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luxcuriousao3 · 29 days ago

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Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter One)

Summary: The loneliness was killing him. He was already dead and somehow it was killing him. For every day that passed with only the other undead for company, Simon’s voice grew more and more quiet. He was desperate. Desperate for an anchor to the humanity that kept slipping through his cold, stiff fingers. Word Count: 3200 Warnings: no smut this chapter (this fic is the slowest of burns y'all, strap in for a looooong ride), briefly referenced (non-graphic) SA in the OC's backstory, semi-graphic violence, POV switches denoted by line breaks (it starts off from the OC's POV but switches to Ghost's pretty quickly) Notes: It's finally here. My contribution to the Zombie!Ghost community. You can think the creators of his Alone skin to converting me into a monsterfucker (after all the years I managed to avoid collecting that kink, smdh) and @xoxunhinged for making me utterly obsessed with poor, sweet, undead Simon. Their fic sick <3 is absolutely amazing and was definitely a huge inspiration for Dove. They are just a fantastic writer, I literally cannot gush over their stories enough. I highly, highly recommend that y'all go binge read their stuff, and Unhinged, if you're reading this, I'm your biggest fan <3 (also please don't read this cuz it sucks in comparison to yours and I'll die of embarrassment if you do /hj). AO3, Masterlist

Lelia had just turned twenty when she was married off by her father. He was a politician, and her hand in marriage to some rich and powerful CEO’s son had been traded for monetary support of his campaign. Lelia’s husband was not kind, and the end of the world hadn’t changed that, when it happened three months later.

They had been evacuated to a military safe zone early on, early enough that Lelia had avoided seeing the complete and utter carnage the virus wrought upon the world. That had been why, after finding herself whored out by her husband to the soldiers in charge for better rations and amenities, Lelia decided she would be better off on her own. She’d run away, escaped the base and disappeared into the woods.

She lasted less than a day.

After hours of running, fueled by pure adrenaline and an overwhelming need to finally be free of Andrew’s casual cruelty, Lelia found herself alone in the woods, surrounded by the ravenous, snarling zombies she’d only heard of in other survivors’ stories. She’d never actually seen one of the undead, at least not while they were still alive… for some sense of the word.

Out of options, Lelia scrambled up a tree—and how she’d managed that, as unathletic as she was, she once again chalked up to adrenaline and some recently unearthed instinct to survive—perching on a thick, sturdy branch as high up as she could get. A clawed hand grabbing her foot nearly spelled her demise, but with a frantic kick, she shook the moldering limb off and hoisted herself up.

She stared down at the mass of walking corpses beneath her, and then briefly closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. There were at least a dozen, though it was difficult to count them in the darkness when they kept moving around. For all she knew, there were more. Either way, she was done for. She wouldn't have been able to fight back against even a single one. She was foolish to think she could survive out here, on her own. But she found that she didn’t regret leaving—at the very least, she got to taste freedom before her inevitable demise. The only thing she regretted was the painful, gruesome way in which she would go, once she ended up on the ground. And she would end up on the ground, she knew. Whether she simply tipped over after passing out from exhaustion, or lost her grip on the tree trunk… well. If Lelia was lucky, the fall would kill her instantly. She desperately hoped that God would grant her that one mercy, after all she had been through.

She knew there was no point in delaying her death. That she was only prolonging her own fear and suffering. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to let go. Her hands stayed stubbornly locked together as her arms hugged the tree, the toes of her shoes—ballet flats, since she owned no trainers or hiking boots, even months into the apocalypse—planted firmly on two slightly lower branches to help keep her balance. She stayed like that for hours, until her limbs locked up and her muscles burned. She pushed her body to the limit, eyes dry and irritated from refusing to fall asleep, knowing exactly what would happen if she did. It was an exercise in fruitlessness, in needless agony, and yet Lelia bore it as stoically as she could, the only sign of her terror the silent tears dripping from her eyes. Because despite it all, despite knowing it would change nothing, Lelia didn’t want to die.

“Please,” she whispered, the first words she’d spoken since escaping the base. Her voice was hoarse from disuse and thick from her tears, and the small sniffle that followed it sounded clogged. She didn’t know who she was talking to—God, maybe, or perhaps a figment of her imagination, just so she didn’t feel so alone—but she knew no one would hear her. No one ever heard her. No one ever listened. “Somebody please help me… I want to live.”

***

Ghost tilted his head to the side as he examined the woman in the tree. He had been drawn by the loud snapping and snarling that had plagued the forest for hours now, signaling a gathering of the undead. The only thing that brought so many to the same place was the promise of a meal. And so, after waiting a while to avoid having to actually do the killing of innocents—something that bothered the vestiges of humanity that rattled around in his infected brain—he’d headed in the direction of the noise, hoping to find some leftover scraps.

Instead, he found her. A tiny slip of a girl, trembling in a tree and looking for all the world like a fragile little bird, too weak to fly away to safety but not yet resigned to her gruesome fate. Ghost found himself unusually curious, and he studied her for what could have been minutes or hours. He wasn’t sure—time had lost all meaning not long after he turned. Sometimes, weeks would go by without him noticing, the only indication that any time had passed at all being the changing colors of the leaves. The small part of him that was still able to feel emotions worried about how he would be able to mark the passage of time when it was no longer autumn. He tried not to think about it, in the rare moments that he could form semi-coherent thoughts. He preferred to spend that time reminiscing on happier days, trying to recall the names and faces of family and friends from before. He had already forgotten most of them. Only a few memories lingered—bright blue eyes, a deep Scottish burr, the scent of clean soap, and, much fainter, whiskey.

When Ghost came back to himself, he realized he had drifted closer to the girl in the tree, now standing right at the base of it, staring up at her like all the other infected. The only difference was that he wasn’t scratching at the bark and growling like some rabid animal. He was still, milky white eyes trained on her face. Round cheeks, big brown doe eyes, pretty pink lips, and a small, upturned nose, framed by loose, auburn curls that went down to her waist. She was beautiful, the part of him that was still human noticed. The part of him that was driven by an unceasing instinct to rend and consume flesh, on the other hand, was drawn in by her scent. Light and floral, with a hint of something sugary, she smelled like she would taste incredible. Saliva pooled in his mouth and dribbled out, his broken jaw hanging uselessly.

“Please. Somebody please help me. I want to live.”

Her voice was angelic, despite the fear in it, and Ghost perked up at the sound. It was as small as her and as sweet as she smelled. Everything about her screamed of an innocence he’d long thought purged from the world, from her voice to her scent to the tear tracks on her face that glistened silver in the moonlight, her pale skin nearly glowing. She reminded him of a dove—small and frail and pure. Easy to break and easy to kill.

Don’t let her die, Simon’s voice said in his head, like a distant echo. She doesn’t deserve to die, not now, not like this.

Ghost, who had not heard Simon’s voice in a long while, shifted uneasily. He had helped the living often, in the beginning, when he'd realized he still held some measure of sentience, of control over his new, cannibalistic instincts. In return, he had been shot at, stabbed, slashed, skewered, and otherwise attacked. The human part of him had understood, and the first few times it happened, he’d simply retreated, despite his growing desire for companionship to chase away the terrible loneliness of his cursed existence. Most people had been confused by the zombie not trying to eat them, but far too relieved to try and chase him down to finish him off. They had simply accepted their strange good fortune and ran the other way while they still had the chance.

The last human he had tried to save had not been so smart.

After scaring away the horde of undead chasing the man, he’d remained, still and silent so as not to seem like a threat. He had known then how foolish it was, had known he should have left right away, that his decaying body would only be damaged further by a vicious hack from the man’s gore-covered machete—but the loneliness was killing him. He was already dead and somehow it was killing him. For every day that passed with only the other undead for company, Simon’s voice grew more and more quiet. He was desperate. Desperate for an anchor to the humanity that kept slipping through his cold, stiff fingers.

The man had charged at him, nearly taking Ghost’s arm off, and dejected, he had turned to leave. But this man was different from the others, stupider—or perhaps a little mad. He had pursued Ghost brutally, intent on ending his miserable existence. Part of Ghost had wanted to let him, but another part refused. This was not much of a life, not a life at all, really, but it was his and he wouldn’t let anyone take it away from him.

And so, after the dozenth swing, he’d snapped.

The man had been no match for his strength, wouldn't have been even before the virus had enhanced it. Ghost had batted the machete away like it was nothing but a toy, and then sunk his claws into the vulnerable flesh of the man's exposed throat, ripping it out. Hot blood had sprayed across his face, blood that was still there to his day, as Ghost had devoured a human for the first time, stuffing clumps of flesh into his mouth, manually moving his broken jaw up and down in order to chew. The process had been long and repetitive, but every second of it had been utter bliss.

Ghost had methodically stripped every inch of flesh from every piece of bone on the man’s torso, gorging himself on the delicious meal. He’d eaten the organs with vigor, surprised to find that each had tasted a little different. His favorite had been the liver.

Simon’s voice had stopped insisting he helped people, after that day. Though whether that was because he was afraid of snapping again, or because feasting on a person had degraded his humanity that much more, Ghost was unsure. And sometimes, when he had those brief moments of clarity, it unnerved him that he didn't particularly care either way.

But there was something different about this little dove. Simon had spoken up again, for her, for some reason that should have been unknowable to Ghost and yet wasn’t. He didn’t want to see her torn to shreds by the other undead, either—though in truth, he couldn’t fully tell if that was because he wanted to protect her, or if it was because he wanted to eat her himself. She smelled so sweet, after all, he just knew biting into her flesh would be the closest he ever got to seeing heaven.

No, Simon snapped, and Ghost grunted, shaking his head as he tamped down on his beastly urges. Then, he turned around, facing away from the little dove in the tree, and snarled viciously at the other undead. A little more than half fled immediately, but those that remained crowded closer, snarling back. Ghost swiped a massive, gloved hand at them, knocking two of them over, and screeched, the sound blood curdling. All but one backed down, shambling away with a chorus of agitated hisses.

The only one left, a zombie that had once been a man only slightly larger than Ghost, roared a challenge and flung itself at him. He caught it easily and slammed it into the ground, its bigger size no match for his greater strength.

The thing that used to be a man growled and groaned as it tried to get back to its rotting feet, but Ghost didn’t give it a chance, stomping down hard on its skull. It gave easily with a slight squishing sound, brain matter splattering over his black, grime-covered combat boots. Ghost snarled once more in victory, then looked back up, towards the girl he had done all this for.

She stared down at him in pure terror.

Ghost felt an unexpected pang of hurt at that. For a second, he wondered if he should leave her before she pulled out a hidden knife and hurled it at his head, but the thought was quickly discarded. He didn’t want to leave the little dove. She would never survive on her own.

So instead, he backed up several steps, giving her plenty of space to climb down without getting close to him.

She didn't move.

Ghost could be patient, though, vaguely recalling long hours spent silent and still, peering down the scope of a rifle. So he remained standing there, quiet and unmoving, for as long as it took.

It turned out that that was a very, very long time.

Half an hour passed—and the fact that he was aware enough to know just how long had gone by was quite unusual—before the little dove moved. It was her legs, finally giving out on her as her feet slipped off the branches below her. She wobbled slightly, and Ghost rushed forward with a growl that almost sounded concerned, ready to catch her. He heard her let out a frightened whimper when he moved, and he tried to coo at her to let her know he wouldn’t hurt her, but it just came out sounding like a small, off putting gurgle. He quickly went quiet, knowing the disgusting sound was the opposite of reassuring. He cursed his past self for breaking his jaw after he’d been bit—a last, desperate attempt to stop himself from biting and infecting anyone. He didn’t know if he would be able to talk, even if it was intact, but he’d at least have been able to try.

“Please,” the girl whispered, forehead leaned against the rough bark of the tree as she shook like a leaf in a windstorm. “Please go away.”

Ghost swallowed, hesitating. He didn’t want to leave her. She would die if he left her. And that was rapidly becoming an intolerable outcome for him. He didn’t understand why. It just was.

But she could also die if she fell from the tree and Ghost’s ruin of a body failed to catch her in time. And she would fall, if she didn't come down soon. He could see that all the strength had left her frail body, and that she was only holding on through sheer willpower. Or maybe fear.

Ghost let out a soft groan that he hoped she would somehow understand was an agreement. Then, he turned around and walked stiffly back into the forest, until he was hidden in the darkness. He could still smell her, though, tantalizingly sweet, and if he squinted, he could see her silhouette. The pale pink, ankle length skirt and matching jacket she wore—Ghost groaned quietly in frustration at the impracticality of it, wondering where she had come from to be so clean and still wearing such fancy clothes—was practically a beacon as it reflected the light of the full moon.

