hermione gives him a thoughtful look. “You worked for him, didn't you? Voldemort. No one ever calls him ‘the Dark Lord’ unless they worked for him.”

If Regulus is surprised by her use of Voldemort’s name, he doesn't show it. Sirius wonders if he’ll lie. He wonders if he’ll correct Regulus if he does.

As it turns out, he needn't have worried because Regulus inclines his head. “I did.”

“Did… do you regret it?” Hermione asks, as if she can't believe this boy, who couldn't have been much older than her, would swear his life away. And Sirius, who has tried to have this conversation before and knows how it ends, prepares himself for the inevitable disappointment.

“You are quite bold for someone of your, ah, background,” Regulus observes, appearing more curious than bothered.

“Am I supposed to be meek and timid because my parents are muggles?” Hermione challenges. “They raised me to be good and kind, which is more than you can likely say for yourself.”

“Some purebloods would kill you where you stand for talking to them like that,” Regulus tells her, and Hermione puts her chin up defiantly.

“I don't make a habit of talking to those kinds of people.”

“That’s probably wise.” He watches her quietly, considering. He seems to be choosing his next words carefully. “To answer your question… I did what I had to do, in the end. And what about you, Miss Granger? Will you be able to say the same for yourself, when it's all over? Will you still be good and kind?”

Hermione clenches her jaw. “I can try to be.”

Regulus looks at her like she's a particularly interesting puzzle he can't quite figure out. The corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly.

“You certainly can.”

-

Halloween was never going to pass without Sirius getting drunk out of his mind. Remus is already passed out in bed, but Sirius… he can’t seem to rest. He paces through the hallways, jumping at things that aren't there, flinching at the sound of Kreacher rifling through some forgotten closet for some trinket, some memory of what used to be.

Sirius keeps his hand on the wand he's been using. It doesn't feel right. Not like his old wand. But he grips it tightly anyway, and resists the urge to blast the shit out of everything around him.

Azkaban put a stasis on Sirius’ grieving process. It kept him hanging right at the beginning of it. It kept him replaying his last words to Lily and James over and over again, seeing their bodies unmoving on the floor, and his own rough, calloused hands closing their eyes for the last time.

Before Azkaban, when Sirius had found out Regulus died, he didn't let himself grieve at all. He hadn't seen his little brother in years, and there was no body to be found, so he could almost make himself believe that Regulus was still out there, somewhere. That maybe they would eventually cross wands in battle, and they'd get pretty damn close to killing each other but never actually would.

But in the prison, reduced to only his most potent miseries, Sirius was unable to avoid the truth: his little brother was dead. Almost everyone he loved was dead.

And now, here he is, on the anniversary of the worst night of his life, and he is just itching to pick a fight, to release all the pent-up, unfiltered grief that sits right under his skin at all times.

He takes a swig of firewhiskey and makes his way to his brother’s portrait. It's not his wisest idea, but Sirius has never been wise, especially when it comes to his brother.

Regulus takes one look at Sirius and wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“You're an embarrassment,” Regulus tells him, and Sirius just barely resists the urge to throw his bottle of firewhiskey at the portrait.

“I hate you,” Sirius tells him, and Regulus sighs.

“So you've mentioned,” he says dryly. “Is that all?”

“No!” Sirius practically shouts. His ribcage feels tight with a pressure that's been building for weeks, and he digs his fingernails into his palm as if to try and relieve it. Sirius has always been a little too much of everything all at once, and James was one of the very few people who could manage it. But he's not here. Sirius is. He's here and painfully, achingly alive, and he feels a rush of fury at the unfairness of it all. And his stupid, stupid brother—so fucking soft, so weak—how pathetic it is to die licking someone else’s boots. “Why did you have to follow him? Why couldn't you just—why couldn't you just be—”

“Like you?” Regulus sneers.

"Strong,” Sirius spits. “Brave.” Not like me at all, Sirius thinks.

“You’re the one who ran away!” Regulus accuses.

“You’re the one who stayed!” Sirius rages.

Which is worse? The unspoken question sits heavy between them. It takes up all the oxygen in the room and Sirius can't fucking breathe. His chest heaves, heart pounding hard enough that he's sure the room is shaking with it.

For a long while, Regulus says nothing. He looks at a space just past Sirius’ shoulder and Sirius wants to grip his brother’s chin in his hand and make him look at him. He wants bruises to blossom under his fingertips, to feel the warmth of blood rushing underneath skin.

“You didn't ask me to come with you,” Regulus finally says. His voice is quiet, as if he knows how fragile the moment is, as if he's afraid to see what might break.

“Would you have?” Sirius shoots back.

Regulus purses his lips. His eyes lock back onto Sirius. “I guess we’ll never know.”

And Sirius—

Sirius shatters. He just sort of keels over, the air wrenched from his lungs, because for the first time, maybe ever, he is realizing that his little brother is truly dead. That this… this echo of him cannot give him the closure he so desperately wants because the real Regulus never gave it either. Sirius presses a hand to his chest just to feel the thrum of his own heart and, oh god, it aches, please make it stop and Regulus is right there, bloodless, forever stuck on the cusp of adulthood, and neither of them will ever get to know what could of have been, because both of them failed to be brave for each other when it mattered most. Regulus lived with that bitterness until the very end, and Sirius knows, with sudden clarity, that he will too.

He chokes back a sob, shoulders curling inward, and he thinks he hears a low, pained whine coming from somewhere. It gets louder and louder, until there are hands on his shoulders, arms wrapped around him tightly, tugging him backwards, away from the portrait. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, someone—Remus—is telling him and Sirius opens his mouth and screams.

He kicks and snarls and yells as he's dragged out of the room, half-mad with grief and longing and all the love in him he never got to give. He screams louder than his mother, louder than his father, louder than his guilt and his hurt and his shame.

“I tried!” Regulus is yelling, desperately. “I tried to be brave! I betrayed the Dark Lord!”

And Sirius screams, louder than his brother.

[starfall-spirit]

Precious Collateral

Read on Ao3 // Fic Masterlist // SJM Omegaverse Masterlist // Dark Feysand Masterlist

Summary: When Rhys set out to collect his dues from the head of the Archeron house, he knew the man would be begging for more time. What he didn’t expect was to be offered the youngest daughter as collateral.

After spending only a day in the temperamental woman’s company, he found himself utterly enthralled with his new guest—and with no intention of letting her father scrape together the funds that would grant her her freedom.

AN: This is going to be the darkest fic I've written so far. Definitely bringing in heavier themes than my CoN!Feysand fics have. The first chapter is short and free of any trigger warnings, but I want to give a list up front of what I have tagged so far on Ao3 for future chapters.

TW/CW: Rape/Non-Con, Underage, Extremely Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Bondage, Spanking, Orgasm Denial, Dark!Rhys, Breeding Kink, Praise Kink, Dom/Sub Undertones, Power Imbalance, Daddy Kink

That said, enjoy the intro chapter!

Chapter I

Rhysand

“I have tried, I swear. Please, I have nothing to give. If I had more time…”

“I’ve given you time,” Rhys drawled, leaning back in the chair he was offered. “Months beyond the timeframe we agreed on, in fact. And still have nothing to show for it, Archeron. I believe I made the consequences of that quite clear during our original meeting.”

“Y-yes. You did. I haven’t forgotten. I only hoped if I offered you a new deal for the time being you may accept.” He kept his eyes cast down slightly, looking every bit the beta begging to keep his miserable life. “Please, I can not leave my wife and daughters with nothing.”

“One less mouth to feed. I’d say you’d be doing them a favor.”

The man swallowed hard. “My daughters,” he almost whispered. “You can have your pick. Keep one of them in your home until I can gather the money.”

Rhys just managed to catch his sneer, maintaining his mask worn for business matters such as this. One line he never crossed was trading in flesh. He hadn’t touched the trafficking circles so many of the other major players tangled themselves in and no one indebted to him had dared offer up their own child yet.

He would have laughed in the man’s face and put an end to the conversation if it wasn’t for the soft gasp outside the office door. His eyes slid in the direction of the sound before he jerked his head, a silent order to Cassian. “Let me go! You can’t—” The girl’s mouth snapped shut the moment her eyes met Rhys’. “I—”

“Well, well. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that eavesdropping is rude, pet?”

Though her fear practically radiated from her, his demand only made her raise her chin. What a little brat she was. And no wonder, he mused. The youngest Archeron was an omega. A rarity, coming from a beta mother and father. Her older sisters had been just as disappointing in that regard, even if the eldest had a mouth on her.

“It seems I was right to,” the girl snapped back. “If you’re here to tear our family apart.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer audacity. All that rage in such a tiny package. It was refreshing. “My, Abraham. Just where were you hiding this little gem when I visited you before?” Leaning down, he caught a whiff of her scent, the lilac and pear downright intoxicating, setting his alpha instincts reeling. The words to seal the deal with her father were out of his mouth before what remained of his morality could cut through the haze. “I’m going to enjoy training you, darling.”

She drew a deep breath, shuttering softly. Good, that she was just as affected by him. “You can’t do this,” she whispered.

“Can’t I, pet?” He didn’t let himself touch her, instead drawing back to his full height. “Cass, make sure she has a few things for the flight back. The rest can be provided when we’ve made it home.” Glancing back over his shoulder, he addressed her father one last time. “A pleasure doing business, Archeron.”

~~~~~

Feyre

“A hunger strike isn’t going to do you any favors, sweetheart.” She scowled, pushing the plate to the top of her tray before turning her attention back to the window. “And the cold shoulder isn’t going to earn you a ticket home.”

“Tell me what, exactly, Rhysand, would earn me some peace and quiet?” Cassian coughed sharply, clearly trying to cover his amusement. The man seated beside him—still nameless to her—just shook his head. As if Feyre was some bratty child they should never have dragged into this mess. If he was so easily convinced, perhaps his partners could be too, no matter how patient Rhysand seemed.

Turning to the window again, she tucked her knees to her chest. Where was she left now? She was seventeen, not even graduated, and being flown off to God knew where until her father could scrape together whatever the nut jobs needed to pay off the astronomical loan he’d wasted in a matter of a few weekends. Feyre had seen the ledgers. Even if her mother and older sisters refused to greet reality, she knew better.

Now she was stuck. Her family wouldn’t be able to beg or bargain for the kind of money they needed. If she was ever going to be free, she’d have to plot an escape herself.

She spent the rest of the flight studying the three men as subtly as possible. How they moved, spoke, and acted towards one another. The weapons they each carried, even in the safety of their own jet. But what bothered her most, if she was being honest, was the raw confidence each of them exuded. They knew their weapons, knew each other, and laid an unshakable trust in that. She wasn’t going to be able to turn one of Rhysand’s goons to her side. Not the top of his team, at least.

So she would wait. However long it would take, she would best them.

~~~~~

Rhysand

“What game are you playing, Rhys?” 

They were an hour from landing in Manhattan when Feyre finally drifted off, giving his brothers the freedom to truly interrogate him. “We don’t let innocents get tangled in business. It’s the one thing that puts us above the others.”

“I have no intention of selling her off, Cassian. She’s exactly what her father offered her as—collateral.”

“She’s a kid, Rhys.”

“She’s a minor for a few more months, yes, but hardly a child.”

His enforcer scowled. “So, what, December rolls around and you put her to work in the club?”

“No,” he snapped, frustrated with how obvious his investment in the girl was becoming. There was no reason he should be so against the suggestion. They paid the girls dancing in their night club, Velaris, more than most in their profession could dream of. Their clientele was vetted. Feyre would have been just fine if he threw her Mor’s way to train up for the club. “I don’t know yet. She’ll stay at the townhouse under my watch until I’ve decided. No arguments.”

“Rhys.” He met his spymaster’s eyes, loathing the hint of worry there. “Eyes on the prize?”

“Always, brother.”

~~~~~

Just going to use my Dark!Rhys taglist at the moment, but if the trigger warnings are too much please reach out so I can remove you from the taglist.

Taglist: @whatishowedyouinthedark // @ninthcircleofprythian // @sajirah // @acourtofladydeath // @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer // @toporecall //@popjunkie42-blog

[qqtxt]

[🎈] special privilege [🦊]

[!] this is for the 1k followers mini fics. click here to find out more! ✿ pairing: yeonjun x reader / idol!txt / non.idol!you / fluff / 607 words ✿ request: [mine] + yeonjun (for one muse to wear something belonging to the other) ✿ note: i wanted it to be sort of... like a 'soft launch' just for close ones, so that's kinda where i headed with this! [main masterlist 🌸] / [event masterlist] / [tag: #qqtxt: 1k]

it wasn't out of the ordinary for you to be wearing something from yeonjun's wardrobe. it wasn't too crazy if he took something from your closet, either. in fact, this habit began way before you two put a label on your relationship as officially together (secretively, might you add). so this... the fact that you have on something that exclusively screams that yes, the two of you are official is absolutely bonkers.

that's what you think, anyway. until taehyun points something out that gets all of the boys (including yeonjun) to pause from taking another bite of their food and fixate on the ring on your index finger.

"why is that on your finger?" taehyun asks, pointing at your hand as you were attempting to reach for a piece of tissue, only to have your hand freezing mid-air because of taehyun's exclamation. yeonjun knew this day would come but he didn't expect it to be in the middle of him scarfing down tteokbokki in a secluded restaurant; all of you huddled over a small table trying to eat together peacefully. then again, in hindsight, he should've seen it coming when merely the week before, he slid the ring onto your index finger and told you to keep it because that's how deep yeonjun was infatuated with you.

"isn't that yeonjun-hyung's favourite ring?" beomgyu manages to say past the fried tofu he has in his mouth. despite his mouth being full, clearly the rage inside is forcing the words out, "i tried putting it on once and he kicked my lower back until i heard a crack."

"i knew y/n had special privileges but i didn't know they had it that much," soobin ponders out loud, eyes scanning back and forth between you and yeonjun. the group notices how quiet you've gotten when usually the both of you would be quick to deny it (for months, for months!)

"unless..." kai mumbles, eyes growing wide when yeonjun has this look on his face. lips pressed together in embarrassment yet proud of the fact this is surfacing to the table. your admission to allow for yeonjun to grab onto your hand and lace your fingers together as a declaration of–"holy shit! it's happening!" taehyun half-gasps, half-whispers. beomgyu's eyes were about to bulge out of his head and soobin just grabbed kai for his dear life.

"we're together now. for a few months now, actually."

the boys try their best to keep it down from howling and screaming because they still have a reputation to uphold. the questions come flooding in as you attempt to eat your lunch despite yeonjun staring at you with the biggest, simpiest smile on his face whenever they prod for answers of when did it start?! who made the first move? was it you? was it hyung? tell us! what was your first date?!

in the midst of it all, what makes you laugh is the way soobin holds his hand out to taehyun, who willingly places money onto the latter's hand for clearly losing a bet unbeknownst to the both of you. either way, as the boys continue their discussion with you chipping in every now and then, you relish in the feeling of seeing yeonjun holding onto your hand on the table; proud and open, showing the people he spends most of his time with and the ones he trusts the most that you were a part of that equation, too.

and when yeonjun meets with your gaze past the noise, the squeeze he gives your hand lets you know that he knows what you're thinking of, too. (and he agrees with it wholeheartedly)

[abibliophobiaa]

For sweet Steve's birthday

I choose the word: bath

Have fun Luna 😘

hi, sweet friend. here’s 700 words of fluff for steve’s birthday celebration.

-

It had been a crappy day from the very start.

Your car needed a jump from Eddie earlier that morning. It was fortune alone that he had been nearby when Steve called him up to see if he’d be able to help.

But it ended up with you being late for work, your manager shouting at you when you eventually scrambled in that you’d get a write up the next time you showed up even so few as five minutes late.

You’d held back the desire to raise your favorite middle finger in the air and say “screw it all.” Because you had your half of the rent to pay, after all. Instead you sucked up the swirling rage of emotion, slipping your work hat on your head. A white cap that glowed an obnoxious neon in the lights of the roller rink.

After that it had been countless orders at the food cart you worked. Shouted demands over blaring pop music from customers, barked complaints that you’d given them mozzarella sticks when they’d ordered a corn dog (they didn’t), and the eventual fight that broke out between kids from Hawkins and the next town over.

Something to do with a disagreement between baseball teams that carried over into one teen shoving another into a wall.

You had to roll out and break it up, an order from your manager who had then shouted again to “hurry up and take care of it” when you took a little too long for his liking. Even dodged a swing of a fist and ducked when another teen launched themselves at another student.

Later, it was ice packs from the storage closet against red-faced blubbering boys and signed documents that promised the kids would never step foot in the establishment again. Pouty lips highlighted in a merry go round of speckled blue, green and purple light; reflected from the hues dancing off the disco ball up above.

And by the time you entered your apartment, kicked your shoes off at the door, and tossed your bag into a heap on the floor, all you’d wanted was to curl up in your bed and slip a blanket over your head. Maybe even pretend the day never happened at all.

Yet there he was. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, stirring away at what looked to be spaghetti in a pot. That floppy head of hair tilted backward a bit as you entered the kitchen, all bright enamored grins.

He quickly shouted, “Hey, babe!” into open air, and paused at the downturn of your lips.

He immediately caught the way you walked in with your hands at your sides, shoulders hunched. He was on you in seconds, arms wrapped around your form as you pressed into the center of his chest happily, absorbing his warmth and affection.

“Bad day, huh?” He mused, sliding his palms along the span of your back. Long, sweeping motions that had you sinking further into him with a loud huff. “Wanna tell me about it while I finish up dinner? I got home early and thought I’d treat us to a little date night.”

“Every night is date night with you.”

You giggled, palms coming to rest against his lower back. You’d loved that about him, though. The constant need to always make sure you knew how loved and appreciated you were.

You sighed, bone-tired. “But no, I don’t really wanna talk about it. Kind of wanted to just pretend today never happened and try again tomorrow.”

He brushed a kiss against your brow. “Well, good news is we both have off tomorrow. So how about I draw you up a nice warm bath and you just relax while I finish up here. And then we can spend the rest of the night watching all your favorite movies.”

“I need a good cuddle too.”

He chuckled softly, tipping your head up to smother your adorable pout with his lips. One, two, three brushes of the fullness of his mouth against yours.

His forehead rested against yours briefly. Wide fingers fanned across your cheek lovingly.

“Done,” he promised, leading you to the bathroom where he then waited until you were neck deep in warm, bubbly water to remind you, “I love you.”

-

[general--winter]

uchiha shisui x reader - forever

author's note: this is my first time writing a reader insert that is a full length one-shot, so i'm still getting the hang of it. i went through thoroughly to make sure i edited any accidental references to the reader's gender out, as there were a couple in the first draft, so if i missed any at all let me know so i can edit them out immediately!

rating: teen

fandom: naruto

pairing: shisui x gender neutral reader

warnings: suggestive content, existential musings

word count: 2340

summary: you spend a stormy evening on the beach with your beloved

Plop.

From the heathery gray clouds raging above in the wind, a freezing drop of rain dribbled into your scalp. Your eyes turned up to admire the rolling landscape of the storm brewing above the raging monotone sea. Occasionally in the distance, a coil of thunder would snake through the clouds, its rumble reaching you within seconds and vibrating the very air. When a particularly strong gust struck you, your toes curled into the icy sand and your bare arms mimicked the motion of reaching for a hug; you wanted the essence of nature surrounding you to encapsulate and invade your entire being. This moment would be etched into your memory for all of your time alive. Sometimes, when the temperature of the air froze against your exposed skin in just the right way, when the scent of a stormy summer night tingled in your nose, when every single atom in your body vibrated with the excitement and purpose of being in the moment, you felt alive. Not in the sense of existential dread, no, that was way too typical in your life. You were pretty sure everyone always felt the constant pressure of that void in the back of their skull. This feeling was rare, though. It built you back up. If only for a moment, you captured the glory of existence, saw the meaning of life, whatever the hell was going to pull you out of that deep hole. And as tragic as watching a movie you know has a bleak ending, it slips through your fingers. Fleeting. Just like life itself.

At the bottom of your peak in emotion, a soft hand slipped into yours outstretched, grounding you in the shifting sands. Without Shisui there to hold you together, you thought you might fall apart, slip right in-between the grains of sand.

"I guess you were right… it is beautiful, huh?" he gently asked against your ear, muting the wind.

"It's always one of the most beautiful sights in the world," you confirmed to your boyfriend beside you, a smug hint to your tone. Hair whipping in the gusts, you turned to face him. "But it doesn't compare to you."

A tinge of rose crept up onto his cheeks, although you couldn't tell if it had been there before from the chill. His almost-black eyes met your own from behind his shaggy hair of the same color. It's a saying, that the eyes are the window to the soul. It sounded like bullshit for so long, but Shisui's, conveying pure love and adoration for you, convinced you that you'd just not been looking hard enough at everyone else.

And his smile. God, his smile. If you didn’t know any better, then from your perspective the storm had ended before it ran its course, and the sun was radiating its kind and warm light right in front of you, chasing away every chill in your bones. You couldn’t help but raise your free hand, stroking his slightly rough cheek with a whisper of your fingertips. His own grasping for the back of your neck, Shisui latched on and pulled you in for a deep, gentle kiss, his hands and lips pulsating warmth into your wind-ravaged body. The kiss was over all too soon for your liking. 

"Come on. I think we've spent enough time out here. Let's go and warm back up," he suggested kindly, swiping a thumb over your icy knuckles and gently tugging you up the slope of the dune.

“I’m going to need more of where that came from, as well,” you teased while following Shisui. Your eyes turned back to face the main road of the shore town you two were staying in for the next two weeks.

The vacation from your full-time jobs — your guys' first since graduating from university a year ago — was a blissful one. You and Shisui had already spent many days on the beach while it was crowded and sunny, flying kites, splashing around in the deep waters, or building sandcastles. But on the drive here, your hand resting feather-light on his thigh as you kept the car steady, you’d lamented that the best beach days were the ones when chaos and storms roiled over the ocean.

“What? But then you can’t really do anything but stand there and look if everything there will kill you,” he’d replied with an audible pout, glancing at your focused gaze. “And how am I supposed to dunk you under the water if we’re not in it?”

You stole a glare at him in the passenger’s seat, your neck going pink at how cute his scrunched nose was, before once again focusing your gaze on the road ahead. “Yeah, yeah, idiot. That’s the whole point, though. There’s just something so captivating about seeing a storm over the sea from the shore. Like, beauty and peace in something that should be ugly and sorrowful. I like it.”

You both made it back up to the house, clothes wrinkled and hair knotted through. Using the hose at the entrance, you and Shisui took turns washing off your bare feet of sand. He offered for you to go first, and you happily obliged, wishing to change into something comfortable, order dinner, and get snuggling as soon as possible, but that was an incredibly rookie mistake. As you turned around, an unseen smirk played on your trickster boyfriend’s lips, and he pointed the hose at your swimsuit-clad back. Before you were able to go in, he landed a direct shot on you.

“Ah! Shisui! Are you kidding me?” you shrieked, jumping into the house. Through the thin wooden wall, you could hear his deep laughter at your reaction. Your face flush, you stomped to the bathroom with your outfit in hand, an oversized t-shirt, comfy pants, and fuzzy socks. As fast as you possibly could, you rinsed yourself off in the shower, washing and combing your hair, getting every bit of sweat and grime off of you and emerging feeling clean and refreshed.

When you traded places in the bathroom, you and Shisui each had the same idea, and smacked each others’ asses in unison.

“Damn it!” he gritted while peeking out from behind the bathroom door, ready to slam it. “You couldn’t let me have that one?”

“You always get me when I least expect it, ‘cause I always trust you. Case in point, the fucking water hose. Couldn’t you let me have one? Or maybe I’ll catch you off guard one day, you little shit,” you jaunted from over your shoulder, rounding the corner to the living room while you heard the shower thrum.

“My partner, they call me nothing but terrible, terrible names! How horrific!” Shisui yelled, sounding farther away than he actually was.