Several more minutes passed before the little dove finally began to fly down from her nest. Ghost was tense the entire time, relearning the feeling of fear as he watched her climb down, half expecting her to fall and break her neck. And she did fall—but only after she'd made it most of the way, only a couple feet left between her and the ground. He could hear the small, startled oof she let out as her bum hit the dirt, and he twitched, ready to run back to her—but she stood up on shaky legs a few seconds later, dusting off her skirt and quickly glancing around before seemingly picking a direction at random and beginning to walk in it. Her movements were almost as stiff as his, and he hissed a little in displeasure at the thought of her being in pain. This was why she should have come down when he was there. He would have carried her somewhere safe, and she wouldn't have to limp around aimlessly in the dark, tired and hurting.

For such a large man, Ghost could be incredibly quiet. And he was, as he tailed her for another two hours, never any more than ten steps behind her. She didn’t even look over her shoulder once. She may have been a little dove, but she had the survival instincts of a newborn kitten.

She finally collapsed from pain and exhaustion, crawling into a hollowed out tree trunk that only someone as small as her could have fit into. She was out in seconds, he could tell from the way her breathing changed from panicked to steady, though still labored from exertion. It wasn’t a horrible spot to hole up in, but she was far too exposed for his liking.

He approached her with silent footsteps, careful not to wake her. As he did, he scanned the area with his senses, since she had neglected to. There were a few infected shambling through the brush about twenty or so meters away. If they got any closer, they were bound to smell her. But that was alright, because Ghost had no intention of leaving her alone while she was so vulnerable.

He gazed down at her, milky white eyes taking in her shadowed features. She looked young, painfully so, at least compared to his forty years of age. Or was it forty-one, now? He was sure his birthday had passed, it was at the end of summer, but he didn’t know if it counted as getting older, since he was no longer alive.

He pushed the thought away, focusing on the girl again. She couldn’t be more than twenty, that much was certain. And he was watching her sleep like some nasty old perv.

The thought had him turning around, placing his back a mere foot away from the opening in the tree trunk. He didn’t want to make her feel trapped if she woke up, but he wasn't willing to leave enough space for something to slip in and attack her, either. He would keep her safe tonight. And maybe, just maybe, if she saw that he was useful and wouldn't hurt her, she wouldn’t shoo him away like a stray dog in the morning. Though he knew that even if she did, he wouldn’t leave entirely. He would be her shadow, her Ghost, a benevolent specter haunting her every step, and tearing apart any that dared to threaten his little dove.

Your little dove? A voice asked in his head. He didn’t know if it was Simon’s or his own or someone else’s. But it was his that answered.

Mine.

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ladycrocy · 1 month ago

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Halloween inspired Mihawk AU

Mihawk X afabReader

Summary: You are having very explicit dreams about the same mysterious man over and over again. The only distinguishing feature that you are ever able to make out, are his eyes. They are piercing and stare into your soul. This man or creature has his way with you in your sleep. But are you truly safe when you are awake as well?

Content Warning: DubCon, Vaginal intercourse, Mihawk as a sexual sleep paralysis demon or maybe an incubus.

AO3

Part 1 , Part 2

Word count: 895

His hand pressed you down onto your back forcefully, but with a gentle touch. One hand slid down your naked body, in between your perfect breasts and down your abdomen as he bowed down. His face inches away from your most private area. You could feel his warm breath triggering sensations you never thought possible. In the darkness, his eyes seemed to glow up at you like a hungry predator. "I am going to eat you alive.." His voice seemed to echo deeply through the darkness as he plunged down. Your back arched as you let out a gasping moan.

You woke up immediately.

Your curtains blew violently as a storm came moving in. Quickly, you stood up and slammed the

window shut. Your mind began to race as your thoughts were on those eyes. Those memorizing, piercing eyes of amber or crimson depending on the lighting. How many times was it that you would continued to have these dreams? ..These nightmares of ecstasy?

Taking a deep breath, you headed out onto your balcony to have a cigarette to calm your nerves. As you sucked

in, the burn seemed to bring you back to reality. With an exhale, you had nearly relaxed completely. Who was it that you were seeing in the dreams?

It was already 3 a.m. in the morning, and you chalked this up as another sleepless night. Taking a hot shower, and getting dressed for your day, was the only option now. By 6 a.m. you were making breakfast and preparing for your mundane shift at work. Just another normal day. A normal boring day in a normal boring life. Nothing ever really happened to people like you, and you had become accustomed to it.

The day went by as per usual, except your boss had decided to keep you over to finish up other people's work. You were exhausted, but how could you refuse. The workload kept you there until after dark. Before stepping out into the city streets, you waved goodbye to the security guard of the building. He was a kind older man who always looked at you with such concern. It was the only kindness you were accustomed to now a days.

The streets shimmered in the streetlights due to the rain that had come and gone earlier. The colors danced as you made your way closer to home. The thing you hadn't noticed was that the street was strangely quiet. No activity, no movement, not another soul. That is until you saw the dark, shadowy figure in the distance. A shiver went down your spine, and you reached into your back to clutch your small dagger. Not that you assumed every shadow was dangerous,

but this was just in case. However, when you glanced back up, the shadow was gone. Chuckling to yourself, you realized that it must just be the lack of sleep playing tricks on you.

Or so you thought.

His voice hit your ear with his hot breath, the familiar voice that sent your whole body tingling. "You will be mine~" Your body froze, and you were ashamed to admit that your feminine area reacted to just the sound of his voice. You turned quickly to see that no one was there.

Now that your heart rate was up and you could feel panic sink in, you began to run. Your chest burned as you forced your body to move more than it was used to. It was as if you could feel his presence right behind you, but every time you glanced back, there was nothing.

You made it home in record time. Slamming and locking the door behind you. You took a moment to catch your breath as you dropped all your belongings to the floor and just headed to the couch before collapsing on it. Be it the shock or panic fading, but you passed out rather quickly and were soon in your dream state.

....He was inside of you. Thrusting deep into your womb. Your fist clenched the side of the couch as you screamed out with every thrust. His member throbbed with excitement as his one hand reached around, grabbing your throat and squeezing lightly. You were in complete pleasure. Your body rocked back with his, forcing every inch inside of you. Your walls clamped down so hard that he couldn't help but let out grunts and growls in your ear.

"You belong to me~" His voice deep and raspy, causing your body to tense up and build to an orgasm. You could feel his

member twitching as he was getting close as well, but before either of you could...

You woke up in a sweat on your couch. "Fuck..." Your weak voice let out. You reached down only

to feel just out wet you were... and strangely enough.. how sore you were. That dream was the most real you had ever had. Not even bothering with your clothes, you removed them down to your bra and panties. Standing on your balcony for another relaxing puff.

Exactly what the fuck was happening to you? Were you going crazy? Were you haunted by a pervy ghost? Your mind raced

as you glanced up at the moon and sighed. You hoped that maybe tonight you could go back to sleep soon.. and if you were lucky, get to finish this time.

The banner creator

#one piece #dracule mihawk #one piece fanfiction #mihawk x reader #op au

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sunkissedpages · 3 years ago

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instead of you [part seventeen]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol +sex

word count: 1.5k

series masterlist

The flight from Naples to Tokyo took fourteen hours, not including the two and a half hour layover in Istanbul, meaning you had sixteen and a half hours to sit in awkward tension-filled silence next to Sam. The tension was one-sided, of course, but it was still agonizing to endure.

You had been able to push your anxiety aside during your last day in Italy because it had been so busy. There had been a power outage in the middle of the night, causing everyone to oversleep and miss the ferry for one of your tours that morning. It had been a scramble to get back on schedule and do as much as possible with the time you had left. The boys had been hungover and their parents were tired of wrangling them. You had dozens of photos on your camera roll of Sam and Harry bickering when they were supposed to be posing for a nice picture, and even more of Tom flicking them off.

But now you were stuck alone with your thoughts, unable to use distraction as a means to escape. You tried reading your book, but found yourself unable to concentrate on the words on the page. After staring at the same paragraph for over fifteen minutes Sam noticed and asked if you were okay and you finally decided to call it quits.

You almost wished the Hollands hadn’t scheduled in a day and a half to adjust to the time zone change. You’d rather exhaust yourself with the nonstop tourist bullshit than have to cope with the reality that you had gotten off to thoughts about your best friend’s brother. Not to mention living with the secret that the same best friend’s brother had kissed you not long before that.

If Sam noticed anything was off, he didn’t mention it. He probably chalked it up to lack of sleep, or perhaps was too tired himself to care.

“Which one of us do you think will be randomly selected in customs today?” Harry asked, stretching his arms above his head.

You were standing in the aisle waiting to deplane, placing bets on who’d get searched by border agents this time. Somehow each time you traveled to a new place one of you was always chosen to get pat down or have your carry-on searched. Tom had yet to be the lucky winner, and you suspected it had something to do with his celebrity status.

“Y/n,” Tom answered easily. “She has the U.S. passport.”

You rolled your eyes. “Like England has a squeaky clean record with Japan.”

“At least we didn’t-”

“Bro, you can’t say the b word on a plane,” Harry interrupted.

“Even when the plane’s on the ground?”

Sam shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Whatever,” Tom continued. “It’s definitely going to be y/n.”

“Would you mind stepping out of line, ma’am?”

You sighed, not even bothering to look back at the boys. You already knew they were grinning like idiots and you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. The agent ushered you to the side behind a glass partition, but not before you heard another agent repeat the same question to one of the Hollands. You smiled to yourself, happy not to be the only one singled out.

Behind the privacy screen another agent greeted you and asked you to take your sweatshirt off, explaining that it was too baggy and needed to be checked. You saw other people in baggy clothes who weren’t getting pulled out of line, but assumed they didn’t have the red flag of “U.S. Citizen” printed on their identification that would be cause for any additional suspicion. You complied with the agent’s request and pulled your sweatshirt off for them to further inspect.

You were glad you’d worn a sports bra underneath your sweatshirt because you usually didn’t wear anything underneath them. As soon as your head was out of the pullover you immediately met by Tom’s polite smile.

He averted his eyes as soon as he saw you, pausing his conversation with the official to mumble a quiet ‘sorry’ to you as he was shown to the spot next to yours.

You zoned out as they spoke, only aware of him again when he started unbuckling his belt. You caught his eye this time.

“Forgot to take it off,” he explained.

“Sweatshirt’s too loose.”

You both faced forward as the customs officials proceeded through the motions. You were stuck standing there half-naked with your arms wrapped around your chest self-consciously while an agent pat Tom’s legs down.

“Dad said we can meet them at baggage claim,” Tom said after a few moments of silence between the two of you. “They went on without us.”

“Okay,” you squeaked back in response.

You knew it wouldn’t take long, but it still made you nervous to be alone with Tom. Sam was like a safety blanket, or a buffer between you and him and without him you were afraid it would be painfully awkward.

The woman handed you your sweatshirt back and you had to wait for Tom outside of the screening area. He joined you a minute or so later.

“They find any dirt on you?” you asked from where you were leaning against the wall across from the exit.

“Nope, you?”

“Yeah, actually I’m in custody right now. Can’t believe you missed the handcuffs.”

“Man, what’d they get you for?”

“Identity theft,” you sighed.

“Damn, that’s a bummer,” Tom replied, false sympathy rolling off his words.

He cocked his head in the direction the rest of his family had went, indicating that you should get going, and held out a hand to pull you upright. You took it hesitantly and let him help you.

“I was actually hoping you could bail me out?” you went on, continuing with the bit.

Tom made a sound through his teeth and grimaced. “I’m kinda broke right now.”

“Aren’t you an actor?”

“Sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“No, you’re definitely the guy!”

“You’re thinking of Tom Hiddleston,” he insisted.

“Remember that IOU you gave me? I’m cashing it in now.”

“That’s not how it works!”

You laughed. “No, but if I ever actually get arrested I’m using my IOU to get you to bail me out of jail.”

“I don’t think that a kiss and getting bailed out of prison are comparable, but I didn’t put any conditions on that postcard, did I?”

“Nope!” You smiled happily.

“Well that’s on me, so...”

You took the shuttle together to the other side of the airport where the rest of the Hollands were waiting and finally found them with all of your luggage at the furthest carousel from the entrance.

“It’s about time!” Harry yelled over the crowd as soon as he saw you.

Sam grinned when he saw you and you couldn’t help but grin back. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively and you relaxed into his shoulder, relieved to be with him again. It hadn’t dawned on you until that moment just how attached you were, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it because the other Hollands were all looking at you expectantly.