You just shook your head and settled down on the plush couch, flicking the television on to a streaming service, so when he came out of the shower, you two could continue watching your show. Before long, he had made his way out, wearing a comfortable-looking cotton t-shirt and sweatpants. Despite what looked like some sort of effort to dry off, his hair was still extremely damp, and clung to his forehead in strands. You couldn’t help but gawk at him a little bit, knowing his skin would be extra soft and warm to lay against when he sat down next to you. With no hesitation, that is exactly what he did, settling into the corner of the couch and opening his arms wide.

In a flash, you hooked your legs over his lap, wrapped your arms around his waist, and plopped your head right onto his chest. Ever since this morning in bed, when you had to pry yourself off of him like a bandaid off of skin, this was the only thing you could think about.

“Someone’s impatient, yeah?” he asked through a gentle laugh, bringing one arm around your shoulders and another to rest on your thighs.

Now this, this was your safe space. You closed your eyes, the only thing registering to you being Shisui’s scent and breathing. His soap, that cute sugar vanilla one that he always begged you to buy from the mall, wafted into your nose and intoxicated you. Behind that, his faint and musky natural odor mixed with the saltiness of the ocean came through. His body also radiated heat, his skin especially hot from the shower.

“It’s not often that I can lay claim to you for an entire day,” you admitted, turning so your cheek now rested on Shisui. “So I’m taking advantage of this entire vacation.”

“Hey, I know. I feel the same way. Life’s just been so busy lately. Work and all, for both of us.” He buried his nose into your own damp hair.

“Yeah. Sometimes it just feels like it doesn’t stop, and my head keeps spinning and churning out thoughts. The only place where it stops is right here.” You uncurled a hand from around him, and poked him in the chest.

“My chest is a pillow for you and you alone,” Shisui brought a hand to press your head more firmly onto him. The sound of his heartbeat became faintly audible. “Anytime you need me to protect you like this, I will be there. Don't you forget that.”

You felt like your heart could burst right out of your chest. Shisui’s declarations always stirred your emotions, even after the four years you’ve spent together. You didn’t know what it was about today, though. Perhaps you had borne your emotions to the world back on the beach and you needed a release, or maybe finally relaxing after the brutal work schedule you had for months coaxed something out of you. Your eyes began to water, a familiar tingling sensation creeping up your throat muscles to your face, making you scrunch up.

“Hey, what’s up?” Shisui asked gently, feeling the change in your expression on him. He gently grabbed your chin and turned your face to meet his own, noting how your eyes darted around. “Look at me. Are you happy-crying or sad-crying?”

You willed your eyes to still and meet his own, a grin creeping across your face. In the light of the house, you could see more of the brown within them, but Shisui’s pure feelings of love still radiated out of his irises.

“Happy-crying. I just love you so much, dumbass.”

“Okay, that’s good. I love you too, my queen. I’m gonna have to kill two birds with one stone, though,” Shisui contemplated, his eyebrows furrowing and an expression of deep thought crossing the rest of his face.

“Huh?”

“Well, I have to cheer you up. Can’t have ya crying like this,” he said, with a stroke to your cheek where a tear fell. “But you can’t keep calling me an idiot all of the time either, so I’ve gotta convince you to call me something else for once.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” you challenged, using the shoulder of your shirt to wipe your eyes.

“Like this.”

The little bastard tugged you in for a kiss and stuck his hands up your shirt, gliding his fingers gently down your sides and back. You kicked your legs, clinging onto Shisui even tighter than before.

“Mmpfh!” you shrieked against his lips. You felt Shisui smirk against your lips, running his calloused fingers back up for more of your sensitive skin while you tried to wiggle out of his grasp to no avail. You were able to break away from the kiss and shove your head back into his chest, your giggles muffled by his shirt. He was laughing right along with you at your reaction, the vibration of it in his chest comforting you.

“Okay, okay fine!” Shisui let up his teasing touch as you conceded and instead placed his palms flat on your bare back, unmoving. Breathy laughter was still interspersed with your words as you surrendered, “You’re my pretty man.”

While you were disheveled from Shisui’s attack, your stomach quivering, it was now his turn to look embarrassed. His gaze flickered around the room while you sat up straighter to get a good look at his face at an equal level. You grasped his face in your hands and planted a kiss on his lips.

“You really are. You’ve got such a nice nose, especially,” you said to him, while his gaze meandered in embarrassment. “Look at me, now.”

His gaze snapped to your eyes immediately, his mouth open just slightly. You continued complimenting Shisui, saying: “And you have these, like, beautiful eyelashes that make you look like you’re always wearing mascara. The way your hair frames your face is perfect, it gives you such a nice silhouette.”

You kept going, stroking each part of his face you spoke of, knowing you would work him up until steam was coming out of his ears and his entire face was tomato red. When you achieved your goal (quickly, mind you), you admired your work for a second and then sat back, instead opting to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with your boyfriend. Wordlessly, you clicked on the show that you’d intended on starting before, and settled in next to Shisui, wrapping your arm around his waist and settling into him with a satisfied hum. He did the same, leaning his head on your shoulder and evading eye contact.

If you could choose, you would opt to spend the rest of your days curled up like this with Shisui, chatting about anything at all, or silently drinking in the presence of each other. It was your personal haven, one of the only places in the world where you were able to relax fully and completely. You shifted further into him, relaxing every muscle in your body against his radiating heat, and you allowed your eyes to droop closed.

“So, what did you want for dinner?” he ended up asking out of nowhere as soon as your stomach violently growled.

What timing Shisui Uchiha had.

[karatekels]

A Better Offer - Part 2

Here is part 2 of the request where reader is a (now-former) employee of LaRussos! (Part 1 here)

--- Terry’s POV ---

The day of the auction had finally arrived, and Terry found himself incredibly impressed with how everything had come together. Everything had been organized to perfection, and Terry knew that the auction would be the event talked about for the rest of the year (and not just because he’d made sure the LaRussos would be in attendance, giving him the opportunity to humiliate Danny Boy yet again).

Terry looked over at you with your ever-present clipboard, speaking to your main points of contact for the event today. You looked radiant in your cocktail dress, your earpiece (allowing you to speak with your assistants throughout the day) blending in seamlessly with your hair, and you were completely in your element: confident, excited, and happy. He smiles at you with genuine endearment, though no one sees it, not even you, busy as you are.

While he had initially sought ought to use you as a means to an end, he had almost immediately abandoned that plan, preferring to go for this “two birds, one stone” approach when it came to your relationship. Had hiring you to organize this event for him successfully driven LaRusso up the wall? Absolutely. But spending time with you had caused him to quickly shift his motivations where you were concerned; he genuinely wanted to help you succeed. You had quickly become something of a confidante to him, and while he obviously hadn’t trusted you with anything particularly sensitive, he felt himself wanting to open up to you in ways that he was largely unfamiliar with.

He wasn’t sure what it was about you that drew him in, but he found himself gravitating towards you despite himself. You were such a bundle of contradictions; caring yet feisty, logical yet overflowing with emotions, shy yet outrageous, with a wicked sense of humour. You were a hard worker, but never at the expense of anyone around you, and he found himself envious of your ability to get people to listen to you and do what you say without outright manipulating them.

And then, of course, you were beautiful. You positively glowed when you were bantering with him, and he often found himself going out of his way to get you to laugh, wanting to see that sparkle in your eyes. Of course, he hadn’t expected anything further from getting closer to you; he knew that deep down you still held loyalty to LaRusso, and then there was the age difference, but as a collector of rare and beautiful things, how could he not want to keep you around? This whole past week he had been thinking up people he could contact, events he could host; anything to give you a reason to stay here beyond today. Maybe someday he could make you come around to his way of thinking – that being that you would be perfect together – but only if he had more time.

Looking out onto the terrace, seeing the guests starting to mill about, he’s distracted from watching you – you stood out to him as though an ethereal light shone from you – by the arrival of the couple he had been waiting for: Daniel and Amanda LaRusso. While he didn’t want to do anything too over the top, and take away from your success, he thought that he’d found the perfect way to achieve his goals, seeing LaRusso unloading a collection of bonsais from the trunk of his car. Show time.

---

That had gone better than expected, Terry mused as he sat in his chair, playing up the role of the victim for his audience. Buying Miyagi’s bonsais had been a stroke of genius, and watching LaRusso’s rage build and build had been quite the entertainment, but even Terry couldn’t have predicted Daniel actually shoving him. Sure, in the moment he’d seen in coming, making sure to stumble more than necessary, playing up the feeble old man routine – yeah, right – and making Danny Boy unquestionably look like the villain here, even before he’d accused him of insulting his wife to Eva.

Amanda LaRusso had stomped off, but her ire didn’t even seem to hold a candle to yours – having tapped into the channel you were communicating through with the earpieces at the beginning of the event, Terry had nearly failed to maintain his composure as you snarled curses about Daniel that nearly had him blushing. Speaking of which, where had you run off to? Scanning the terrace quickly, he managed to spot the flash of colour from your skirt – brilliant blues and greens that complimented your skin wonderfully – as you entered his home.

He smiled briefly, enjoying the way that you seemed to find comfort in his home – in anything to do with him, really, but the smile fades immediately as he sees LaRusso following after you, his back ramrod straight, the tension evident in his body. If he did anything to upset you… Terry’s jaw clenches at the thought, and he quickly makes his way to a side door to find the two of you.

“So this was the big event that Silver set you up with?” He hears LaRusso’s voice echo through the largely empty hall in this part of the house, and follows the sound, completely silent.

“Yes, Daniel, this is it. You’d know that, if you had bothered to reach out to me in the past two months,” comes your cold reply, and Terry finally finds the two of you, remaining largely hidden but giving him a clear view of the two of you. He wouldn’t step in – going by the way your eyes were positively blazing with anger, he knew you didn’t need him to – but if LaRusso actually dared to hurt you, in Terry’s own home…he wouldn’t think twice before sweeping his marble floors with the little prick.

“So you were part of this big scheme to make me look bad?” Daniel accuses, still largely delusional about the lengths Terry had to go to get a response out of him. You roll your eyes at his hysterics, and Terry feels a glow of pride as you don’t take the bait.

“Actually, you managed to accomplish that all on your own. Do you really think that Terry would take on a big, public event just to humiliate you? Why would he risk his own reputation like that?”

Terry is once again pleased, and impressed, that you’ve managed to figure him out, and his heart warms a little at the thought of you trying to understand how he operated.

“Yes! He’ll stop at nothing to make sure that Cobra Kai is the best in the Valley!” Daniel insists, and you actually smirk at him.

“Now, is this before or after he’s done training up the underprivileged children he just offered to train for free?” you drawl, crossing your arms. “What a dastardly villain, Daniel, I can see why you want everyone to stay away from him.”

“That’s all just an illusion, part of his plan to make everything think he’s not the bad guy. He will ruin everything –”

“No, Daniel, you did this! You nearly ruined the auction, ruined everything that I’ve worked so hard for! And not just for me, or Terry. You know how much making a good impression at this event meant to Amanda, and you still just couldn’t help yourself!”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Y/N,” Daniel says, his voice taking on an angry tone that sets off warning bells in Terry’s head.

“Oh, of course I don’t! How could anyone understand the tragic woes of Daniel LaRusso?” you cry out, your voice darkly sarcastic. “The fact that you can’t seem to recognize what’s going on with you is scary at this point, Daniel. I’m sorry if Terry hurt you as a child, or if he’s ruining your plans for karate supremacy now, but you are the one running your own life into the ground, not him.”

“I can’t believe you’ve let him convince you that he’s a good guy!” Daniel spits out, disgusted.

“Terry has been nothing but wonderful from the moment we’ve met, Daniel,” you tell him, your voice filled with emotions that Terry can’t place. “He has been kind, and helpful, and more trustworthy, more appreciative towards me in two months than you’ve been in decades.”

Terry’s perfect composure seems to crack at your words, his mouth actually falling open with shock as you defend him so vehemently. Was this really how you felt?

“Don’t be stupid, Y/N, you’re just a means for him to mess with me –”

“No,” you snarl, your voice echoing throughout the hall, and Terry finds himself actually getting wary of you; you were quite formidable when you were angry. “My relationship with Terry has nothing to do with you, Daniel.”

“R-Relationship?”

“Not that kind of relationship,” you say exasperatedly, and perhaps with a hint of disappointment. “Not that that’s any of your business. What you should be worried about is your own relationship, Daniel. If you can’t get your anger, your arrogance, under control soon, you’ll drive Amanda away too, and it looks like it will happen sooner than you think if you aren’t careful. Go find her, Daniel, and don’t come back.”

There is nothing but silence for a long moment, and then the sound of footsteps walking down the hall, slamming the door behind him. With Daniel gone, you let out a shaky breath, sniffling, and Terry feels his heart break as he sees your anger leave your body just as quickly as it came on, leaving you exhausted and trembling.

--- Reader’s POV ---

You glare at the door Daniel left through, feeling completely drained. Burying your face in your hands, you try to keep yourself together; refusing to cry. You couldn’t believe that Daniel, even with all his delusions about Terry, would dare to insinuate that the bond you had developed with the man was made up. It had been hard enough for you over these past few months, making sure to not read into the relationship too much, looking for signs that maybe he would reciprocate your feelings, but to even consider the opposite, that all of this was a lie, hurt you more than you would have thought possible.

You sniffle, wiping at your eyes and worried that your makeup would smudge. You’d go to the bathroom quickly, making yourself presentable and then head out to the event to make sure that it ended on a high note.

“Well, that was a new experience for me,” comes a deep voice from behind you, and you turn to see Terry walking up to you casually from down the hall, still stopping a good distance away from you. You fight the urge to run up to him and bury your face in his chest.

“Terry! I’m so sorry about Daniel, I just got rid of him, and I think–”

“I don’t care about LaRusso, or what he did to me.” He cuts you off, his hands in his pockets as he surveys you. “I do take issue with his treatment of you, however.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” you insist, your heart thrumming at the thought, “I can take care of myself.”

“I know. I heard. You did a great job of sticking up for yourself,” he says, and you feel a flash of pride at his praise.

“…and sticking up for me.”

There’s a silence between you, and you just stare one another down. You think you’re holding your breath, but you can’t remember how to inhale again.

 “I…I just couldn’t let him badmouth you anymore, I couldn’t stand it.”

He walks closer to you until you’re only an arm’s length apart.

“I’m not used to having someone fight for me, Y/N. Thank you,” he murmurs sincerely, looking down at you with an unfathomable expression.

“I think you’re worth fighting for,” you reply, trying to pour all of the emotions, all of the things you felt you couldn’t say, into your voice, into your eyes as you kept them locked with his.

Looking back on this moment weeks, even years later, you couldn’t say for sure who had moved first. But between one blink and the next, you found yourself in Terry’s arms, your arms around his neck as you kissed, the feeling of his lips on your own sending your heart flying.

You’d never thought, never even allowed yourself to hope, that Terry might share your feelings for him, but if the way he was kissing you now was any indication, you seemed to be on the same page. His arms were wrapped around you, pulling you as close to him as possible as he bent down to capture your lips with his own, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Terry,” you whisper his name against his mouth in a needy tone that conveyed things that you didn’t even understand. You wonder if Terry remembers your conversation over dinner, all those weeks ago, when you had embarrassingly confessed your complete lack of experience with romance, let alone sex.

He breaks the kiss to gaze into your eyes, his thumb tracing the shape of your bottom lip, and the intensity of his expression is enough to take your breath away. You have no doubt that he remembers, as he touches you reverently; Terry noticed everything, and forgot nothing.

“I would hate for your first foray into romance to be interrupted by someone stumbling upon us, my dear,” Terry croons, stoking the growing desire within you with gentle touches up and down your sides. “Come upstairs with me,” he purrs, taking your hand, and you feel yourself blush deeply.

“Terry, but the auction!” you protest as he tries to lead you further into the house.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve organized this well enough that the staff can take it from here,” he replies, deftly removing your earpiece and setting it on a nearby table. Biting your lip, you hesitate before putting your trust in Terry, letting him guide you away.

Halfway up the second set of stairs, you both need to stop, unable to go any further without devouring one another again. Pressing you against the window overlooking one of the gardens, Terry kisses you fiercely while you cling to him for dear life, trying to keep up with all of the new feelings and sensations overwhelming you.

You wouldn’t know it, but as Terry sets about untying the knot keeping your halter dress up, he feels the prickle of eyes on him, and looking out through the window onto the grounds sees Daniel staring up at you both with a curious mixture of rage and horror.

A brief war takes place within Terry; the primal, angry part of him contemplates taking you against the window in full view of LaRusso (and anyone else that happened to walk by), but this newer part of him, the part that feels cared for, cherished by you, and returned those feelings to you tenfold snarls at the idea. You were his, you were precious, and no one but him would see you like this.

Pausing in his attempt to take your dress off, he instead scoops you into his arms, lifting you off the ground and kissing you with uninhibited adoration as he carries you to his bedroom. Your heartbeat is thrumming in your ears, but you feel no nerves or anxiety, only excitement and pure joy as he gently lowers you onto his bed.

Releasing you, he takes a step back, looking down at you with something resembling apprehension. “Y/N, are you sure that this is what you want?” Are you sure that I am what you want? seems to be the underlying question, and your head spins at the thought that anyone could be more perfect, more desirable than Terry Silver.

You kick off your heels and slide further back onto his bed, leaning up on your elbows to look directly into his eyes, a serious expression on your face. “Terry Silver, I have never been more sure of anything in my entire life. If you change your mind now, I may actually kill you.”

Terry snickers at your comment, the tension and hesitation evaporating from the room with your comment.

“I love that quick mouth of yours,” he says, grinning down at you as he kicks off his shoes and removes his suit jacket.

“Prove it,” you retort cheekily, unsure of exactly where this side of you had come from. Terry’s eyes darken, and your heart skips a beat at the way he’s looking at you, and then he’s on you again, kissing you fiercely, his tongue coaxing your own out from between your lips in a move that has you moaning against him. Blindly, as you’re unwilling to break the kiss, you fumble with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

He shrugs out of his shirt, his hands cradling your head, tilting it in a way that lets him kiss you deeply in a way that has your head spinning. Eventually you break the kiss, catching your breath as you take him in with your eyes, your mouth going dry as you take in his broad chest and muscular arms. Playfully, you throw yourself at him, and he lets you knock him back onto the bed, chuckling quietly at your antics as he pulls you against him, his large hands gripping your waist firmly.

“Eager, are we?” he asks, amused. You settle yourself on top of him, straddling his hips, running your hands over his body reverently.

“You’re so hot,” you groan in response, utterly shameless as you drink him in with your eyes. He was perfection. You hear him let out another rumble of laughter, but it morphs into a soft moan as you run your tongue over one of his flat nipples brazenly.

Deciding that you’d had enough time toying with him, Terry flips you around, settling himself between your legs and kissing your neck, running his hands up your legs beneath your dress. You squirm under his ministrations, clutching his head close to you and taking his hair out of its ponytail, loving the way his silver curls frame his face.

His hands run all the way up to your hips, tracing the edges of your lacy underwear, and he growls in approval, removing his hands from under your dress to flip you over, brushing your hair over one shoulder and laying hot, open-mouthed kisses across your bare back as he finally unties your dress.

“Take it off for me, darling, please. I need to see you,” Terry begs, and you never thought that you’d hear Terry Silver beg for anything. Slipping off the bed and facing away from him, you let the dress fall to your hips before wiggling out of it, letting it pool on the floor at your feet, leaving you in just your underwear.

Shyly, you cover your chest with your arms before turning around to face him, seeing that he’s anticipated this and has sat on the edge of the bed so that you’re within reach of him. Smiling up at you, he holds out his hands, inviting you to take them. Biting your lip, you take a deep breath and lower your arms to take his hands, baring your chest to him as you do so.

“You’re stunning,” he breathes, guiding you onto his lap. He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently, and you mewl, releasing his hands to tangle yours in his hair, clutching him to your breast, needing more. His hands are at your back, one holding you in place against him while the other traces teasing patterns against your skin with featherlight touches that have you writing against him.

Uncomfortable with the unequal distribution of clothing, you reach for his belt, tugging at it impatiently. He stands, keeping you wrapped around him briefly as he moves his mouth to your other breast, giving it equal attention until you whine, apparently done with waiting.

“Brat,” he says, dropping you onto the bed on your back. You bat your eyelashes up at him for all response, and he rolls his eyes, moving his hands to his belt. You freeze, your eyes going wide as they zero in on the prominent bulge in his pants, licking your lips in anticipation.

You catch him smirking, clearly enjoying your reaction, and you narrow your eyes at him, rolling over and pointedly looking away. You hear him taking his belt off, and hear his zipper pulled down, the sound making a shiver go down your spine. Feeling thwarted, you flip back over, taking in the sight of a fully naked Terry for the first time.

You couldn’t believe that this man who had everything, who was everything, wanted you the way you did him. It was almost too good to be true…

“Are you sure that this is what you want?” you ask, echoing his earlier insecurities back at him. You’re suddenly feeling shy. “What if I’m bad at this?”

Terry seems offended, almost angry at the thought, pouncing on you and pinning you back against the sheets, laying kisses all over your face and chest, one hand reaching between you to slip one finger beneath your underwear and into your tight pussy, rubbing your clit in circles with his knuckle. You moan wantonly, feeling overwhelmed by all the pleasurable sensations, arching up against him, still needing him closer.

“I love that no one else has seen you like this, that no one else has felt you before, been inside you. They don't get to have you, but I do. You’re all mine, Y/N,” Terry growls in your ear, and your body flushes with heat at the possessiveness in his tone.

“Mmm yes, Terry!” you moan desperately, blinding reaching for his cock and letting out a needy groan when your hand brushes up against it. He was so big, and so hard, with warm, soft skin that you wanted to run your fingers across, your lips across…

Terry adds a second finger to the first, stretching you out, and you grip his cock more firmly, making him hiss with pleasure.

“Terry, please!” you whine, bucking your hips in rhythm with his fingers inside you.

“Not yet, sweetheart, you’re too tight. I don’t want to hurt you,” he coos, though the expression on his face lets you know that he’s barely keeping himself from taking you.

“I don’t care, I need you now!” You really were turning into a brat where Terry was concerned.

Instead of replying, Terry flips you both over, leaving you straddling his waist on top of him. Somehow, his fingers have remained inside you, his thumb increasing the friction on your clit. You grind against his hand, looking down at him, his gorgeous hair spread across the sheets, looking up at you with desire and affection in those beautiful eyes.

“If you think you’re ready, then take it,” he says, holding the base of his cock and rubbing it against your ass. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the sensation. “It’ll be easier for you if you come first, though.”

Grumbling, you tear the scrap of lace from between your body, not wanting it to get in the way, and grind yourself against Terry’s cock, getting it slick with your juices and making you feel absolutely filthy. Seeing how Terry’s grip tightened on your hips and how his eyes shut, you can see that it was having an effect on him as well. Having gotten his cock all slippery, you lift your hips up, trying to align him with your entrance, whimpering at the sensation when his head starts to enter you.

Terry’s eyes fly open, his jaw tight, and you think he’s trying to keep himself from thrusting up into you.

“Stubborn woman,” he says, albeit with a degree of admiration in his voice. “Put your hands on my chest, sweetheart, and lean forward, and go slow,” he warns, reaching between you to work at your clit, causing you to rock your hips against him in a way that has you both moaning. Gradually, you work your way down his cock, until you come up to your hymen, with more than half of his cock not yet inside you. God, he was huge.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N,” Terry purrs, his eyes shining brightly as he keeps his own needs at bay for you. “I’m going to make you come now, and when you do, try to take me in – it’ll be easier for you if you’re relaxed,” he explains, his fingers moving more quickly. You know that you’re close, and your eyes scrunch shut, focusing on the feeling.

“That’s right, come for me, beautiful. Come right now, all over my cock.”

Those words were all it took, and you wail as you come, your thighs shaking as you drop down onto him, popping your cherry and nearly taking all of him in. He groans as you sheathe more of him in your tight, wet, heat, and the sound nearly has you vibrating with desire.