“Did everything go okay?” Nikki asked.

Tom nodded. “They made y/n strip, but it was uneventful otherwise.”

You pursed your lips, cheeks burning. “It was just my sweatshirt!” you hissed to Sam.

“Yeah, but you never wear anything under your sweatshirts!” Sam hissed back.

“I had a bra on this time.”

“Oh, so it was just another night at the bar for you?” You wrestled yourself out of Sam’s grasp at that and glared. “Am I wrong?”

Sam’s dad cut in before you could respond. He had a habit of calling “family meetings” in the middle of public spaces to finalize plans and get everybody on the same page, which was always an experience.

“Alright, gather up, gang!” he said, beckoning you all closer. “So we’ll be staying at... this hotel,” he explained and turned his phone around to show you the name of it. “And the thing is, we have two rooms to share between the six of us. One for your mother and I, and another for you four.”

“What?” Sam asked. “You’re going to make us stay with them?”

“I thought we were getting three rooms like every other time,” Tom chimed in.

“We were meant to, but I made a mistake when booking it,” Dom clarified.

“How?”

“The entire website was in Japanese, Sam. I don’t know Japanese!”

“Dad, Google has a translate webpage option!” Harry groaned.

“Well no one told me that while I was booking this entire trip by myself!”

You traded a look with Tom, who looked just as panicked as you felt. But it would only be for a week. You would find a way to manage. You didn’t really have any other option.

“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” Sam tried, forcing a smile.

“That’s the spirit!” Dom cheered. “We’ll make it work.”

sorry she’s short this week :( but lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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#instead of you #iou #tom holland series #tom holland x reader #tom holland x bi!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n

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justnerdthings · 3 years ago

Text

New Beginnings Ch. 15

F!Reader x Liu Kang/Kung Lao

Bit of a timeskip here. Also this chapter contains nsfw!

I know at least one reader is going to want to shank me after reading this. It's okay. I promise I'll make it up to you.

@ancientowlgirl @poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @shang-hung

Weeks had passed. You were in full training mode. You had learned the layout of the temple. You were much more familiar with the customs of the monks. You were comfortable.

Well, almost.

Your muscles were sore from training. Lao and Liu had put you on a fast track. The tournament was still five years away, but you had so much to catch up on. As for the boys…

You had put a wall up. They’d both been pinning for you. Of course you knew they would be. Ever since that kiss with Liu… Ever since Lao admitted his feelings for you… It had been one wild ride after the other. But you had made it clear to both of them: You were not ready for any relationships.

God, you hated telling them that. What were you thinking? They were both incredible choices. You’d never have options like them back home. Were you crazy for telling them both to back off? Probably. But did it help you adjust to temple life? Absolutely. You had enough to worry about around here. A relationship with one of them would have been nice, but the rivalry between them would have destroyed them. You couldn’t risk that.

Raiden had commended your approach to this issue. He’d been pleasantly surprised by your restraint. He’d even offered to help. You still had no idea how Raiden could help, but the offer was nice. You’d opted for ol’ faithful: staying so busy that you didn’t have time to think about relationships.

Of course at night that didn’t work. You’d spent nights staring at the ceiling, or tossing and turning, being drowned in loads of inappropriate thoughts. And of course, you’d taken it upon yourself to relieve some of that tension. Other nights, you thought about what life would be like with one or the other. You’d gotten to know them both so well over the past few weeks that you had pretty clear visions of what relationships would be like with them.

You weren’t sure you could choose between those two visions. But, it didn’t matter. You had no time for that. Five years. You had five years to turn into a lean, mean, killing machine!

A nudge to your shoulder brought you out of your thoughts. Looking up, Lao was watching you with concern. He stopped you in the hallway.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just lost in thought.” You yawned then and stretched your arms out over your head.

“What are you thinking about?” Lao asked curiously and followed along with you as you began walking again.

“You. Liu.” You shrugged. You didn’t see the point in hiding these thoughts anymore. They both knew how you felt. They both knew how each other felt.

Lao lifted a brow. “Yeah? What about us?”

“Just… kicking myself for telling you both to back off,” you sighed.

He seemed to perk up then. “Yeah?”

“I feel like an idiot. But I know it’s the right choice.”

“How do you know?”

“What do you mean, how do I know? I got five years to turn into you and Liu. I can’t be distracted. I need to buckle down. I have to stay focused.”

He sighed. “If we die in the tournament, then we won’t get the chance later,” he reasoned. And you’d thought of that. He was right. If you died in the tournament, and let’s be honest, which was highly likely, you wouldn’t get the chance to choose later. But if you did choose now, then you would mostly likely be too distracted to keep up your training. The tournament would come. You wouldn’t be ready. You’d be killed… But at least you’d have loved. Right?

You sucked in a breath. This sucked. All of it sucked.

Lao noticed that familiar look of conflict on your face. He frowned at you. “You’re allowed to enjoy yourself, Y/N.”

“I can do that after the tournament.” God that was an awful excuse. You weren’t even going to survive the tournament. How could you enjoy yourself afterward?

He sighed. Did he think you telling him and Liu to back off was stupid? No. He’d admit you had very valid points. But he wasn’t a fan of how you were handling yourself. Before, you could relax and enjoy yourself, even if you did throw yourself into panic attacks. But now… This ‘buckle down’ attitude you had adopted… Both Lao and Liu had watched you busy yourself to exhaustion every night. He hated that.

“I need you two to keep pushing me,” you told him. You’d told them both this plenty of times over the past few weeks. Keep you busy. Keep you distracted. Make you stronger. Whatever it took.

Ordinarily Lao would be happy to keep pushing a student… But you weren’t just a student anymore. You were the woman he had eyes for. The woman Liu had eyes for. And even though they’d both been told to keep a level of distance, they both hated it.

He hated it.

And over the past few weeks, Lao had noticed a change in you. Liu chalked it up to you finally being free of your medication and withdrawal. That this was the real you. That this overly focused, morbid, husk of yourself was the real you. And not only did that medication keep you from panicking everyday, but that it made you happy.

Liu had done some research on the medication you were on. Sertraline, he’d said it was. Not only was it for anxiety. But it was for depression as well.

Was that what they were witnessing? Depression? This didn’t seem like any depression Lao had seen before. Depression was supposed to be sadness, wasn’t it? Moping around? Hating yourself? Maybe even suicidal? You didn’t seem sad… But you weren’t very happy either. You weren’t suicidal that he could tell. Maybe you brooded, but he wouldn’t say you moped. And hating yourself?... Yeah, he’d seen that when you grew frustrated. You’d talk down to yourself. You’d cuss yourself out… Was this what depression really looked like?

He hated it.

Stopping at your door, Lao offered you a smile, which you returned, but Lao could see that it was forced. He hated that too: That forced smile you always gave him and Liu now. But it was a battle he didn’t want to fight. He’d continue to let it go.

You stepped into your room and left the door open. He’d hesitated before following you in. Your room was a mess. Clothes everywhere. Cups and plates left all over. You didn’t seem to mind it, but it annoyed him. It’d grown worse and worse over the weeks. He watched as you kicked aside some clothes carelessly, then you suddenly froze.

His brows knotted as you stood so rigid. He followed your fixed gaze. His own body stiffened.

Now, Lao wasn’t an easy man to frighten. Some had even claimed he was fearless. He could slice and dice his way through hordes of enemies. He could reach through someone’s chest and tear out their still beating heart. He laughed in the face of danger. But one fear he had never managed to conquer… was what he was looking at right then.

Without a word, he slowly backed out of your room. You didn’t notice until you backed up and reached behind yourself for him, only to grasp air. Turning, he was gone. Your brows knotted. He was just there. He was just there. Where did he—

You noticed him peek around your doorway cautiously. Confusion was practically dripping from your features. “Is it dead yet?” He asked. For the first time that you could recall. Lao’s voice had shaken.

Oh. Great. He was afraid of it, too. Him. A killer like him. Great.

You looked back to the source of both of your fears. Your heart skipped several beats. It was gone. Where did it go?! You looked around frantically. Where did it go?! Where did it go?! You weren’t going to sleep in your room until you found it! You weren’t going to sleep here at all unless you saw it leave, or it dead! Preferably dead! It and its whole family! Dead!

Movement caught the corner of your eye and you screeched and swatted at your shoulder. You ran out of your room, flailing, beating yourself, hyperventilating. “Get it off! Get it off!” You shouted. But Lao was backing away with fearful eyes.

“You get it off!” he shouted back.

He wasn’t going to help you?! You were freaking out! You shook your gi out and swatted yourself all over as Lao watched on at a distance.

You stopped as Liu came over, face full of concern. He must have heard your shouting.

“What is going on?” He asked, looking you over, looking for whatever you were trying to rid yourself of. He didn’t see anything. You realised, by his complete confusion, that you were fine. It wasn’t on you. You breathed a sigh of relief, then joined Lao in peeking back into your room.

Liu’s brows were about as knotted as they could get as he stepped in the doorway and looked in.

“It’s still in there,” Lao said.

“What is?” Liu asked.

“That eight legged bastard,” You answered.

Liu let that sink in for a second before he turned his head to you and Lao. A spider? All this over a spider? He knew Lao didn’t like them. He knew you didn’t like them. But both of you scared of them? He almost laughed at the two of you. “It’s just a spider,” he reasoned. Honestly, what was the worse it could do?

“Don’t say it’s name!” You hissed at him. “You’ll anger it!”

Liu couldn’t help that chuckle. He shook his head and stepped into the room, ignoring the mess for the moment.

“No, don’t!” You called after him.

“It’s just a spider,” Liu said again, grinning as he looked around your room. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know,” you answered. “It was on the ceiling. Then I thought it was on my shoulder.”

Liu looked up at the ceiling, but he couldn’t see any spider. His eyes looked over the walls, the corners, the floor. He even pulled your sheets back to see if it had crawled into your bed. Nothing. He couldn’t find that spider. “I don’t see it,” he finally said with a sigh.

“I do,” Lao said. His voice was distant. You turned to look at him. He was down the hall several paces. He lifted his hand and pointed at you. You felt the icy chill of anxiety wash over you. “It’s on your back,” Lao said.

Your body tensed up. You were shaking. A whine left you.

“Hold still,” Liu said behind you. You had fought against every fiber of instinct to beat yourself again. You stood rigid as Liu’s hands came to your back. You held your breath. When you felt his hands leave you, you sucked in a shaking breath. “Is it gone?”

Liu came around you. He showed you the spider in his hands.

Oh, fuck that. You backed away frantically and tried to hide behind Lao, but Lao was trying to hide behind you as well.

Liu watched you two with such amusement. He chuckled and shook his head again. “I’ll go release it elsewhere,” he told you both before walking away.

Once Liu and that eight legged bastard were far enough away, you shuddered the rest of your nerves off. Lao was watching you. He grinned sheepishly.

You shoved at him as anger came over your face. “YOU ASSHOLE!”

“What?” Lao said, lifting his hands defensively.

“Some friend you are!”

“I don’t like spiders!” He shouted back.

“Neither do I!” You screamed.

“I would have helped you!” He shouted with hesitation. Lying.

“‘You get it off!’” You repeated his words, mocking him.

“I thought you could!”

“Fucking asshole!”

“Hey!” His brows knit in anger. “If you had kept your room clean, then the spider wouldn’t have been there in the first place!” He accused you. “Ever since you told Liu and I to back off, you’ve been miserable!” He shouted.

“I’m trying to focus on the tournament!” You defended yourself.

“Stop pretending this is all about the tournament!”

“It is all about the tournament!”

“No, it’s not! It’s about us! Me and Liu!”

Your face was turning red in anger. You hated him. You hated him so much. You hated him because he was right. You were so flustered. So frustrated. It was about them. You couldn’t bring yourself to choose, so you threw up a wall to keep them out. You hated it! But it was working!

“I’m right, aren’t I?!” Lao shouted.

You were glaring daggers at him. “Fuck you,” you hissed at him.

“I am, huh?!”

“Fuck. You!”

“Fuck me yourself, coward!” Lao shouted, his own frustration was getting the best of him. And you could see he was just as surprised by his own words as you were.

You two stared at each other. You were daring each other to make the first move. Like hell would you make the first move.

And you didn’t. In a few short moments, Lao came to you. He grabbed hold of your face with firm, yet gentle hands, and pulled you right into a hot and rough kiss.

You went rigid again as your lips connected. Every bit of you was screaming to push him away. But your body wouldn’t move. You couldn’t even breathe. Your head was flooding with hormones that had been denied the past weeks. The angels on your shoulders were arguing. And just as quick as it had happened, Lao had pulled away.