“That’s it, that’s good. Come here, lay down on me, and let me do the work,” he croons, guiding your head down to his shoulder as you lay on top of him, the new angle stretching you in an unfamiliar way. Wrapping his other arm around you to the small of your back, he slowly thrusts into you, causing you to shudder against him. Relaxing, you let him rock you up and down on his cock, slowly taking more of him in until he’s fully inside of you.

You’re feeling so overwhelmed, so full, that you can’t form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence, but Terry seems to know just what you need, moving your body in a way that has both of you climaxing together, riding out the waves of pleasure until you’re both just breathing heavily, holding one another.

Terry rubs comforting circles on your back, making you melt against him even further, before he gently lifts you off of him, pulling you against his side and kissing your forehead. You snuggle up into him, tracing your fingers over his silvery chest hair.

“That was perfect, Terry. You were perfect,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth sweetly. “Thank you.”

Terry rolls onto his side to face you, gazing at your face with warm affection, stroking your cheek fondly. “I believe I’ll spend my life trying to keep you feeling that way, Y/N,” he says, and you feel tears prick your eyes at the sheer emotions that this man elicits from you.

Neither of you could know for certain at that moment, but Terry had been correct with his last statement.

---

A sappy happily ever after! Hope you all enjoyed!

[mistralxsoul]

♚ - one Muse saves the other from a dangerous situation, only to end up in danger themselves ( Yuri saves Flynn and ends up in danger instead because that seems to happen a lot around here. :l )

It was when Flynn, Yuri, Repede and Karol had wandered away from the rest of the party that they were ambushed. Yuri, Repede and Flynn were tasked with hunting for tonight’s dinner and Karol, eager to spend more time with the both of them, jumped at the opportunity to join them. It was overall a pleasant experience at first, even if both Flynn and Karol were still a bit awkward with one another. It, at least, gave Flynn a chance to see Yuri and Karol interact more, which warmed the blonde’s heart with adoration and a bit of nostalgia of the old days, back when they were teenagers. Yuri had always been good with kids and it was a relief to see that hadn’t changed.

The atmosphere changed almost instantly. One moment, the three of them were walking along the forest path, the dark haired man teasing the younger boy by pointing out any bug in sight, with Flynn laughing when Karol dove forward and latched onto Yuri’s arm with a grip so tight that it was likely cutting off the circulation in Yuri’s arm. And then the next, Repede is tensing up as a blur of movement was seen shooting towards them like a bullet. Flynn’s hand was on the hilt of his blade instantly as Yuri shoved Karol to the ground, out of danger, as he lifted his own blade to block the sudden attack from their ambusher.

The man with a headful of pink, blonde and black gives an almost delighted laugh as his red blade clashes with Yuri’s, and he pushes against the other just long enough for Yuri and Flynn both to see his wide and maniacal grin. Flynn wasted no time in unsheathing his blade as he ran over to help Karol up to his feet, the poor boy practically scrambling back in fear.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Yuri Lowell! I was hoping to get you away from your little friends, so we could finally fight one-on-one, but I was getting impatient! So I decided this was the best chance I was going to get! You’re so clingy to your friends lately, Yuri!” Zagi practically giggles as he tries to knock Yuri’s sword out of the way but a solid kick from the other shoves Zagi across the clearing and away from Karol, Flynn and Repede.

Flynn watches as Yuri darts away, the man not bothering to respond to Zagi’s crazed ramblings, and Flynn can read Yuri’s intentions immediately. He wanted to get Zagi away from Karol before the poor boy was caught in the crossfire, which (from Flynn’s limited knowledge of this man Zagi) was very much a possibility. So, taking his attention off of Zagi for the moment, Flynn continued to help Karol to his feet, the poor boy white as a ghost.

“Karol, Repede, I need you two to run and get the others, quickly. Can you do that for me?” Flynn asked as he pulled his shield from where it was attached to his scabbard and readied his blade for combat. Before Karol could protest, the child not wanting to leave Yuri to fend for himself, Flynn smiled to reassure him. “I’ll help Yuri in the meantime. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

It took Repede biting and tugging on the flap of Karol’s bag to eventually snap him out of it and then the two were running off to get help. As Flynn turned his attention back to the fight, he took in the current situation. Zagi kept up his assault on his friend, swinging his daggers in quick succession as Yuri put more of his effort into dodging his attacks, backstepping and blocking when he could. Right away, Flynn could tell that Yuri wasn’t comfortable fighting this man. He never was. Anyone could see that, but Flynn could see it more than anyone. There was something about Zagi that made his skin crawl and the fact that he seemed to harbor some kind of obsession with Yuri was disturbing, right along with the words and threats that would leave his mouth.

Something about it made something in Flynn’s chest spark with rage. He wasn’t about to let someone like this hurt Yuri. So, with a deep breath, Flynn dives into the fray, shoving himself between Zagi’s attack and Yuri. His shield blocked the pink haired man’s dagger and he could hear a grunt of frustration from their enemy as he pushed himself back and away from Flynn and Yuri. Flynn could hear Yuri step back as well, almost as if to put distance between himself and Zagi. Not to run, but to catch his breath and regroup a bit.

Flynn could hear Zagi mutter something along the lines of him ‘getting in his way’ but Flynn could barely get a response out before Zagi was rushing in again, slamming his blades against Flynn’s shield and sword. Flynn blocks the attacks and even has to dodge a few kicks as well and immediately, he can tell why Yuri seemed so uncomfortable around this man. Despite his overconfidence and his crazed ramblings, he had the combat prowess to back it up. Zagi was quick on his feet, and even quicker with his blades. And Yuri had to protect Lady Estellise against this man on his own…?

Even when Yuri rejoins the fray, they still have a difficult time keeping up with his unpredictable attack patterns. Still, they had one advantage between the two of them. They had each other, at least. Every time one of them would be knocked down, the other would be there to hold Zagi off just long enough for them to climb back to their feet. The battle seemed like it took ages, even though it had only been ongoing for just a few minutes when suddenly, Yuri took a rather harsh kick to the stomach, knocking him onto his back entirely.

Flynn dives forward to go and block Zagi’s attack once again in order to afford Yuri time to climb to his feet but… for once, Zagi seems to ignore Yuri’s vulnerability and turns his attention back to Flynn. Even as Flynn swings his blade down, Zagi dives out of the way, taking full advantage of his speed and Flynn’s lack of it. And with one single movement, Zagi jumps in close to Flynn and stabs his blade right into the back of Flynn’s left shoulder.

As quickly as the blade entered his body, it was ripped out, tearing a pained cry from Flynn as he stumbled to his knees. Somewhere behind him, he can hear Yuri scream his name.

All Flynn could feel was a painful burn shooting through his left arm and with a heavy breath, he gripped at the wound as he tried to steel himself and cast a quick First Aid on his wound. But as he pulled his hand away, amongst the blood on his gloved hand, he also noticed… a strange green liquid as well. As his arm grew numb, Flynn felt dread begin to form in his gut. Poison. He had been poisoned. Did he have any Poison Bottles or Panacea Bottles on him…? Already, he could feel his body seizing up in unspoken fear.

What a time for bad memories to resurface.

Zagi, thankfully, didn’t seem to realize just how much turmoil Flynn was beginning to fall into. The man was entirely more focused on Yuri, his grin widening at Yuri’s reaction to Flynn being wounded. “Oh? Did that upset you, Yuri? Did it make you angry? Scared?”

Flynn watched as Zagi circled him, twirling the bloodied dagger in his hand. That sickening grin never once leaving his face. Flynn’s eyes darted to Yuri, who began to carefully climb to his feet, just a short distance away. His fist was clenched tightly around the hilt of his blade, his teeth were gritted as he no doubt held back a few choice words that were likely sitting on the tip of his tongue.

“I wonder, if I kill this man, will you finally take our fight seriously?” Zagi moves to stand in front of Flynn once more and Flynn watches as his joy-filled eyes dart between him and Yuri. The situation that Flynn had found himself in sent a chill up his spine. “Will it fill you with enough rage that we can finally fight to the death?! Is that all it will take?! It’ll be easy to do, you know?”

Flynn gritted his teeth and grabbed for his blade, attempting to clumsily swing it in Zagi’s direction. He can see where this was going and he wanted no part in being the fuel to the fire. But the poison has slowed and weakened his body and Zagi steps back just in time before moving in to kick the sword from his hands. The sword is kicked away from Flynn’s reach and as Flynn doubles back over to catch his breath, he hears Zagi laugh again.

“I think I found one of your weaknesses, Yuri Lowell! I’m excited to see how you’ll react when I finish gutting this little knight of yours! Let’s find out how you’ll react!”

Flynn’s head whips up to see as Zagi raises his dagger, ready to deliver the final strike. And everything that followed seemed to happen so quickly that Flynn could barely keep up. He can hear Yuri shout for him, can hear the sounds of footsteps approaching him and Zagi rapidly, watches as Yuri dives between him and Zagi, ready to lift his blade to defend him but he’s late, much too late to block the attack and Flynn hardly registers the panic that shoots through his body, because Yuri– Yuri–

Yuri takes the hit, the poisoned blade cutting deep across the man’s chest and Flynn is sure he stops breathing along with it. The pain in his left arm is a distant memory as Flynn watches in horror as Yuri stumbles back, his blade slipping from his hand and hitting the grass beneath him. Yuri slumping to his knees before falling backwards is what snaps Flynn back into action as he dives forward to catch his friend within his arms.

“Yuri?! Yuri! Hold on, Yuri– Estellise should be on her way– Just hang on!” Panic shot through his body, his heart raced, his vision blurred– Yuri was conscious, just barely, and the wound was deep and already bleeding more than Flynn was comfortable with. They were both in very bad shape, Yuri more so than Flynn but he knew that it was only a matter of time before Karol returned with everyone else… so… so it was going to be okay, right?

Flynn shakingly pulled Yuri closer. “It’s okay… It’s okay. Estellise will be here soon and you’ll be okay, you’ll–” Flynn is pulled from his thoughts as Zagi begins to laugh maniacally once more, reminding Flynn of the problem at hand.

He… was growing extremely tired of this man. As rage began to bubble within Flynn, the blonde could barely suppress it, arms trembling in anger. He glanced down at Yuri’s sword and then back to the wounded man in his arms. He stares down at Yuri, forcing a gentle expression as he leans in and presses his forehead against Yuri’s for a moment. “Try and rest, okay? Let me take care of this.”

If Yuri had any protests, they went unheard as Flynn gently laid him on the ground and slowly climbed to his feet and grabbed Yuri’s sword, the rage and adrenaline powering his movements. The gentle expression washes away and turns into a cold and unforgiving stare as he grips the sword tightly in his hand. He hadn’t fought Zagi much before so he had been caught off guard by his speed before but he wasn’t going to allow that to happen again.

This Zagi had wounded Yuri and now Flynn was going to be more than happy to show this bastard just how much of a mistake that was, poison be damned.

[somekndofnature]

Summary:

We're back in the present fam! Inuyasha and Miroku have a heartfelt talk and he does his best to convince Kagome to be their manager again. Kagome gets a first taste of the new music.

Notes:

Hello all! It has been a helluva week. This story has been my only escape and comfort. So, I hope you all enjoy. Might post another chapter later if I'm feeling cute. 🤪

Soooo... the music. There's a lot for this chapter. First, 'Little Lion Man' by Mumford & Sons and disclaimer: just because I still like songs from this band does not mean I agree with any of their personally held beliefs. It honestly feels weird that I need to type that but... better safe. Anyway, next is a song by Tim Minchin called 'The Absence of You'. Please look this up on YouTube. You won't regret it. The music is stunning. The next one is 'Panic Station' by Muse.

And finally, we get to 'hear' the first song from Inuyasha in this chapter. It is a song that I feel really portrays how he has felt the last six years without Kagome. So, if you would like to listen to the song, this is the YouTube link.

I hope those links work. I'm not exactly savvy with these things, but I'm learning!

AO3

Chapter 6: Is Ever What It Seems

Present day…

Inuyasha shook away the invasive memory of the first time he made love to Kagome, wondering what possessed his mind to conjure it in the first place. Not that he didn’t think about it… often . He found an enormous amount of comfort in reliving that peaceful moment.  This wasn’t the time, though, no matter how tempting. It wouldn’t do him any good to get his hopes up. He had a long way to go before she would trust him enough to be that vulnerable again. Not to mention, his pants were getting tight. The last thing he wanted was to greet her again with a full-blown erection—if Sango managed to convince her to stay.

“You look nervous,” Miroku said, interrupting his thoughts.

Inuyasha snorted. “Yeah. No shit, asshole.”

“Did you expect this to be easy?”

“No,” he snapped before crossing his arms over his chest with a dejected sigh. “I just didn’t realize how much I had hurt her. I mean, I’m not an idiot. I know it was a lot but—” 

You broke me. 

He shuddered.

Miroku took a deep breath. “Do you want my advice?”

“No,” he answered reflexively, before giving it more serious thought. Inuyasha sat forward and shrugged. “Uh… yeah.”

Miroku tossed his dark hair out of his eyes while fighting to suppress the smug smile curling at the corner of his mouth. Inuyasha’s stomach soured in an instant; maybe this was a mistake.

“Look, you arrogant prick, are you gonna be helpful or not?” he slumped back into his chair.

Miroku chuckled. “Take it slow. That’s my advice. It’ll take a while to rebuild things between you.”

“Keh, tell me something I don’t know.”

“Okay.” His friend sat a little straighter. “Kagome asks Sango about you all the time.”

Inuyasha’s head whipped towards him. “Really?”

“Yes,” Miroku said with a nod. “They spend quite a bit of time talking about you.”

“That’s a good sign, right?”

“I would think so,” he replied before reaching forward and grabbing his wrist. “Just… don’t get into something you’re not ready for.”

Inuyasha frowned. “I don’t—"

“Believe it or not, I understand your hesitation before,” Miroku explained. “Kagome is your mate. We’re talking about a lifetime commitment here.”

“So?” Inuyasha lifted one shoulder. “You’re doing that with Sango. You’re getting married.”

“Yes, but I’ve had other relationships before Sango,” he said. “How many women have you even been with?”

“What the fuck does that matter?” he sneered.

“Well, you always seemed very experienced from the outside,” Miroku replied. “But now I know that was all a lie.”

“Keh.” Inuyasha crossed his arms over his chest and tried to keep his irritation from boiling over. 

He wasn’t really mad at Miroku; he was mad at himself, at how badly he had fucked things up. This building rage was going to need an outlet and the only target for his anger was the hanyou that looked back at him from the mirror each morning.

“Seriously?” Miroku prodded. “You didn’t sleep with any of those women? Even Kikyou?”

A low growl built up in his chest. “No, not even Kikyou.”

“Wow. Why did she stick around for so long?”

Inuyasha rested his head against the wall behind him, fingers playing at the edge of his jeans pocket. “Mutually beneficial? She didn’t mind that we weren’t intimate so long as I supplied the good drugs. And there were times that I thought she played for the other team, but even relationships like that have their limits, I guess. I haven’t seen or heard from her since the night I OD’d—not that I really want to.”

“So, how was it mutually beneficial?” Miroku asked with a frown.

He shrugged. “She kept other women away for the most part.”

“Including Kagome…”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly while his shoulders bunched with tension.

“So, how long has it been?”

His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Inuyasha,” Miroku said while rolling his eyes. “How long since you’ve been laid?”

“Christ, man!” He snapped, shoving his hand into his pocket and withdrawing the slim vape pen. “I’m sitting here baring my soul and that’s what you choose to focus on?”

Miroku gave him a moment to take a long pull and calm his already frayed nerves. “Level with me, how long?”

Inuyasha released a whispy cloud of vapor from his lips, rolling the herbaceous flavor around his tongue as his agitation lessened. “Almost six years, I think.”

His friend hissed in sympathy. “Ouch.”

“Got no one to blame but myself.” He snorted and took another hit. “Besides, that isn’t what I miss most about Kagome.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miroku smile. “What do you miss the most?”

He inhaled from his pen again while staring at the entrance to the restrooms, willing her to reappear. “I miss talking to her. She always made me feel lighter… like I was finally at peace. She quieted my mind and taught me how to just… be. Whatever I felt—happiness, sadness, anger—I could just exist with them, could even manage to see the beauty in them, without fighting against it all the time.” He sighed. “Now, nothing seems beautiful. It all just passes right through me and leaves no imprint.”

Miroku remained quiet long enough for Inuyasha to get self-conscious. He wasn’t normally one to spew out such sappy romanticisms. He used his music to communicate with the world. It was easier to try and put all those feelings to a melody than say them straight to someone’s face. 

He took a cautious glance in Miroku’s direction and grimaced. He was moon-eyed and fluttering his lashes with a dreamy sigh.

“What?” Inuyasha sneered. 

“Sometimes you manage to say the most wonderful things to exactly the wrong person.”

“Huh?”

Miroku rolled his eyes. “I’m not the one you should be telling this to, dickhead. Save the sweet talking for the girls,” he hissed, gesturing over Inuyasha’s shoulder.

He whipped around, mouth going dry as he watched Sango and Kagome approach the table again with puffy red eyes. Jumping to his feet, Inuyasha was struck dumb. All the words that he had just spoken to Miroku swirled around in his head like a letter goulash.

Kagome looked at him with her brows raised in expectation. “Inu?”

“B-beautiful!” he said, loud enough for every head to turn in their direction.

Inuyasha heard Miroku snickering from behind him while Sango stared as if he had just lost several IQ points.

“What?” Kagome asked in a soft tone.

He cleared his throat as his gaze found the white tips of his Chucks. “You-you’re beautiful.”

“T-thank you.”

“I’m sorry that I lost my temper,” he said, working up the nerve to look her in the eye.

Kagome’s baby blues stared back at him with timid vulnerability in their depths. “I appreciate that.”

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” he whispered, reaching out to grab her fidgeting hand. “But you’ve never been worthless, Kagome. Certainly not to me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly as she released a shaky breath.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Miroku asked, interrupting the intimate moment. 

Every eye turned to him. Sango looked ready to throttle him, but Inuyasha was thankful for the distraction. There were so many things he needed to tell her; most of them too intimate for a public space like this. 

Kagome cleared her throat but didn’t pull away from him. Inuyasha rubbed his thumb along the back of hers. 

“The verdict is that I’ll listen to the music,” she answered before meeting his gaze. “Then I’ll decide.”

“Okay,” he said, leading her back towards her chair. “We can listen to it right now.”

“Ummm…”

“No can do, I’m afraid,” Sango interjected, coming to Kagome’s side and slinging an arm around her shoulders. “We have a previous engagement.” 

“What?! What engagement?”

His friend’s eye narrowed. “Kagome came here to have a relaxing time with a friend—i.e. me. So, we are going to get pampered.”

“Wait,” he said. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Kagome replied. “I’ll call you once I get home.”

“But—”

“Inuyasha, stop smothering her,” Sango snapped.

“I’m not,” he snarled in return.

Kagome swallowed hard and worked herself out of both their holds. “I’m gonna grab a coffee before we go.”

Flabbergasted, Inuyasha watched her go without complaint before turning his livid glare on Sango. “What the fuck? How can I win her back if I don’t even get to be around her?”

“Right now, that’s not my problem.”

A low growl built in his chest. “I thought you were gonna help me.”

“Inuyasha, calm down,” Miroku said from across the table. “Don’t make a scene.”

“Shut up! I want to know what the fuck she thinks she’s doing.”

Sango pursed her lips. “I’m trying to make up with my friend, if you don’t mind. You weren’t the only one who let her down, you know?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I chose you, Inuyasha,” she hissed. “Everything you put her through, and I knew about it all, but I chose you. I didn’t talk to her for over a year because I didn’t know how to apologize for that.”

Inuyasha’s jaw tightened as a new load of guilt landed heavy on his shoulders.

“Kagome’s right,” Sango continued. “She may have left, but we are the ones who abandoned her… after everything she did for us.” She looked between both the men at the table with their heads bowed in shame. “We have a lot of faith to rebuild between all of us.”

“Fine,” Inuyasha sneered, while reaching forward to unzip the front pocket of Kagome’s suitcase. 

“What are you doing?’ Sango asked with lingering irritation in her tone.

He fished around and withdrew her airline information, thanking every kami in existence that she hadn’t changed her travel habits. The woman was anal, with hardcopy backups of all her information. Pulling out his phone, he took a quick picture of the flight number.

“Inuyasha?”

“I’m not letting her get away that easy,” he replied, before packing everything away again.

He looked up with a smirk as Sango rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t sound creepy, at all.”

He scowled.

“What doesn’t sound creepy?” Kagome interrupted, coming up behind her with a paper cup in hand.

Inuyasha straightened, worried that he had been caught.

“Nothing,” Sango dismissed with a wave. “Let’s get going. I’m suffocating on the amount of testosterone in here.” 

She circled the table and snatched up her purse before leaning forward to give Miroku a quick kiss.

“Have fun,” he said with a smile.

Inuyasha stood when Kagome approached him and wrapped her arms around his middle. A lump lodged in his throat as he melted into the embrace. He squeezed her closer, memorizing the feel of her slender body and intoxicating scent.

Mine , his demon sighed in satisfaction.

She pulled away too soon and smiled up at him. “It was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ve missed you, Kagome,” he said while nuzzling against her cheek.

He heard her sharp inhale before she admitted, “I miss you, too.”

Inuyasha almost sank to knees. “Then stay,” he whispered, cupping her face in his hand.

Kagome shook her head and took a step back. “I can’t, Sango and I have plans.”

“That’s right, bitch!” Sango interjected. “We are gonna tear shit up!”

Inuyasha tossed a glare in her direction.

“Just send me a link to the playlist,” Kagome said as she gathered her things.

“But,” he replied, feeling panicked at her inevitable departure. 

Both women took a step towards the door before he leapt forward and grabbed Kagome’s free hand.

“Wait!”

“Inuyasha?” She turned to look at him with her brow raised.

“Just, really think about it,” he pleaded. “I need you with me, Kagome.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. “I will. I promise.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you.”

“Alright Romeo,” Sango said from beside her. “Now let her go. We’ve got places to be.”

It was harder than he thought, letting go of her hand. He wanted to hold onto her forever, but eventually he found the strength. He peeled his fingers from around hers and released her, returning Kagome’s wave as they slipped out the door. 

Inuyasha turned and walked back to the table before plopping into a chair and covering his face with his hands. “That went worse than I imagined.”

“Really?” Miroku said from across the table. “I thought it went well.”

“Keh, how d’ya figure?” he mumbled while dragging his fingers down his face.  

His friend shrugged. “She didn’t refuse.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes. “She was just too nice to do it twice in one sitting. You know how ‘Gome is; she’s too sweet for her own good.”

“Have a little more faith in her, Inuyasha,” Miroku chastised. “You asked her to think seriously about it and I’m sure she will.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better,” he grumbled. 

A heavy silence settled between them for several long moments. Inuyasha tried to muster any feelings of hope but only managed a mild dread. He slumped further in his chair with a sigh. 

The shroud of despondency that was his constant companion had lifted in Kagome’s presence but was quickly retaking its rightful place. Her light and happiness had shined on him for only a moment, warming him from the inside out. Now, he was growing cold once more. A shiver stole through him.

The scraping sound of Miroku’s chair across the wood floor pinned his ears against his head with irritation.

He circled the table and stopped in front of Inuyasha. “What are you doing today, besides wallowing in self-pity?”

“I don’t wallow,” he sneered while crossing his arms over his chest.

“You do,” Miroku deadpanned. “And it’s unhealthy.”

“Fuck off.”

Instead, his friend stuck out his hand. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“I’m not gonna let you sit here and lick your wounds all alone,” Miroku said, grabbing his wrist. “The girls went out to have some fun and so should we.”

Inuyasha reluctantly let his friend pull him onto his feet. “Fun?”

“Yes, fun,” he replied while dragging him towards the door. “You know, what normal people do to cheer themselves up when they’re feeling down.” 

Inuyasha rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath but allowed his friend to lead him out of the coffee shop and onto the busy sidewalk. He cocked one ear towards Miroku’s yammering, just barely managing to grunt or nod at the right time. His attention was elsewhere.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and typed in a quick Google search; Inuyasha had a flight to book.

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

Kagome pushed through her hotel room door with a grunt and flipped on the first switch she could find. Soft light filled the generic beige space, somehow managing to look both inviting and spartan at the same time. She was used to frequent travel and lonely hotel rooms, but tonight the emptiness settled in her gut like a cold ball of lead. 

She let the door slam closed behind her and wrestled her small rolling bag down the short hallway, stopping by the bed. Kagome collapsed onto the mattress and fell back with an exhausted sigh. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much; she hadn’t realized just how much she missed her friend. It had been so fulfilling to spend time with Sango, but now that she was alone, all the emotions that she had suppressed throughout the day were coming back to haunt her. 

The betrayal that she originally felt upon showing up in the coffee shop still lingered, despite Sango’s multiple apologies. Kagome couldn’t help it. Even when she was trying to make positive and healthy changes in her life, Inuyasha’s shadow haunted her. She was trying to move on, to put the past behind her, and yet all her efforts were futile. The past demanded reconciliation, no matter how hard she tried to run from it. 

Kagome sat straight and squared her shoulders, reminding herself that she was the only one who governed the course of her life, nothing else. In the end, the decision that she was contemplating was hers alone to make. She had power; she had agency. Her future was completely in her control.

Feeling a little more settled, she turned to her suitcase and unzipped it, withdrawing her pajamas and toiletry bag. She kicked off her shoes and padded towards the bathroom, pausing next to her purse. Through the slightly gaped opening, she saw her phone screen shine back at her.  

Inuyasha had sent her a link to his playlist while she and Sango were getting manicures. Kagome had managed to ignore the gnawing curiosity until now, but it was calling to her. She picked up the phone and opened the link, brow raising when she saw only four tracks in the queue. 