You stared at each other in silence again. Your eyes were locked on each other’s. Your chest was heaving now with shallow breaths. Your heart was pounding so hard that you could hear it.

But that kiss… You could groan. You’d wondered what kissing him would be like. You knew what kissing Liu was like. You wanted to know what kissing Lao was like. It wasn’t at all the same, but the situation was vastly different. With Liu you had been scared and curious… Then later on it was like fireworks as you both grew comfortable. But with Lao… It was out of nowhere and you were both frustrated and angry. The kiss was short and rough… And you wanted more.

You shifted your weight. Reaching up, you grabbed his stupid hat off his head and dropped it to the floor very unceremoniously. You then pulled him back into a kiss. It was sloppy and hard. It was full of spiteful passion. And as Lao backed you against the wall, it grew hungry.

Lao pressed himself against you, pinning you against the stone wall as his hands gripped your waist. You could feel his own heart pounding against your chest. Your fingers curled into his hair. You tugged. His top knot came loose, but neither of you cared. He growled into your lips and the sound almost made you submit your entire self to him. You pushed your hips into his, earning another gruff sound from him. You tried to push him back, but he simply shoved you back against the wall. You grunted and broke the kiss to look up towards the ceiling.

Lao’s lips moved down your jaw and to your neck. You couldn’t help the little moan that escaped you. He’d shifted. His hands moved down your backside. They lingered on your ass for a few seconds before they moved lower, then gripped the back of your thighs. In one smooth motion, he’d lifted you off the floor and wrapped your legs around his waist. Oh, shit, was that hot. You tugged at his hair, pulling his head up so you could kiss him again. This was a mistake. This was a horrendous, lovely mistake.

Lao pulled you from the wall and carried you into your room. He’d managed to kick the door shut behind him without breaking your kiss. You blindly reached behind him for the door, searching for the lock. Once you felt it, you yanked it to latch. Lao heard the harsh clash of the iron lock and carried you further in, to your bed, and dropped you onto the mattress.

You stared up at him with wide eyes. You were catching your breath as you watched him begin to remove his clothes. Your heart was skipping all kinds of beats as you finally realised the situation at hand. You had to stop. You had to stop right now. This wasn’t right. You couldn’t do this. You had to stop right now. But as Lao removed his top and revealed those well chiseled abs, your mind went blank. Ah, shit.

He climbed over you with a famished look in his eyes. Lao was starved. He’d been fighting his feelings for weeks, just like you. And also like you, he was tired of it. It was distracting. You’d been lying to yourself. You’d been telling yourself you didn’t need this. Didn’t need him. Didn’t need Liu. Not like this. You’d been telling yourself they were just teammates… What a load of bullshit. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lowered himself for another kiss.

You couldn’t choose between them. And you were sure that if it had been Liu who had grabbed you and pulled you into a kiss just minutes ago, that he’d be the one laying over you right then instead of Lao. But Liu wouldn’t have pulled you into that kiss. When you’d told him and Lao that you didn’t want a relationship weeks ago, he didn’t protest. He backed off. He gave you space. Liu always respected your boundaries. But Lao always pushed them.

Lao let a hand roam down your side. His fingers slipped under your belt. He simply pulled it free. He pulled open your gi. He was starting to undress you like an impatient child unwrapping their present on Christmas morning. You rolled your body against his. His hand dragged along your bare stomach. Goosebumps plagued your body at his touch. You could feel his excitement as he grinded it against you.

You groaned into the kiss. He grinned against your lips. You tangled your hand into his hair again and pulled his head away so you could catch your breath. He gladly went to kissing and sucking on your neck as he moved his hand up… up… and he grabbed a handful of your breast still confined in your bra. You moaned and rolled your hips against him.

There was a knock at your door.

Both you and Lao froze, staring at each other, barely breathing. Maybe if you were both quiet, whoever it was would think you weren’t there.

Another knock, and Liu’s voice called from behind the door. “Y/N?”

You sighed. Dammit, Liu. This was not the right time. Lao was giving you a look and shaking his head. He wanted you to ignore Liu, and to encourage you, he began to trail some soft kisses along your throat. You tilted your head back and sighed contently, letting your eyes close. But as Lao nipped your skin, a cry escaped you.

“Y/N?” Liu’s tone was full of concern. “Are you alright?” He must have heard you. Dammit.

Lao hid his face in the crook of your neck. His frustration was only growing now. You stroked the back of his head gently, silently reassuring him before you squirmed out from under him. You grabbed your belt from the floor and quickly tied your gi closed. You ran your fingers through your hair. Then you unlocked your door and opened it only a few small inches--just enough to peek out, but not enough for Liu to see past you.

You caught his warm brown eyes and that gentle smile came to his face. “Y/N,” he greeted, despite seeing you only a little while ago.

You returned his smile, again it was forced, but now for a different reason than simply wanting to distance yourself from him. “Liu.”

“I released the spider on the north end. I figured that would be far enough away,” he told you. You felt your nerves fire up. You’d forgotten all about that spider. You could have gone the rest of your life not remembering that spider. But you were thankful Liu had told you where he left it. Now you knew where to look out for the little bastard. Luckily, you didn’t spend much time in the north end of the temple.

“Thank you,” you breathed, then nodded.

“Are you alright?” His voice was full of concern again. “I thought I heard you crying?”

“No. I mean, yes. I’m fine.” You shook your head. “Just still a little shaken, I guess.”

His eyes scanned over your face, taking in every detail not blocked by the door. And you noticed how his eyes lingered on your lips. He’d done that so much since you’d both had your first kiss with each other. And you wouldn’t lie, you’d found yourself doing it as well. You noticed his breath hitch slightly as you bit your bottom lip gently. You were thinking about kissing him again. About feeling his hot lips engulfing yours.

Rustling from behind you reminded you that you’d already had a pair of lips to kiss--ones that were just all over you a second ago. Dammit. This is why you put up that damn wall. You let your forehead fall into the door frame and sighed at your own dumbassery.

“Are you alright?” Liu asked again, stepping closer.

You nodded and looked at him out the corner of your eye. Dammit, he was so cute looking at you like that. “Can we talk later?” you asked him. “I’m just exhausted right now.”

He smiled again. He bowed his head. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” You smiled back to him and stepped away from the door to close it. After a few seconds, when you thought Liu was out of earshot, you hissed curses under your breath. You turned and leaned back against your door, covering your face. This was a complete disaster.

“Hey…” Lao called over cautiously. You could hear him climb off your bed and step towards you. You let yourself slide down your door. When you pulled your hands away from your face, Lao frowned at the sight of you. He knelt down in front of you and reached out to hold either side of your face. His thumbs wiped at your tears.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you’d finally admitted as you began breaking down. Lao’s eyes were desperately searching yours, but it was a futile effort. There wasn’t anything else to see. You weren’t hiding anymore.

“It’s okay,” he told you gently.

You shook your head as the tears flowed freely down your face. “No it’s not,” you sobbed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I don’t want to.”

His jaw hardened. Lao didn’t know what to say. That was the one thing he didn’t want to hear. That was the one thing Liu was worried you’d say in the beginning. And you were saying it now because of them. Dammit.

He shifted to his knees and closer to you. His grip on your face tightened only slightly as he looked at you with such guilt you’d never seen. “Don’t go,” he said--he begged. “I’ll back off. I promise. I’ll even tell Liu to keep his distance.”

You were shaking your head again. “It’s not going to work. This is just going to happen again.”

“You can’t leave…”

“Is there anyone else who can train me?”

“Y/N…”

“Any women? Warrior nuns?”

Lao’s frown deepened. “Please…”

You pulled your head from his hands. “I want to be alone,” you told him as you wiped your face with your hands.

Lao looked so defeated in that moment. He didn’t know what to do. His brows knotted as grief washed over him. Why did he have to kiss you? If he’d just walked away, you wouldn’t be wanting to leave. Why did he have to screw this up? Why did Liu have to come back?! He was clenching his teeth as he stood and grabbed his top from the floor. He slipped into it as you got to your feet and retreated into your little bathroom. Lao opened your door and stepped out. He closed the door behind him. He turned to walk away.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Liu was leaning against the opposite wall, staring at him with a knowing look. Lao stiffened.

“How?...” Lao began, but didn’t get to finish before Liu pointed to the floor. Lao followed the gesture and there it was: his hat, still laying carelessly on the floor where you had dropped it. Dammit. He sighed and reached out, summoning it back into his hand.

But how much did Liu know? Did he just assume what had happened in your room, or had he heard your crying just on the other side of the door?

“I think we need to talk,” Liu told him, and the tone Liu had used told Lao that Liu had heard the crying. That wasn’t the ‘I’m disappointed in you, Kung Lao’ tone. Nor was it the tone Liu used when he was angry with Lao. It was the bad news tone. It was the ‘we fucked up’ tone. It was the tone he had when they needed to admit something to Raiden.

Lao had sucked in a deep breath. He nodded to his brother.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 2021 #liu kang #kung lao #raiden #reader insert #fanfic #fic #reader x character #ludi lin #max huang #tadanobu asano #new beginnings #reader x liu kang #reader x kung lao #liu kang x reader #kung lao x reader

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angry-geese · 4 years ago

Text

Lemon Boy

Risotto Nero x Reader

Warnings: sfw. a little angsty but not really, lots of fluff. Kinda suggestive (if you squint???) Fem!reader

Notes: this is a sequel to two previous posts of mine. This is just a fluff drabble where the reader gets pregnant with Risotto's child

part one- nsfw, part two- sfw

It would take him another year to admit he wanted a second one.

By then he had adjusted to your normal. You got a raise at work, allowing him to stay home. Civilian life wasn't for him. Becoming a stay-at-home dad was much easier than trying to blend in with society, he found. While he felt guilty for leaving you to deal with all the bills, you told him not to worry about it. He kept the house tidy, made sure everyone was fed, and took Maria to school and her sports practices. She was turning out to be quite the little athlete. She almost had too much energy for him. He often found it hard to keep up. You weren't *not* trying for another. You weren't going out of your way for it, but if it happened; it happened.

The other stay-at-home mothers and housewives in your neighborhood would practically adopt Risotto. He was accepted into their groups- and subsequently their gossip- with open arms. They would protect him if police ever bothered him, and in return he became the neighborhood's handyman. Strangely enough, this was where he fit in best.

He couldn't keep his hands off of you.

It wasn't in a sexual way- though that was certainly the case too- Risotto always had to have an arm around you. He constantly needed his hands laced over your stomach, or his body pressing into yours from behind. At times his presence was suffocating, but you knew this was coming from a good place. It was force of habit. You getting pregnant only made him look over his shoulder more. Not many people would touch you before- at times you were frightening- but Risotto only added to that. Nobody in the PTA wanted to fuck with either of you. If he wasn't protective enough of you before, he certainly was now. Anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way got a death stare. He'd wrap you up in his arms when people would try to touch your belly in public, not letting them near you. Sometimes he found himself spiraling into his old habits as he plotted the death of people who pissed you off. You wouldn't notice that creepy customer at your job going missing, would you?

You would go on maternity leave about a month or so before your due date. Being on your feet all day was getting nearly impossible as your walk became more of a waddle. Pregnancy to you wasn't some magical thing everyone your mother's age chalked it up to be. You were nauseous 90% of the time. You were constantly bloated and sick feeling, with spider veins popping up on your legs. If your second pregnancy had been your first, Maria would be an only child. Risotto never minded. He still found it hard to believe that there was something in there. And it was his. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Because to him you were.

Maria would curl up next to you and not quite understand why your stomach would sometimes kick her. The other one wasn't even born yet and they're already fighting. You know you won't have a nice, quiet house for much longer. And the two of you are fine with that. If your youngest is anything like their sister, you'll have your hands full. Risotto's headstrong nature with your stubbornness is a deadly combination.

But he wants a big family and the loud house that comes with it.

Every night he has to have his arms around you or else he can't sleep; even as the summer months arrive, and it becomes far too hot to cuddle. You've learned to stop scooting away since he'll always pull you back to him. Every night he would pull you into his arms, running his hands over the growing bump of your stomach.

One night he pulls you extra close. The nightmares haven't stopped, he's only quit reacting to them. Waking up next to you grounds him in reality. He distracts himself with housework, or decorating the nursery. You settled on a shade of lilac for the walls. In the crib- which was painted a pale blue- was filled with strange stuffed toys. There was a cat, a fish, an ice gremlin, and some purple monster with a lot of eyes. "I'm only giving them options" you'd say. An old, ornate mirror pulled from your old home was hung up. It was a wedding gift from Prosciutto, and likely the most expensive thing you owned at the time. "They'd need one when they're older" you'd reason.