She dug her ear buds out of her purse and popped them in before selecting one at random. The first notes began to play as she headed into the bathroom, their heaviness and deep tenor startling her. It was out of the norm for the punk singer. 

Kagome dropped her items on the counter, brow furrowing as she listened. It was rough and she could tell that Inuyasha had played all the instruments. The bass wasn’t as smooth as when it was in Sango’s hands and the percussion lacked Miroku’s childlike thrill, but it was still impressive… and different. 

Inuyasha’s raspy voice held a festering pain, instead of the usual irreverent sarcasm.  As she listened to lyrics that seemed to be pulled straight from his soul, her heart twisted. She could feel the raw vulnerability in his words and ached along with him. The story he told was full of regret and the same struggle that every sentient being on the planet toiled through; the struggle to accept yourself. 

Tears welled in her eyes, but Kagome forced herself into her normal bedtime routine, removing her makeup and washing the day away from her face while trying to convince herself that the moisture on her cheeks came only from the water. She dressed in her dark green sleep shorts and black tank top before crawling back into bed and flipping off the light just as the last track began to play. It started with the humming silence of white noise before being broken by Inuyasha’s deep voice.

“I haven’t showed this to others yet because…” He paused for a long moment. “Well, it’s rough… but so far, I think it tells you everything you need to know.”

He took a deep breath and Kagome heard the subtle stilted entry of a bass in the background for several seconds. She began to relax before his urgent voice whispered into her ear.

“ Paralyzed, going out of my mind, can’t seem to help myself …” he trailed off before returning with the same anxious tone. “ Hear your voice, see your face, call your name, stuck in a living hell .” 

Her breath hitched as his tenor turned desperate, growling the last few words as if they pained him.

“ And I sleep just to leave this reality,” he crooned without giving her a reprieve. “Then I wake and it takes you away from me. I can't believe you and I are out of time; I never said goodbye. ”

There was a pause where it felt like something was missing, a beat of silence that yearned for a voice before the crash of a guitar blared.

“ You were the only thing worth living for! ” he half-sang and half-shouted. “ How could you go and leave me here; I’m all alone! ” Several heavy power cords sounded in rapid succession. “ So, I walk this earth half-alive, til the day I die. I’m killing time, killing time…for you.”

Kagome threw her headphones off before a sob burst from her lips. The absence of Inuyasha’s voice both soothed and tore at her. The emotion in his words matched hers; she had so many regrets, so much that she wanted to say to him. Her hand was reaching for her phone and dialing his number before she could think better of it. She heard it ring twice before being answered.

“’Ello,” Inuyasha rumbled from the other side of the line.

Her throat constricted; she didn’t know what to say. A breathy whimper burst from her lips.

She heard the rustling of fabric. “Kagome? What is it? What’s wrong?”

The blatant concern in his tone ripped a trembling breath from her chest.

“Kagome! Are you okay?” he asked, his worry palpable even over the phone. “Baby, you gotta answer me.”

“I-I’m fine,” she choked out, the frantic endearment making her heart ache.

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“I just… had a nightmare,” she fibbed through tears.

He released a relieved breath. “And you called me?”

“I shouldn’t have,” Kagome blubbered. “S-sorry, I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“No!” He bit out a quiet curse. “I don’t mind. What was your nightmare about?”

“I-I-I don’t even remember,” she fumbled. “I just woke up crying and needed to hear your voice.”

“Does that happen often?”

“What?” she replied with a watery laugh that held no trace of humor. “The waking up crying or needing to hear your voice?”

“Both.”

Her voice cracked as she answered, “Yeah, actually.”

“Dammit,” he hissed. “This is difficult.”

“What is?”

Inuyasha huffed in frustration; she could picture him running a hand through the shaggy bangs around his face. “Listening to you cry like this without being able to hug you.”

Her heart swelled. “Would you? If you were here?”

“Baby, say the word and I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he replied in a low tone that sent shivers through her.

Kagome tensed. “No, we shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it won’t do anything except make me feel more confused than I already am,” she whined. “I shouldn’t have even called you.”

“You can call me anytime, day or night.”

“So could you,” she accused. “And yet you never have.”

“It’s not the same,” he explained.

“How?”

“Because I’m the one who fucked up,” Inuyasha replied in a heated tone. “I have no right to come strolling back, asking for a place in your life, especially if you’ve already moved on and are happy.”

“And yet you got Sango to lure me here for this surprise attack?”

He growled. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

She ignored his flimsy excuses and scoffed. “Well, what if I am happy?” Kagome lied through her teeth. “What if I have moved on without you?”

Inuyasha went alarmingly quiet for several moments. “Is that true?”

Her grip on the phone tightened as she bit at the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t do it; she couldn’t lie to him again.

“’Is it?” he snapped, making her jump.

“What does it matter?” she cried. “Things are what they are. You made your choices, and I made mine. That’s the end of it.”

“We both know that’s bullshit,” he hissed. “It matters to me. I want you with me ‘Gome… and I want you happy.”

The heartfelt sentiment, so close to what she had heard moments before on that playlist, pulled another sob from her throat. “I don’t know if you can get both.”

“Gimme a fuckin’ chance, at least!”

She flinched and sucked in a sharp breath at the anger in his voice. “I should go.”

“No!” he shouted before tempering his tone. “I just—I just need you to give me a chance. You said you would really think about it, but it sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

“I haven’t,” she assured him. “I’m keeping my promise.”

“Have you even listened to the music?” he asked, reminding her of their first meeting.

Kagome paused, thinking back over her emotional experience with it. “Umm.. not yet. I haven’t had the time.”

“Keh,” he scoffed. “If you’re not going to take this seriously then—”

“I am taking it seriously,” she interrupted. “If you recall, I was off the clock today, spending time with a friend. I’ll get back to work when, and if, I feel like it.’

“So, you’re basically telling me to go fuck myself,” he drawled.

“No, of course not. I’m saying it’s my life, Inuyasha,” she replied. “I’ll decide what type of toxic situation I step into.”

“I’m not fuckling toxic!” he shouted before his mouth audibly snapped shut.

Kagome sighed and rubbed at the headache forming behind her eyes. “This conversation is getting us nowhere. I should go.”

“Wait,” he pleaded. “Are you feeling any better?”

Her brow furrowed. “What?

“Your nightmare,” Inuyasha explained. “Do you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep?”

A reluctant smile found Kagome’s lips. “Yeah, I do. Thank you.”

“Keh, don’t thank me,” he dismissed. “I’ve probably only reminded you why you left in the first place.”

She hummed. “Quite the opposite actually.”

“What does that mean?”

“To be honest,” she murmured. “I haven’t felt this alive in six years.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

The silence stretched between them for several long moments before she released a pent breath.  “Goodnight, Inuyasha.”

“I’ll be seeing you,” he replied cryptically. “Get some sleep, ‘Gome.”

She hummed in a non-committal tone. “I’ll do my best… bye.”

The phone beeped twice before going silent. She still felt lonely but a little warmer than before. Something about Inuyasha’s attitude caused an unbidden hope to bloom in her heart, no matter how hard she fought against it. 

Kagome sighed and turned on her alarm before flipping off the light switch. She had a flight at eleven in the morning that she couldn’t miss. Then she could put all of this history behind her where it belonged and make a decision with a clear head. 

  She slumped against the mattress and tried to ignore the ghost of Inuyasha’s scent that her mind conjured from ephemera. He still smelled so good, inviting her to nuzzle and snuffle against him like some love-struck bitch. Kagome groaned at her own thoughts; she couldn’t be this far gone already, right?

She turned and punched the terrible hotel pillow into submission before settling on its lumpy corpse. Kagome tried to ignore the ominous darkness pressing in around her as she hunkered into the covers. She didn’t want to admit to herself how desperately she wanted Inuyasha’s arms to encircle her or how much safer she would feel within them.

[likesunsetorange]

lol i'm rewriting the club scene (mostly staying the same but adding a bit) and this little piece of dialogue made me chuckle i love making mikasa so funny she really is ruining eren's life lmao

“Hi, Eren,” she quips, the corners of her mouth upturned and the pink of her lips sparkling under the lights from her gloss, painting her words almost as pretty as she is. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” she adds innocently after in between absentminded stirs of her drink. It’s clear Eren’s presence poses no threat to her; she knows her fun is soon to come to an end, but it’s clear she’s enjoying this little tryst of hers. 

Eren can feel his eye twitch at her lack of gravity for the situation, he struggles to hold onto the last remaining bit of sanity he has within him. As someone who feels almost painfully apathetic about almost everything, he can’t remember the last time he’d felt so intensely about anything, but in this moment, Mikasa had him particularly vexed. In the week since meeting her, Mikasa had quickly become an expert in just exactly how to get under his skin, something few could truly do. 

Eren takes a deep breath before he speaks, trying not to let his jaw clench through every word—he had no desire to waste any more time for her silly games. “We’re leaving, Mikasa,” he orders, any previous trace of empathy within him nowhere to be found. 

Her face falls, eyes going a bit wide and her mouth forming into a pout—it makes Eren sick to himself how he almost wants to succumb to her petty wishes, too. “You’re no fun, don’t you wanna stay a while?” She muses. Her free hand runs along the curve of his bicep as she continues speaking, her eyes sultry, asking for him to cave in—she really is the devil. “C’mon, Eren, loosen up a bit. I think you could use a break.” 

Eren can feel the chills run down his spine at her touch, but he wouldn’t fall for her act a second time, no matter how pretty she may be. He shakes his head, attempting to regain clarity and remember why he’s here in the first place—she drugged him—the anger within him begins to resurface at the thought.

“You really think I want to just loosen up? You have a lot of fucking audacity trying to play these little games with me still, Mikasa,” he scoffs. “First, you spend the entire week insulting me and treating me like absolute shit. Next, you pretend to be nice to me, even bothering to give me a sorry ass apology, and then you drug me? And you couldn’t even bother to use something useful? Benadryl?” He says trying to be heard over the music, his words starting off in anger, but quickly transitioning almost into that of disbelief, an angry chuckle emitting from his lips.

“What? You didn’t want to be visited by the Hat Man? Heard it’s kind of fun actually,” she jests, clearly amused at his outburst. “Did he tell you anything funny? Or are you just still seeing all the black spots?”

He stares at her in disbelief, if he wasn’t so angry, he might’ve laughed at her joke, but the rage continues to push through due to her sheer level of audacity. “Not only are you terrible, but your parents are drowning in money, and you decided to knock me out with over-the-counter drugs? I guess I wasn’t worth the effort of seeking out actual drugs?” Eren says, clearly taken aback.

Rather than dispute him, Mikasa simply rolls her eyes before finally setting her drink onto the counter behind her, seemingly finally growing tired of her game and their petty back and forth. “Sorry for being considerate and not drugging you with actual drugs, Eren. Next time, I’ll remember to go for the hard stuff—don’t you worry.”

“Glad you’re so sweet, Mikasa. I should be so thankful to have a boss as considerate as you,” he pipes back, glaring down at her. “Now, let’s go.”

[malka-lisitsa]

💔 if we dare

A  FUCKED  UP  KISSING  MEME  bc  who  needs  soft  kisses  when  you  can  have  This   !

kiss  on  an  injury  your  muse  gave  to  mine.

If you thought Klaus had a god complex before you should see him now that his curse is removed. Twice as powerful, twice as psycho. Yet still Katherine can't help but run her mouth every now and then. Can you really blame her? She's stuck in a one bedroom bachelor pad all day every day she has to have something to make things exciting....

However making a crack about the irony of Klaus thinking he's an artist? Not the best line to dance on. Klaus' rage is terrifying but his still, cold anger? It has a way of sending a bone chilling shiver rolling up her spine every time. It's worse than his rage. So when he calmly set his paints down, and walked over to her as if he were fetching a cup of coffee, Katherine found herself backing up directly into counter. Trapped.

"I don't expect you to know this, being the peasant girl that you are, Katerina, but art and beauty exist in all things." He stated, with that charming little smirk of his as he gently took hold of her arm and lifted it into view.

"For instance, death and decay, can be quite beautiful."

Katherine swallowed hard as her whole body stiffened, she instinctively tried to anticipate his next move but she knows him well enough to know it could be anything.

Before she had time to make it down the list she felt a sharp sting and then an unholy burning sensation on her wrist as he injected his werewolf venom into her blood.

Sickly black green veins spiderwebbed across her skin from the bite, and Katherine cried out as the pain radiated through her whole body.

"Look how beautiful the colours look. The venom hitch hiking in your bloodstream putting you on the fast track to hell...."

She's not looking, her eyes are squeezed shut as she clenches her jaw and grimaces through the pain. This is clearly a slight to the immortal hybrid since he's being so kind as to spend his time giving her an art lesson. Klaus reached up with his free hand at lightning speed and gripped her jaw forcefully.

"I said LOOK at it Katerina."

The last thing Katherine needed was to give him any reason to inflict more pain on her- so the doppelganger pried her eyes open and looked at the bite mark, her flesh already seeming to decay around it. It looked how it felt. Unbearable.

"I- I get it!" She managed to hiss out. She doesn't mean she understand the art lesson. No she's admitting she understand the real lesson here, which was that he controls her. Her life, her death, and everything in between. He owns her, and she's acknowledging that.

Just as it looked like Katherine had accepted the freedom of death? The charming look returns to his features, satisfied that his assertion of dominance was received, and as a reward he bit into his wrist and shoved it against her lips knowing she would drink desperately.

"You didn't think I'd let you go that easily did you?"

Delicious how much control he had over life and death. She is not the apex. He is. And he is always delighted to remind her.

Klaus took the time to watch the bite heal as well, pleased to feed his own ego.

To add insult to injury he locked eyes with her, brought her wrist up to his face again, and Katherine braced for another round of pain- only to receive a soft kiss to her skin instead.

"Art would be nothing without a little contrast, Katerina."

Smug as ever he dropped her arm as if it were beneath him to touch, and then returned to his previous task of painting.

Katherine stared after him, a million smart ass and disrespectful remarks caged behind her teeth, but she's learned her lesson for the moment. She keeps her mouth shut. He won this round.

"Guess I'll go back to watching T.v then." Bored, resigned, defeated.

[cruelprincae]

A duet of squeals and giggles echoed through the halls of the palace as twin little princesses raced towards their father. "DADDY DADDY DADDY!" They darted through the legs of whatever boring grownups were talking to their father and each latched onto one of his legs, tails flicking wildly and cat eyes positively beaming with excitement. "We bit Oak-!" one twin told him with an impish grin. "And now he's chasing us," the other finished. "He said he's gonna toss us in the lake," they giggled together.

@painofhumanity made my heart melt / random asks always open

Black eyes rimmed in a halo of gold were skimming over the demands of the Court of Ash, documented by their ruler, Queen Glitten, and placed in a neat scroll upon his grasp by none other than Randalin, the High Court's Minister of Keys. With brows furrowed and his lip curled into a grimace of disdain in sight of the Lower Court's hefty demands ― ones that do not quite match the amount of devotion to the throne nor the High Court, for they have sat their troops out of the last handful raging wars of Elfhame over the past hundred years ―, Cardan's eyes rise to meet that of Randalin's, who stands smug before him, ranting nonsense about his time advising Eldred and how the former High King achieved greatness by heeding his advice.

His lips part to explain just how little he cares for what his father would do in his position, but before any words emerge, the dias is filled with a loud shrill, followed by tedious giggling and even more screams. The Minister of Key's complacent expression falters and his puffed-up chest falls but as he turns to spot the source of such disturbance, he is shoved forward and out of his robes come the two little girls, beaming and squealing and absolutely radiant in their moment of play. The hem of their skirts are coated in a layer of dirt ― perhaps from all the rolling they do upon the dirt floor of the dais, crawling under banquet tables where they hold their ever-so-secret meetings ― and, were Jude by his side, she probably would have scolded them for their dishevelled appearances; Alas, she is not here and thus, Cardan merely grins down at his girls, shoves the scroll upon Randalin's folded arms and picks up the girl latched upon the boot of his left foot, tossing her in the air in a spin and catching her with equal ease.

Politics, and especially Queen Glitten's absurd requests can very well wait.

❛ Did you now ? Is there any particular reason as to why you chose Oak as your biting target this time ? ❜ Muses Cardan with a grand smile as he settles Beatrice in his arms and leans in to plant a tender kiss upon the crown of brown curls. Simultaneously, his jewelled tail wraps around the small waist of Cordelia who is still latched upon his leg, lifting her up beside him and proceeding to spin her around in just the way that she likes, the ones that makes both girls giggle and inquire for more.

Were any of the positions reversed, and Cardan was the one who had interrupted his brother's meeting with the councillors or bluntly confessed to having bitten a member of the royal Greenbriar line, Balekin would not have thought twice before having Margaret use her iron whip on the youngest Prince and then throw him in the cells where he would spend the next handful of nights ― and yet, being a parent himself now, the High King cannot think of any moment in time where he had the urge to punish his children, least of all inflict them with wounds that they would carry throughout their life, even when they are being difficult, even when they would rather do anything else other than heed his word. Even when Oak nearly brought forth a war in his attempt to charm the child queen of the North.

They are all, so much like himself and so very easy to love.

❛ A fitting punishment for your little crime. Should I let him throw you in the lake, you little imps ? ❜ Humours the High King. Nodding along in faux consideration, he proceeds to march towards the gates of the dais and into the open royal garden of Elfhame, a short distance of which the lake of Masks lies, full of glittering waters and sprites that hover on the surface, ready with their toothpick sword to poke into any unsuspecting visitor that might bathe in them. His tail ceases to rotate the one twin, instead bringing her forth to hold her upon his side as he does with Beatrice and he gently kisses her head as well. ❛ Or should I throw you in there myself, hm ? You would fancy that, would you not ? ❜

[thesixthcavalier]

A Story Snippet

The saloon was a raucous and rowdy affair this night, full of gamblers and drinkers and song and dance. Pat and Meg drifted between the tables, twisting and twirling, depositing drinks, taking cash, and always just out of reach of the grasping, drunken hands of those with too little sense. The big table in the corner was the sight of the evening’s most potent battle, a field of carnage between the six people seated there. Coins and writs of payment lay strewn and crumpled over the pockmarked surface, a well thumbed deck of cards near the center. Every eye was shifting, suspicious, watching for the tell tale sign of a cheat, if only to distract everyone else while they drew an ace from their sleeve. 

But that wasn’t where the commotion started. No one got punchy over a pot that big, it was too much, too dangerous. You got angry with that much money on the line and someone winds up with a knife in the ribs. Can’t spend much when you’re in a casket. No, the commotion came from the bar, from the broad man that sat at the far end. He’d been spending the entire night trying to drown his sorrows in a full bottle of whiskey. Well, it had been full when he’d started. Now it was just about empty, and he was shaking with the kind of barely suppressed fury that always portends trouble. 

Val sat at her usual table, her own drink untouched. She never drank when she was on the job, and while she hadn’t expected to be working tonight, it was clear she was about to. She’d been watching the man since he first came in, something about his face had been familiar, and the more she watched, the more she knew what it was. So the last five minutes had been spent quietly musing, revolver in hand as her thumb grazed back and forth across the cylinder. She wasn’t sure what would happen here tonight, but it wasn’t going to be clean, or easy. 

The man had finally had enough. His demons had gotten to him, and he snarled as he reached for the bottle again, too drunk to see it between it’s twin cousins swimming atop the bar. He shoved it away rather than brought it close, and it went sailing, smashing against the floor. There was barely anything left to spill, but whether it was the lost booze or the sound that set him off, no one would be able to say. But he was like a barrel of gunpowder set to flame, roaring with explosive fury as he stood from his seat and slammed his hands against the bar. 

The music ground to a halt, the card players stalled their game, even the ever mobile ladies suddenly found themselves stopped dead. “I think perhaps you’ve had enough. Maybe it’s time to have a lie down, sleep it off,” Jonah said from behind the bar. He was a burly man too, large and well built, but gentle and kind. He would sooner avoid a fight than risk one, and he did his damndest now to see to that, a simple, iron key laid on the bar. “On the house,” Jonah rumbled. And then all hell broke loose.

The man roared again and lunged, Jonah pushed away from the bar, but not nearly quick enough before the stranger had him by the lapels and dragged him forward, slamming him against the bar. There was a flash of steel, a knife rising in the air, aiming for the barman’s throat. Then the explosive roar of gunfire and the knife went flying, the stranger grasping at his now bleeding hand as rage warred with confusion on his drunken visage. His eyes swung this way and that, seeking his next target, as Val kicked the chair away from herself, already standing, gun smoking. 

“Right here,” she said, voice a low drawl, completely unfazed and unconcerned, though there was a hint of deadly malice in her amber eyes, the sort of thing this stranger was too drunk to notice, and probably too foolish to properly consider. Everyone stared in silence at the two, and Val and the stranger simply stared at each other as the woman kept her gun trained on the man, her tail snapping back and forth behind her like an agitated snake. “You’re not just some troubled fool who drank away his cash. You’re Nathan Krull, the outlaw. That’s right ain’t it?” Val asked, eyes narrowed. 

The stranger, Nathan, snarled again. “I am. And if you know who I am then you ought to know better than to pick a fight. I’ve met plenty of bounty hunters. Killed plenty of’em,” Nathan said with a wicked, twisted grin. He looked like a beast, a feral thing just waiting for the first sign of weakness, the first opportunity to strike. 

“Never met me before,” Val replied, cool and even. “And I never met you personally. But I met your type. Angry. Sullen. Whole world is either your playground or your prison, which depends on the day. I’m thinking prison today, hmm? Lost a score maybe? Someone swiped the stash you thought was hidden so well? Whatever it is I don’t much care. Way I see it, your choices are to simmer down and come with me, and we can maybe save your hand. Or I can drop you now, save myself some trouble. But you’re not worth as much as a corpse, so I would prefer the former.” 

There was a deadly stillness in the air, a silence that hung over the whole place like a shroud. No one dared to move, most didn’t dare to breathe as the reality of the situation settled on them. The understanding that in their midst was a deadly killer with more souls taken than the majority of people even meet in their lives. And she was staring down a man rumored to be almost as deadly. 

He laughed at that, a great, uproarious laugh that could have been full of mirth and good humor on a better day, but here seemed dark and twisted, like a sour version of something sweet. It had all the cadence of a proper laugh, but it was off somehow in a way you couldn’t really explain. “You think just cause you got the draw on me you’ve won? I wager I can get across this floor and cave your skull in before you fire two more shots. Are you really so sure you can put me down with a single bullet?” Nathan snarled, baring his teeth as he turned to face his opponent more squarely now, preparing to charge. 

Val grimaced and, without taking her eyes off the man, reached out to pick up her drink, the dark bourbon shifting ever so slightly in the glass. “Are you so sure you can take another step before I do?” she asked quietly. “I’m giving you this one final chance. Take a moment. Think about it. I’m gonna have my drink, and when I’m done, you’re either surrendering, or you’re dead.” She raised the glass to her lips, but didn’t drink. Val never drank while she was on the job. 

Nathan charged. He moved with speed that seemed to defy his hulking frame, but without cunning. His every crime had been that of extreme brutality, of violence and unquestioned pain. He was a charging bull, a roaring drake, a bumbling ox. Val sent her glass flying with a flick of the wrist, and in the same motion she was firing, the crack and bang of her revolver like thunder, like the slamming of a forge hammer against burning steel. Even as the cylinder spun and sent hot lead across the room, the woman was moving, just a few unhurried steps to the side as Nathan batted her glass out of the air, the spray of alcohol combined with his own inebriation to make his aim poor. 

Bullets slammed into the man’s arms and chest, Val hooked a foot against the leg of her chair, now in reach again, and kicked, sending it tumbling forward. It was enough to trip him up, to send the feared outlaw stumbling and tumbling until he crashed against the wall. Bloody and dazed, he was almost certainly down for the count. But you could never be too careful with a wild animal. The last bullet in the revolver sailed into Nathan Krull’s skull, and a moment later the light went out of his eyes. Val sighed, cracking open her gun and dropping the spent brass to the floor. “Waste of good bourbon and a living bounty. If you weren’t dead I’d kill you for that,” she muttered, reloading the weapon with deliberate motions, slender fingers drawing bullets from her belt and sliding them into each chamber before the cylinder clicked back into the place, and the gun went to the holster. 

Val picked up her chair and righted it, setting it back down in front of the table and taking her seat again. “I’m in need of another drink. Seems I dropped mine,” she called out, her words seeming to echo in the silence of the still shocked saloon. No one moved yet, but they would. Shortly someone would bolt for the door, and the sheriff would be on the way. Val fished in a pocket and found the flyer with Krull’s face on it, setting it on the table, then she found her cigarettes and put one to her mouth, a snap of the fingers producing a brief flame that set it alight. Yes the sheriff would be here soon, and he’d have questions, and there’d be talking and hand wringing and bounty negotiation. She sure hoped she got that drink before then. Val never drank when she was on the job, but she always drank when dealing with the local law. They were worth it.