You can't seem to sleep either. Risotto rolls over in bed to face you. Instinctively you brush the stray hairs out of his face.

"Have any names picked out?" He asks.

Though you had planned this long before he even agreed to it, names weren't something you'd given much thought.

"I do. I know it's really strange to name them after food but," you don't even have to finish the sentence for him to know where you're going with this, "how about Prosciutto, or Pesci? Or Ghiacco, Melone..."

Formaggio, Illuso, Sorbet, Gelato...

He only nods. He'd never admit it, but your old squad was his family. Back then, neither of you would dare to say such a thing. At the time they were only strangers forced into the same fate. Your teammates were never meant to be family. Losing them sent him spiraling into a pit he's still recovering from. You go on in their memory because they would bully the hell out of you for stopping to feel sorry for yourself. If they were still alive, your children would be the two most well protected kids on earth. They'd have eight uncles all willing to kill for them.

"What if they're a girl?" He asks.

"It's a boy."

The way you say it with such certainty makes him laugh, the noise coming from deep in his chest. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

While you were waiting until they were born to find out the gender, you had the sneaking suspicion they were going to be a boy. Maybe your mother pointed out that one of your breasts hung lower than the other- while absolutely uncalled for- meant they were a boy.

Eventually you would settle on what Risotto's name was before he joined Passione: Dante. Nobody called him that- not even you. Just as he rarely called you by your birth name. He wouldn't even speak it, writing it down for you when asked. That was not who either of you were anymore. The old versions of you died when you were assigned to the hitman team.

You would go into labor a week early. To no one's surprise, you would have a son. A healthy- albeit small- boy with a tuft of silver hair. The moment you're allowed to, you pass him off to his father. It's clear Risotto has no clue what he's doing, but he looks at your son like he's the most precious thing in the world. He's so tiny compared to him. He kind of looks like an old man... But Risotto won't tell you that.

You'd be released from the hospital a few days later.

Sometimes you wonder if your children will grow up to be stand users. They have to be- both their parents are. You had little understanding of how- or why- you had a stand, only gaining yours after being shot with a bow of all things. It was sort of a promise you made to yourself to never use yours. You were keeping yourself out of trouble, as tempting as it was to start it.

You hadn't seen Metallica in years. You missed the days when you could embarrass Risotto by calling them cute.

Dante wasn't a quiet child. For seemingly no reason, he would scream until he exhausted himself. Only then would he sleep. Lucky for you, Maria could sleep through anything, so she wasn't bothered by him. You brought him to doctors but they would all tell you this was normal. He was eating, gaining weight, and growing as a child should. There was nothing they could do for you.

Most nights Risotto would get up for the baby. He told you it was so you'd heal faster, and that if Dante needed to eat he'd bring him to you. But you didn't buy it. Risotto was still over the moon that something so little was his. Speaking from experience, he wouldn't be tiny for very long. Maria was nearly able to look you in the eye and that is far too much power for a six-year-old to have. You weren't even that short, she was tall; it didn't help that your husband was nearly a foot taller than you.

There's enough light in the room to make out Risotto's large figure and the bundle of blankets in his arms. Metallica's writhing form is visible in the reflection of Dante's eyes. His pudgy hand outstretched, grabbing onto the Metallica beans, trying to catch them.

Not only was your child loud, but he was a stand user too. And you had the sneaking suspicion he wasn't the only one.

Good luck. You're going to have your hands full.

#jjba #jjba x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #golden wind #risotto nero #risotto nero x reader #risotto x reader #jojo part 5

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 years ago

Text

some kind of loud, attention grabbing noise that lets you know ITS FIC TIME, BABYYYYY you could start here, but the context... the build up.. the hours of worldcrafting, you'd miss it all... so start here, instead, then circle back.

These last two weeks have actually been nice. She and Adam had both mutually agreed that, despite not being the kind of person either of them would intentionally seek out on their own, Beetlejuice (she still has a hard time believing that’s what BJ stands for, but okay,) is fun. Not just fun, but funny, and seemingly often in the mood to laugh, in that overblown, Vincent Price horror movie way he does, which earns him multiple shushes in the library.

Drama club has gotten better. Barbara has a private theory that what most people need is to just get used to BJ, to spend enough time with him that he stops looking like an outsider, and it’s coming true, slowly, but finally. BJ had mentioned off-handedly he played ukulele, and when the other kids had expressed interest, he’d brought it with him the next day... Though she’s not quite sure where he kept it, the entire day. She’s seen that mess of a locker he’s got. She doubts it fits in there. And it can’t have been in his backpack, either, because every time he sets it down, she can hear what sounds like glass and rocks settling. She’s even seen him, after school, pick up a rock and shove it in one of the pockets. She has to assume his bag weighs a hundred pounds, or so.

His instrument, almost predictably, was painted with black and white stripes, but he’d played the little thing like a pro. She had never taken him for someone who enjoyed the mellow, soft sounds the ukulele was known for, but clearly, she doesn’t know enough about the boy. Miss Larson, the drama instructor, had clapped, and learned that BJ could read music, too. “Maybe while we’re practicing, you can accompany us?” She’d asked, clearly trying to work a way into getting more participation out of their newest member. BJ had been flustered, but had agreed, easily.

The wildest thing had been hearing him sing. They’d moved from being in the drama room, most days, to being in the auditorium, working on lines and practicing their singing. No one’s been officially cast, yet, but it’s mostly to get used to being on stage. Miss Larson had insisted that BJ sing a few lines for them, and he’d sort of made a face, ducked backstage, and had appeared with his ukulele in hand. Barbara didn’t even know he’d put it back there.

“Uh, so, sing what?” He’d shuffled awkwardly, and Miss Larson had smiled. “Whatever you feel,” to which BJ just snorted, and rolled his eyes, but then he plucked a few notes on his ukulele, and started to sing.

“There’s a camp, there’s a camp, by the frozen lake, wa wa ooh. With every belly starving and every finger numb, but up on the hill there’s a red, red rum, somebody’s always cooking something in the lean-to.”

It wasn't a song she’d recognized, but it was clearly morbid. She shouldn’t have expected anything different. The real focal point was his voice, his strange, scratchy pitch, because despite sounding like he gargles sandpaper and nails, he’s got a strong, clear tone, one that carries well, and as he sings, he doesn’t hit a single sour note. She also noted that his enunciation is much clearer when he’s singing, oddly enough. He sang as much as he decided he needed to, and clung to his ukelele as he finished, like a lifeline. “So. Yeah.” He’d said, and then flinched when the clapping started, from all members present, but especially her and Adam. He’d stood looking around at them all, utterly baffled.

“You didn’t tell us you would sing!” Jeremiah, the student director, was the one who looked the most enthused, and BJ balked. “Didn’t think it mattered. M’just gonna be a stagehand.. Right?”

“Maybe he could play the dentist?” Miss Larson had looked at Jeremiah, and they’d begun talking amongst themselves, ignoring him, as he strummed nervously at his instrument.

“Oh, wait, check this out!”

And he sings again, another verse from that same, oddly morbid song, which she’d started to pick up is definitely about cannibals, but his voice is.. Different. The grit is gone. It’s like he’d ran his vocal cords under some hot soapy water, and washed all the grime and gravel out of them, because he sang like an angel, like a normal person, and then, suddenly, devolved into a hacking cough, doubled over.

“Sorry, can only do that so long. Hurts my throat,” he said, after a moment, all the grit back in his voice. He waited. There had been a soft laugh, and then it grew louder, coming from each of the members watching him in turn, because the idea that speaking like THAT somehow hurts, and his normal tone doesn’t, is just so outrageous and silly, and he’d stood there proudly, grinning in that way he does, because his joke had landed, and he might, for the first time since he was forced into their club, be enjoying himself.

So, yes. The last few weeks have been good. Very good.

All that club progress aside, looking back makes her a little flustered, because at this point, she’s gotten the hint that he’s not gay. What he is, is incredibly flirty, not only with Adam but with her, and she finds herself... enjoying it. He keeps his ukulele tucked into the bottom of the cart in the library, and sometimes, when he’s certain he won’t be interrupted, he grabs it and sings little songs about them, laying on top of the cart like a drunk lounge singer on a piano, as she or Adam wheel it along. The songs are made up on the spot tunes that often start dirty, and end sincere, like he can’t even help it. It’s embarrassing, and endearing, and just very… Beetlejuice.

There’s just the problem lingering overhead, the one she’s desperate to solve, of Kevin. BJ doesn’t talk about him, abruptly changes the subject when she tries, or just goes silent, and gives her a hard glare with those amber eyes, which is the worst of the three options, because silence on him is unnerving. He can do this thing where he goes deathly still, and she swears he doesn’t even breathe, just stands there, totally unmoving, like a corpse.

She thinks if she could just go to his house, and talk to his mother, she might get a better understanding of the entire situation, but despite him inviting them, he’s never followed up, and both Adam and herself are too polite to push.. Directly. But then, he doesn’t show up that day, not for library duty and not for drama club, and she makes the decision for him, that today is the day they’ll be coming over. She gets his address out of the guidance counselor, easily. “It’s so sweet you two want to go check up on him,” Mrs. Birch says, sliding his address across her desk to Barbara. “I knew the drama club would be a good fit for him! He’s already making friends!”

Adam’s mom is nice enough to drop them off, and Adam, adorable, sweet Adam, stares delighted at the house, as they walk up the front steps. “It’s a tudor!” he tells her, and she sort of nods, not really knowing exactly what that means. “I’ve never seen one painted black and white, before. Usually those accents are a natural wood color,” and she rings the bell, as he goes on. The outside of the house matches BJ’s stripes, and she wonders if that’s coincidence, or if his parents just really, really love him. The door swings open, and then a chubby blur jumps away from their line of sight, startling her from her thoughts. “Beetlejuice?” Adam calls, concerned, and it takes a moment for their friend to reappear in the doorway, with a croaked out, “Sup?”

He looks terrible. He always looks a little terrible, as mean as that is to say, too pale and with purple spots under his eyes she chalks up to exhaustion, but he looks worse, today. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d actually be sick.

“We just wanted to come by and see if you were okay,” she tells him, and BJ cocks his head so far to the side, he looks like he might fall over. “Why?” “Because.. We’re your friends,” Adam says, cautiously, which causes BJ to stare down at the checkered entryway tile.

“Oh.” He packs a lot of emotion into that little noise.

“Can we come in?” She asks, and he doesn’t look sure, rubbing at the back of his neck, but then next to him, in the doorway, appears what must be Mrs. Deetz. She’s on the tall side, slim, with blonde hair past her shoulders, and she’s wearing all black with lace accents. Even her stud earrings and the rings on her fingers are that same dark hue.

“Well, hello! BJ, invite your friends in!” She urges him, and then, to them asks, “You kids hungry? We’re just sitting down to dinner. It’s grilled cheese tower night,” and then she turns, and leaves them there, like that needs no explanation.

BJ fidgets a moment, but relents. “Come in, I guess,” he moves aside, and Adam and Barbara take a collective step into the Deetz household. The house is dark, not for lack of light, but for lack of color. The walls are paneling which Adam, delighted, says must be original, but they’ve been stained a dark shade of coffee, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. When she does, she takes in how strangely eerie the place is. It’s less like someone’s home and more like a haunted house ride.

“Oh, you guys haven't taken down the Halloween décor, yet?” Adam asks, noting a cracked vase full of black roses on a side table as they follow BJ further in, and BJ snorts. “That crap? It's up in th’ attack. This is what passes for normal around here.” Barbara stops to stare at a picture of a distorted figure cannibalizing a smaller one. “Saturn Devouring His Son,” BJ says, briefly putting on a voice like a tour guide, high pitched and peppy, and both she and Adam wince. “What’s with you and cannibalism?” she asks, which only earns her that haunted laugh in response.

The kitchen, at least, looks a little more normal and bright, but Barbara learns quickly that’s not to be trusted, because sitting on the counter is what looks to be a lasagna made from sandwiches and sauce. “You guys are here on a night Emily had to cook. Bad luck,” BJ tells them, and it takes her a moment to realize he’s talking about his mother. Does he use her first name?

Emily, or, Mrs. Deetz, her mind corrects politely, busies herself with dishing them both a plate. “So, you kids must be.. Adam and Barbara,” she says, knowingly, and BJ, perhaps embarrassed, shuffles his bare feet at nothing. He’s been talking to his mom about them… aww. She notices then that he’s in his pajamas, which are, like everything else he wears, eccentric. He looks cute. She realizes she’s staring, and BJ catches her eye, and wiggles his eyebrows at her. Oh, god.

“We’re sorry for dropping by unannounced, Mrs. Deetz,” Adam says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and Mrs. Deetz waives that off. “It’s totally fine. BJ’s never taken a sick day, before, I bet you probably thought he was faking. You kids can call me Emily. And that, of course, is Lydia.” She gestures to the nine year old scrutinizing them from the kitchen table.

“Hello again,” Barbara says, and Lydia gives her a smile, at least, but it's wary, it’s very, “I’ve got my eyes on you.” It’s strange to see from a little kid.

They all sit down to eat, all five of them, at the kitchen table, she and Adam settled across from BJ and Lydia. Adam squints, trying to read what’s on the other boy’s shirt. “What does that say?” he asks, and BJ glances down, and pulls the top taught, to make it easier to read. “Least exciting hole I’ve ever been in,” both boys say, at the same time. “Grand Canyon National Park.” Barbara and Adam both blush at that, and Mrs.. Emily, Emily just laughs. Lydia looks annoyed. “No one will explain to me what that means,” she tells Barbara, leaning closer to her, and almost looking hopeful. Barbara avoids that look. “It’s a dirty joke,” is all she says, and Lydia, clearly not satisfied, just takes a bite of her grilled cheese abomination. “Chuck hates this shirt,” BJ tells them. “Chuck?” “Chuck, Chuckster, Chuckles, Charles.. My dad,” he grates out. Barbara can’t imagine calling her father by his first name. She’d be in a world of trouble for being “disrespectful,” if she tried. “Is Mr. Deetz home?” Adam asks, and Lydia is the one to reply, mouth still a little too full.

“He’s at the office. He’s always working so fucking late,” Lydia says, and then lets it settle in the air, like she’s waiting for something. Barbara balks, and it feels like her eyes are bulging out of her head, because she’s never heard that kind of language from a nine year old. She glances at Emily nervously, waiting for her to blow up, to be angry, but Emily just seems to be in deep thought.

“I dunno about that one, Lyds,” Mrs. Deetz finally says, and Lydia puffs up her chest and tries again. “He’s always working so god damn late?” She looks to her mother, and Emily, finger on her chin, nods. “Yeah, alright. I hereby decree that Lydia Deetz, at the age of nine and a half, is allowed to say god damn.” Lydia pumps her fist and then takes another huge mouthful of grilled cheese casserole. “Bout fuckin’ time,” BJ grunts. Barbara thinks the Deetz family might all be whack jobs. there's more, a lot more, but tumblr can't handle it all, so read this chapter in full over on Ao3!

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice the musical #goldenrat #beetlelands #barbara maitland #adam maitland #lydia deetz #emily deetz

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philliamwrites · 4 years ago

Text

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.4]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

Chapter 04: Demands of the Faithful

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope.

[Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H.]

“I’m glad you could make time,” Byleth says, carefully placing her fine cup on the small bottom plate. If she notices how uncomfortable you feel, sitting in the centre of the yard, drinking tea, she ignores it. “Let’s think together about what we want to teach during the mock battle.”

“This is a bad idea,” you say, nibbling on your cup. “A very bad idea.”

The late afternoon hours are quiet, but it certainly helps that the tea arrangement is tugged away in a far off corner in the courtyard, hidden behind tall hedges that allow privacy. The sweet smell of chamomile tea and strawberry pastry is a nice exchange from the usual savoury smells you’re used to in the cafeteria. All around you, the high, spiky roofs of the monastery’s towers stand out against the fiery, orange sky, throwing longer and longer shadows as the sun sets behind the mountains. The clouds are soft, pink cotton-candy, blushing at the warm touch of the sun.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Byleth continues, cutting through a piece of cake with her fork. “We’ve seen what the house leaders are capable of. It’s time to see what the rest of the students can do.”

“Don’t take me wrong. I think a mock battle will help them grow,” you agree. “I just don’t really understand why it’s me who has to lead the Blue Lions.”

“I think Professor Hanneman is not present at the day of the mission,” Byleth explains. “It seems on the last day of Lone Moon he always leaves the monastery for a private reason. And I assume Lady Rhea means to see the extent of your power.”

That’s what you expected as well. In the last couple of days you realised your power is a muscle, to be exercised daily, never to be pushed to the extreme. It was a strenuous task to try out how much is too much; where there’s still room. Under the keen eyes of Hanneman, you two practised day after day, trying to figure out how much your body can take before exhaustion sweeps over you and renders you immobile. Crests usually don’t have a limit; depending on their nature they grant a permament boost to the bearer’s abilities. Muttering under his breath, Hanneman had made quite a show to remind you what a curiosity the Crest of the Herald is. Like you wouldn’t know.

“Since we’re going to be on the field as well, you might want to get more practice with the sword,” Byleth proposes, and you groan. She has a way of being brutally honest, and so far no one’s been spared to get the brunt of it. “I’m not letting my students hold back. Not even against you.”

“You really are a voice of confidence, you know.” Shoulders drooping like someone took the wind from your sails, you throw your head back and drink the rest of your tea. Byleth’s expression doesn’t change, and you wonder why you even try being funny around her.

After clearing the table, Byleth accompanies you to your next lesson hall. It’s nice in theory, but her vigorous way of trying to drill sword techniques into your head on the way doesn’t hide her true agenda. Only slowly, you begin to realise that is maybe her way of caring for someone. Brutish in appearance, but once you look past the first impression of indifference, Byleth’s silent demeanour speaks louder than words.

Students linger in small groups in front of the class rooms, their exhausted faces from a full day of lessons and hard training visible in the way they carry their bodies. If you had a say in it, you’d cancel the evening lessons and let them rest; a reoccurring debate inside the faculty that doesn’t go anywhere. Byleth stops in front of the class room, surveying the students with a cool gaze, when suddenly Claude and Hilda jog towards you, and by “jogging” they decided Hilda to be the only one running while carrying Claude bridal style like he weighs nothing. As they pass you, Claude tips an invisible hat in your direction, calling “Hey, teach,” and then immediately “Bye, teach!” as they cross the courtyard.

Your gaze follows them. “What just happened.”

Byleth doesn’t even bother to look. “Claude and Hilda happened.”

Heavens, you don’t know if you’re able to handle them later.

After exchanging goodbyes with Byleth, you tackle the next forty minutes with a belly full of sweets and a mind occupied with worrying about everything you might do wrong next week. Forming two groups, you hand out two different manoeuvres you dug out of books, and present the task, “Work out the pros and cons of each battle tactic, and present them to the class. Explain where you would have done things differently, and why.”

Sylvain raises his hand.

“Yes, you can leave to bathroom breaks without asking me,” you say.

Sylvain drops his hand. Then raises it again.

“No, you can’t bring animals you find on your way back to your seat,” you say.

He drops his hand. Beside him, Ingrid fails to stifle a groan.

Twenty minutes later, the first group stands in front of the class. Mercedes’s steady hand draws the perfect copy of the manoeuvre on the chalk board while Annette recites every step flawlessly. They’re a powerful combination, and that’s only half owed to their friendship. Mercedes is soft; she’s the silk hiding the dagger that Annette’s sharp mind is. There’s strength in kindness, and both have honed this ability to a razor-sharp weapon. There’s still a pouch of unfinished cookies Mercedes has baked for you left in your room, something to keep in mind for the next tea hour with Byleth. Felix and Dedue don’t add much, and you’re a little afraid to ask, seeing how Felix’s eyes burn holes in the back of Dedue’s head. There’s been rumours going on about a dispute, but no details, and you gladly leave that sort of teacher-student business to Hanneman.

The remaining students do their job almost just as good. But the thought of children being so confident in ways of war and killing leaves a painful twinge in your chest. You wonder what will become of them all in a few years, what battles they will win. What battles they will lose—this fear lingers at the edges of your consciousness like an ever-present shadow. To push it away, you try to refocus on the task at hand.

“Look at the battalions you have,” you advise, tapping a finger against the cool surface of the board. It comes away white with chalk, leaving a white smudge on your robe as you wipe it off. “Where are they placed?”

Ashe clears his throat. “Two Lance Soldiers, that’s Infantry. One Magic Squadron, also Infantry. The latter is stationed far northeast on that island. Two Pegasus Corpses, which are Flying Types. We put them behind the mountains to ambush the enemies on their way to one of our Infantries.”

“A good idea in theory,” you acknowledge, and don’t miss how Ashe exhales in relief. “And where are you enemies?”

“They’re facing our Infantry and the Squadron,” Dimitri steps in now. “The Flying Unit engage from the back. After their victory, Infantry and Flying close the last opposite unite off on the bridge, and join the Magic Squadron in fighting.”

“Okay, okay,” you nod. “And now look at the terrain of this last unit you want to take on from the front and back. The one on the bridge moving towards the Squadron.”

The room is quiet for a minute, and then a silent “Oh” from Ashe.

“Yes. Oh. The Magic Squadron moves slower through the woods. You’ll lose them. And one of the Lance units is probably the next to go.” You draw sharp lines across the board with red chalk, changing the battalion’s movements. One goes across the whole board, crossing out the word Sea. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to have your Pegasus Companies move this way across the water, join the Magic Squadron and then close in from the right to join the Infantries?”

“But Herald.” Ingrid raises her hand, but doesn’t wait for you to pick her. “If Infantry and Flying take out the first enemy, we’ll still win. The remaining unit will be trapped on the island without a possibility to retreat. Wouldn’t it be wiser to sacrifice the Magic Squadron just for that?”

“I agree with Ingrid,” says Sylvain. He’s sitting on a desk, and swings his legs back and forth. “With or without them, we won the battle, and that’s what matters.”

You turn back to scan the manoeuvre one more time. They’re right—blocking the enemy’s escape routes off proves a solid guarantee to win, and yet you’ve somewhat hoped they wouldn’t settle on this option. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, turning your lips upside down as if you’ve bitten into a lemon.

“Sometimes, you don’t want to win the battle,” you start slowly, the thought blossoming from a dark place deep inside you. “Sometimes you want as many as possible to live.” Which is easier said than done, and no one in the room agrees on your statement because they know just as much that such a choice isn’t always granted. Before the silence stretches on too long, you quickly add, “I guess it is more important to know there is no right or wrong answer. You make decisions later on that will either grant you victory or death, and you will have to live with those decisions.”

Unanimous murmur sounds from the students, a topic nobody wants to dwell on too long, and you grant them that wish; this precious little time they’re still allowed to be children and make mistakes before responsibilities catch up to them. The rest of the lesson flies past without disturbances, and when the bells announce the break, they jump from their seats and scurry outside.

“Don’t forget there’s going to be a test after the mock battle,” you call after them, knowing they’ll forget anyway and then boycott. The Lions are finally done with lessons, but there is the Deer House who have the misfortune to attend the last period of the day. As you prepare their unit of instruction on different terrains, Dimitri approaches you, his expression a mixture between confidence and tension.

“Herald.” He stops in front of your desk, shoulders squared into a declaration of deference. “I have prepared instructions on everyone’s weaknesses and strengths. Please, do consider to take a look. Since one of the rules is that only six units will be stationed on the field, I hope this will make your decision easier who to choose.” Placing the papers with outmost care on your table, Dimitri hesitates a moment before continuing, “What you said earlier … truth be told, I think the same. To limit the loss of lives as much as possible should be a priority to a leader as well. To hear that from someone like you … I was quite glad.”

“Someone like me,” you repeat, but you’re more surprised to feel your fingers itch to take the papers and get a first read on everyone. After going through similar notes from Linhardt, you’re now excited to learn more about your proteges, and with luck someone from the Golden Deer students might provide you with a first survey as well.

“Someone responsible for tactics and strategy,” Dimitri quickly clarifies. “Someone tasked with bringing absolute victory.” He gives you a look that is somehow both caressing and calculating at the same time. “I understand that those sometimes compete with one’s own beliefs regarding the value of life. One’s conscience is as much of a weapon as a sharpened blade. If it breaks, what use is there to a person.”

“Those are … some mature thoughts.” You don’t know where this observation goes. Of course he is mature, he has to be as the successor of a noble lineage. “For someone your age.” You press your mouth into a thin line, cursing your inability to think of a better response. But Dimitri simply smiles—a smile that is like a light suddenly being turned on in every room of a dark house.

“Oh, but I do not want to bore you with such matters. I just wanted to add, I really do look forward to have you on our side during the mock battle.” He gives a little courtesy bow. “Let us discuss the details on the day before the mission. A good evening to you, Herald.”

Dimitri leaves with a little bounce to his step. It’s probably better he’s in high spirits, even though you aren’t sure what exactly made him happy. It would be a real shame to extinguish his excitement by being an utter failure during the battle, so you make sure to read whatever he managed to put together about his classmates as soon as possible. There’s still some minutes left before the first Deer students will enter. Exhaustion lulls you into resting your eyes, and the moment your head is cradled in your arms, you doze off.

It’s the third time you have this dream after joining the Officer’s Academy, though calling it a ‘dream’ is a stretch—there is nothing happening, nothing to see. Only white, as pure and unblemished as a young lily blossom in early spring. Only this time this picture—maybe a memory, but of what or where you can’t say—is different.

Wake up, a voice whispers, barely recognisable and dull, spoken behind a wall of water. Wake up.

Your hands weigh a ton. Unable to reach out and grasp it, the dream blurs, slipping through your fingers like sand.

Wake up.

“Herald, wake up,” Claude persists. “You’re drooling on my test papers.”

His hand brushes your shoulder and you jump, all focus on the dream dispersing. Multiple voices fill the room in a shower of sounds, not helping to regain your senses of where you are. It doesn’t help that your right eye throbs dully, and as you rub it to somehow reduce the sensation, white spots dance across your vision.

“So sorry, Herald,” Claude smirks with his hand still hovering over your shoulder. “Didn’t mean to wake you from your beauty rest, but Hilda planned to draw obscene things on your face, and we can’t have that now, can we.”

“Liars never prosper, Claude!” comes Hilda’s response from somewhere in the back of the room. You groan, narrowing your eyes at him. Going back to sleep and stumbling about to try and figure out what’s going on sounds more pleasing than dealing with Claude’s shenanigans.

“Man, what a bummer you won’t join our House during the mock battle,” he continues as if Hilda hasn’t said anything. “If someone asked me, I think to have you fight for the Blue Lions is cheating.”

“But no one asked you?” you offer, indulging him with a weak smile.

“The audacity, right?” Claude rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, leaning against the teacher’s desk. “Just imagine the brilliant schemes we two could work out. Oh, I have an amazing idea. How about you ask Lady Rhea—”

“I’m not asking to be by your side during the battle.”

“Ouch.” Claude places a hand over his chest, right above his heart. “Immediately shut down. Who knew our dearest Herald would be such a heart breaker.”

You shoo him away, not only because he’s getting on your nerves, but there’s also Ignatz and Raphael standing in line, waiting for your attention.

“We’ve heard the students from the other Houses gave you some insight in their abilities,” Ignatz says, tugging a stack of papers to his chest. “We decided to give you one as well.”

“I’m sure you’ll like them,” Raphael chimes in, looking more excited than usual. “I gave Ignatz instructions on how to make our report the best. Forget boring words, Herald, we’ve prepared the real deal!” He rips the papers from Ignatz’s hands and slams them on your table. A crack sounds on the underside, and Raphael leans his whole weight upon the surface, completely oblivious to the protesting creak of the wood.

“Here, we started with Claude, since he’s the big shot and all that,” he explains, opening the first page. It shows Claude, a surprisingly accurate portrait of him, if not a little bit scrawny. He’s wielding a bow, nocking multiple arrows. Seems like Raphael wasn’t the only one giving instructions.

“And here is Leonie, and there’s Lorenz, and oh! That’s us working together as a team!” Raphael beams as he turns the page. In this picture, everyone is assembled, fighting against angry looking soldiers and horned monsters. There’s Lysithea and Marianne shooting lightning bolts from their hands, zapping their opponents. Raphael is carrying a huge stone, on top of it stands Hilda, wielding a mighty axe.

“These are the most accurate file reports I’ve seen,” you say for lack of better words. “It really is a shame I can’t join you for the mock battle.”

“There’s gonna be a next time, no worries!” Raphael gives you a thumbs up, then retreats to his seat, Ignatz by his side. They’re a funny duo, not just because of their different build. Their personalities seem the complete opposite, and yet strangely fit like a child’s box to sort blocks into the right shapes.

The difference between the Golden Deers and Blue Lions, for one, is the noise level. Instead of waiting for you to call them up one by one, they love to shout answers whenever they see fit. Judging who was the first isn’t really easy when four people scream at the same time, so you’ve given up on that—Claude’s policy whoever screams loudest didn’t help all too much as well. Maybe it’s time to ask Byleth about some tips how to handle them. When the bell tolls for the last time for this day, announcing everyone to be relieved of their work, the student clear out faster than during fire drills, leaving you with a turmoil of thoughts and worries and two little voices bickering about how much of a disaster next week is going to be.

After seven days and nights of restless sleep and vigorous training under the vicious supervision of Byleth, the green fields stretching before you end boarding on lush woods, its treetops protruding into the sky. It’s a wonderful day you would enjoy much more without knowing this is a battle field, and the people behind you wait for your command.

“Black Eagle and Golden Deer are in position. Captain Jeralt said the mock battle begins in roughly ten minutes.” Dedue gives you an expectant look, and you give him a curt nod, your mouth dry.

“Thanks. We’ll have a last briefing. After that, we’ll deploy our units.”

Dedue joins his classmates, leaving you to your troubled thoughts. With luck, none of your opponents will reach you, and you won’t have to fight. It’s as if you can feel Byleth’s taste for your blood all across the field, even though right now she’s just a blurry, dark blob in the distance, surrounded by her students.

“Do not worry, Herald.” The hard metal of a gauntlet on your shoulder makes you flinch, backing away from Dimitri. The worry on his face is a mirror of your own, albeit for different reasons. “Everyone will do their best to follow your orders, and fight with everything they've got. Your leadership will lead us to victory.”

“Oh, yeah!” You don’t meet his eyes. “For sure.” Zero pressure and all that. You don’t say that, seeing that most of the students don’t appear to be as nervous as you. Confidence is key, and even though you see none of it in tangible proximity, you can at least fake it until you make it.

Six minutes left. With a deep breath, you try to get hold of yourself, and face the Lions.

“Since we don’t know who will be deployed by Manuela and Byleth, prepare for everything. I want to split the group. Dimitri, Dedue and Mercedes move to the northern forest. Felix, Sylvain, you’re moving west with me.”

Felix pulls a grimace, but before he can say anything, Sylvain throws an arm around his shoulders and leans on him, gracing you with a full grin. “We got your back, Herald.” He earns a whack on his back from his friend.

“Why are we splitting up if our plan is to take out each group separately?” Dedue inquirers. “Isn’t that what we agreed on before?”

“I think the Herald plans to let our opponents think we plan on taking them both on at the same time.” Dimitri throws a quick glance at you. “We’ll draw them in our direction, and once they are near, we close in from both sides.”

You nod. “Precisely. We know the Black Eagles will start far north from us. The Golden Deers are northwest. As soon as one of them moves towards us, we’ll have to defeat them immediately. It will be easier fighting one House, not both at the same time.”

“Look at you, Your Highness.” Sylvain pats him on the shoulder, looking proud. “Someone’s been paying attention in class!”

“Sylvain—” Dimitri’s chiding meets deaf ears as Sylvain already turns away, checking his lance for a last time. But he does beam a little, you think. Or maybe it’s just the sun making everything look much brighter. It’ll go into your report nonetheless. Chances of a victory look good—even if you have to retreat, the Blue Lions might make it on their own.

The bressy sound of a horn echoes across the valley, reverberating in your bones. The mock battle begins.

The weight of the wooden training sword hanging from your hip is foreign; it’s as though you only expect to trip over it. Determined to keep it in its holster, you approach the grove, flanked by Sylvain and Felix—and not a minute too soon. Moving towards you is the first line of enemies, Ignatz, Lorenz and Marianne.

“I think they didn’t see us—” Sylvain starts just as the first arrow flies past his head and hits the trunk beside him with a thunk. For safety purposes, all arrow’s tips are wrapped up in stiff cloth, not intended to leave permanent wounds but surely still capable to deliver nasty bruises like the training swords and lances.

“I think they saw us—” Sylvain’s brilliant new observation ends in a yelp as Felix shoves him out of the line of fire.

“Get down, dumbass!”

You three duck behind bushes and trees, cautiously observing how the others advance, their weapons drawn.

“I’ll go for Ignatz,” you say. “Felix, you’re fast enough to reach Marianne and take her down before she starts healing everyone.”

“Fine, we’ll try your plan.” Felix has his sword drawn already, gripping it tight enough his knuckles turn white. “Try not to get kicked out too soon, will you.”

You blow a strand of hair from out of your eyes, squinting at his back as he jumps out of cover. The last couple of weeks you’ve put in some extra hours of sword practice with Felix. As an exceptional swordsman, noble and diligent in his training unlike anyone else—safe maybe for Dimitri—you imagined no one could teach you as much as possible in the short amount of time until the mission. It took some convincing, but the decisive argument that sold him was your desire to become better to finally have at least a chance against Byleth. If she is stern during practice, Felix is vicious, exploiting the tiniest opening you give in order to make you learn from your mistakes. Your body was a medley of pain and aches after every evening, but now the memory of that very same melody is your marching song towards battle. Then there’s always the knowledge that if you three can distract them long enough before the rest of the Golden Deer students arrive, Dimitri and the rest will close in on your position, and taking down your opponents won’t be difficult.

“Sylvain, Lorenz is yours.”

He answers with a simple salute, grip tight around his training lance, and as you both follow Felix out in the open, an image flickers before you, there and gone like a flame going out with a last glint. An arrow, headed straight at you. Your body moves in instinct, dodging the projectile not a second too late. Judging from the direction of its origin, Ignatz must be just beyond the rocks only a few hundred yards away. You throw a MiasmaΔ in his direction, the black ball carving its path across the grasslands. It hits the stone, chipping parts away and revealing Ignatz, crouching behind it. He looks up, dirt on his cheeks, and adjusts his glasses before ducking out of his cover, another arrow already ready on his bow.

Another arrow hits him on his back, hard enough to get him down on his knees. Mercedes’ accuracy isn’t as good as Ashe’s, but the determination carved into her face makes up for lack of skill. Dimitri and Dedue are right on her heels, but a single look thrown over your shoulder shows that Felix and Sylvain have everything under control. Coming out victorious as well, save for Sylvain pressing a hand against his ribs, they were still complete. The knowledge of that makes you sigh in relief, a new surge of hope soaring inside you.

“I knew we shouldn’t have listened to Claude’s dubious plan.” Lorenz’s bickering is still audible, even as the three proceed to leave the battle grounds to meet up with Jeralt. You’re really curious to see what exactly Claude had in mind, but diverting your focus for just a second could become dangerous. Instead, you turn towards the students.

“Stay close,” you order, waiting until Mercedes is finished checking Sylvain's injuries. “We’re going to move further towards the Golden Deers and eliminate them first.” Flexing your fingers against the slow growth of getting used casting spells, your group begins to move further north.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Dimitri buckling and unbuckling his spear from his back. Out of lack for the right words, and because the first rush of adrenaline still courses through your body, you jostle against him, wearing a grin on your face.

“Look lively, Your Highness,” you advise. “All that nervous fumbling isn’t what a leader is supposed to do.”

A tiny gasps leaves him, more an exhale than anything else, but he turns towards you, slightly flushed. Bringing his hands to his sides, it’s too obvious he’s tensing his body so they don’t stray again—like a statue that’s on the edge of shattering at the tiniest movement.

“You’re right, of course.” He lowers his head a little. “I just keep thinking that the Black Eagle students wait for us in that direction as well. Some are surely moving towards us as we speak.”

“Are you worried about Byleth?” you wonder, and more as an afterthought add, “Or Edelgard?”

“Anyone who is not worried about Byleth is a fool, if you ask me,” he replies with a crease between his pale eyebrows. “And well, this is our first chance to prove ourselves, being the heirs to the ruling factions. I know Edelgard is exceptionally strong. And Claude surely has an ace up his sleeve. You are right, Herald. Nervousness is a sign of hesitation, of weakness. I will be better than that.” A new fire comes alive in his eyes as he strides onward, catching up to Mercedes and Sylvain to compliment her on the excellent shot from before.

The epiphany really comes only now, fast and hard like a lightning bolt, that these children will drink in everything you have to offer—advices, orders, simple words of encouragement—simply for the title that is strapped around your neck. The weight of that responsibility slows your steps, which allows for another worry to quickly catch up: has everything you have taught them so far been right? Do they really know how to exploit the advantages certain classes have over others; will a strategic retreat even occur to them in the right time before it’s too late.

Doubt is like poison, slowly eating you from the inside. This mock battle won’t just be a lesson for the students. It will also test if you have put them on the right path, and the realisation unfolds a new conviction inside you, breathing new wind into your sails.

You quickly catch up to them, another rush of encouraging words on your lips when another image flickers on and off, painting your sight red. You freeze, raising an arm, hand formed into a fist.

“Halt!” you shout, processing what you just saw. The students pause, forming a loose circle around you. The throbbing from before settles back in, more persistent now like someone’s knocking against the back of your skull to get your attention. You try to ignore that and focus on categorising every student’s ability in alphabetical order.

“Linhardt,” you gasp, eyes wide open and glued on Dedue.

The students exchange worried glances. Sylvain is the first to speak. “No, Herald,” he says. “Linhardt’s the pretty boy with all the books, you know. Who sleeps just about anywhere, like a cat. That’s our Dedue here.”

“No, I mean Linhardt has Nosferatu,” you quickly explain, flailing your hands in hope to express yourself better. It doesn’t look like it helps. “Linhardt is the only one left who can use Nosferatu, and he’s going to land a good hit on Dedue. And with good, I mean bad. If he hits you, you’re down, Dedue.” Because only that makes sense, as Marianne is already standing on the sidelines and you haven’t heard about anyone else learning the skill. Undoubtedly a Nosferatu will hit Dedue if you don’t change course or take the spell caster out first.

Dedue steps forward. “Should it give us an advantage against our enemy, I will gladly face the opponent and go down if it means it won’t interfere with our progress towards the Golden Deer students.”

“Sacrificing yourself for a mere praise from the boar, is that what you hope for?” Felix demands, or more like snarls, his handsome face crumpling into an ugly look of contempt. “Pathetic.”

“Sacrifice is a big word to throw around during a mock battle, don’t you think,” Sylvain unhelpfully throws in, his posture a little too relaxed in the light of the conflict that’s about to break out.

Dedue shakes his head. “I am simply fulfilling my duty,” he states. “Anything that will bring His Highness victory.”

“You would also run head first into an ambush and get yourself killed, is that it?” Felix grimaces. “Blindly following orders—”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough!” Your raised voice makes them pause, and you use that second to grab lead of the conversation. “We don’t even know if Linhardt is going to be alone or joined by other Eagle students. What do you think will your little act accomplish, Dedue?”

He sets his mouth into a grim, hard line, unable to come up with a satisfying answer that isn’t a repeat of what he just said.

“You’ll have a tough time going against Black Eagles with all their magic users, so stay with Dimitri. Go and deal with the rest of the Golden Deer students. And you—” You meet Felix’s glare with narrowed eyes. “A battlefield isn’t the place to throw around petty disagreements. You would do well to remember that.”

“Understood.” He rips the training sword from its holster. “But let me go take down that mage. I’ll cut him down swiftly.”

“We’ll go together. I’m not leaving any of you on your own. Take care of Claude,” you tell Dimitri, showing with a nod that you fully trust in his leading ability. “We’ll meet east from the barricades in exactly one hour.”

He doesn’t shy away from you glare. “Understood. Take care you two.”

Felix takes the lead with long, eager strides. As you follow him, you rub your eye, wincing at the pinprick-like pain. The dull throb doesn’t cease this time, and if you had to take a guess, there’s only once left for the Crest to activate before you reach your limit. So far, nothing has helped you to ascertain when exactly a foresight occurs, and leaving it to pure chance is like grasping a loose rope in hopes that it is tied to something somewhere as you take the leap. Maybe Hanneman will make more sense of it laters.

“You should have stayed with the others,” Felix says after a moment, scanning your surroundings for any sign of the enemy. It sounds more like a simple statement than an accusation. “I can handle someone like Linhardt on my own.”

“I said before, we don’t know if he’s alone. I highly doubt it.” It’s like Dimitri said before: Underestimating Byleth will surely end in casualties and defeat. You don’t consider it far-fetched that she has sent a non-magic class with Linhardt, but who that will be is left to be determined.

“No matter how many accompany him. Be it two or three or all of them, I will take them down.”

“It takes more than one person to win a war.” Though you don’t doubt Felix might try it by himself anyway. “You’ll notice soon enough that you will rely on your comrades.”

“I will rely on them as long as they don’t get in my way.”

“So charming,” you mumble to yourself as you two round a mound. It really is none of your business, but you're actually curious about what is going on between him and Dedue. The moment you finish outweighing the pros and cons of trying to go down that rabbit hole, the air around you changes, barely noticeable save for a change of wind—it completely stills for a second, but that is enough to realise what’s happening.

“Felix—” you manage before the Nosferatu explodes in front of you, knocking you to the ground. Before the mock battle, all magicians were instructed to weaken their spells; no lasting damage should befall any of the participants. Only because of that you manage to climb back on your feet, only left with dizziness that makes the world spin. The jarring sound of metal clashing against metal clears your mind a little, and when you turn around, Felix and Ferdinand are clashing blades.

You turn further, and there he is, a hand raised in your direction. “Sorry, Herald,” Linhardt says. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “The professor threatened with extra homework if we would hold back against you.”

“Of course she did,” you mumble, grabbing your sword with sweaty hands. Two against two is fair, and you have no doubt that Felix will hold his ground against Ferdinand. The only solution to your little problem named Linhardt is to get as close as possible, and make use of your advantage in meagre sword skills.

Another Nosferatu is sent your way, but this time you dodge, the hair on your neck standing on end. Somehow your body automatically shies away from Faith magic like a cat fleeing from water. Just one more hit will surely be enough to throw you out of the mock battle, and you can’t have that, not when the picture of Dimitri’s resolute expression is carved into your mind.

You close the distance, all nerves tensed in anticipation, completely focused on trying to feel where the next spell is going to land. As Linhardt retreats into the woods, his sight obscured by trees, you dive after him, shoving twigs out of your way. A shadow moves through the undergrowth; every muscle in your body locks up, but you plunge forward, sword raised—

Linhardt gasps when he finds himself pressed against a tree, your sword at his throat. With both hands up, he doesn’t move an inch, simply blinking at you. Somewhere above you, a bird cries out; a branch breaks. Linhardt makes a face like he jammed his foot in a door he slammed shut himself.

“I surrender,” he says. “Getting beat up and spending time in the infirmary doesn’t sound as good as reading tomes in the library.”

“You sure?” Your heart beats so loud in your chest, it’s a miracle it doesn’t break through your ribcage and fly off. “Byleth might drown you in homework for that.”

He shrugs. “I call it a strategic retreat. I’ll just have to—” A yawn. “—convince the professor.” Another yawn. You begin to see the ulterior motive behind his surrender. Squinting at him, you proceed to bind his hands with a dark spell. Black shackles appear around his wrists, locking them tight together. As you make your way out of the grove, you hope Felix had the same success.

That thought immediately dies when you return to the plain and see Jeralt heaving an unconscious Felix on the back of his horse, a battered Ferdinand by his side.

“Ah, Herald.” Even though beaten up black and blue, Ferdinand still manages a smile. It looks a little lopsided with his swollen cheek and the dried blood on his upper lip. “I don’t mean to offend, but I hope you return because Linhardt defeated you in mighty combat?” A second too late he sees the magic binds around Linhardt’s wrists. His face falls. “My, Linhardt.”

“You don’t quite look so good yourself,” Linhardt throws back without any heat in his voice. He sounds rather bored. Tired.

“Excuse me, but what happened. What’s wrong with Felix?” you ask, turning to Jeralt. Before he can answer, Ferdinand chimes in, “He fought splendidly! Though I had no doubt in that, he is a noble after all. Yet, after ringing me to the ground, he lost consciousness. By my honour as the heir of House Aegir, I cannot take advantage of that. We both shall step out of battle.”

“He passed out?” Now that you take a good look at him, he’s still pale, unhealthily so. Slick sweat glues his dark hair to his forehead, and the skin beneath his eyes shimmers slightly blue—lack of sleep.

“Overexertion, I guess,” Jeralt says now. He pulls Linhardt to his side, and gives his shackles a thoughtful look. “I’ll take these three with me. You go and continue the mock battle, Herald.”

“But…” It doesn’t feel right to leave Felix alone. Even though he technically isn’t, you imagine it would be better to wake up to a friendly face.

“He’ll be fine.” Jeralt gives you a strange sideway glance. “The other brats rely on you right now, don’t they? Go to them.”

He’s right, of course. The mission isn’t over yet, and with a strong combatant like Felix missing, victory has just slipped from your grasp.

There is the meeting point. There it is, and no student from the Lion House is in sight. The minutes pass in long stretches, ticking away until it’s impossible to tell if time moves on or holds still. Holding out between the trees, you look in both directions—for your comrades and the enemy. For whatever reason, Byleth has decided not to advance to your position, and you aren’t sure what that’s supposed to mean. More minutes pass in aggravating silence, heavy and oppressing, and then—

“Herald!” Dimitri’s voice rings through the woods. Your head snaps to him, and there they are, the Blue Lions tearing through the woods, a yellow flag with a deer on it waving behind them.

“You did it!” Joy and relief spreads through you as you stumble towards them. “You guys really did it!” They shuffle around you like kittens searching for warmth, and something tight uncoils inside your chest. Is this what Byleth always feels when she’s in front of her class?

“Hilda and Claude were mighty opponents, but nothing we couldn’t handle,” Dimitri reassures, but then a shadow jumps over his features. “Unfortunately, Mercedes had to leave. We couldn’t reach her in time to step in.”

“Step in,” Sylvain repeats, muttered under his breath as he brushes red locks from his sweaty forehead. “I want to see you stepping in when Hilda swings that axe like a lunatic and not scream like a little girl.”

“Where is Felix?” Dedue inquirers, ignoring Sylvain.

Your shoulders drop. “Well, Linhardt was accompanied by Ferdinand, and while I pursued Linhardt, they fought. None of them emerged unscathed, although I feel Felix drew the shorter straw.”

“Felix?” Dimitri repeats. He sounds as if you just tried to convince him it’s going to rain butterscotch pie later. “Our Felix lost?”

“Not exactly the fight, but I’m sure his pride took a hard beating.”

“Well, that leaves four against four.” Dimitri brings a hand up to his chin, a worry crease between his eyebrows. “And they still have Edelgard and the Professor.”

“And we got the Herald and you!” Sylvain beams. “I say we wrap this up and celebrate our victory with a nice dinner and maybe some ale? How does that sound?”

“Sacrilegious.” Your voice is drier than the crisp leaves cracking under your feet. “Aren’t you too young for alcohol?”

“Too young and irresponsible,” Dimitri agrees with you, looking tired of Sylvain’s antics. “But I don’t object to a celebratory dinner.”

“That is, if we win.” Dedue reads your mind, and brings the conversation back on the right course.

“I assume the Black Eagles are holding position. They’re waiting for us,” you say, briefly checking everyone’s state. Safe for dirt and scratches, they’re still doing good, though having fought already, the Blue Lions are on a slight disadvantage. You can only hope some of Byleth’s students dropped out facing the Golden Deers.

“We shouldn’t keep them waiting then.” Sylvain winks, playing with the grip of his lance. The smile that flirts with his lips is threatening.

“Keep your guard up.” Dimitri shares a single, meaningful glance with every one of you, then leads your little group out of the forest. Whatever Byleth has planned, you hope that you’ll be ready for it.

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thelovelylolly · 4 years ago

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A Jedi and A Sith

Request (by @emilaa2001 ) : 24 + Obi-wan, soulmate au (can be tattoo version) with sith reader please 👉👈

Summary : “Why are you helping me?” You were being trained in the sith ways by Count Dooku, making you a amazing fighter and strategist. The only thing that bothered you in your perfect life was your soulmate tattoo. You never liked the idea of finding your soulmate but when you see the same tattoo on a jedi prisoner, you decide to help.

Warnings : TINY mention of injuries and a little violence, you know, clone wars stuff.

Notes : Thank you for requesting! Hopefully I did this idea justice!

For as long as you could remember, you were always trained in sith ways. You didn’t even remember your parents but you never really cared to seek them out in the galaxy. You master, Dooku, was the closet thing you had to a parental figure but even then you two were distant. He was your master, you were his apprentice.

Dooku made you a high ranking general in the Separatist army, with your skills and all. You won all of your battles, except one or two pity/small ones. Dooku gave you constructive criticism on everything, which is why you respected him. Every once in a while, during meditation or planning, he would ask you about your soulmate tattoo.

The old legend was who ever had the same tattoo as you was your soulmate. You never wanted to go out and try to find your soulmate, always focusing on the war and force. Dooku was the same way. Your tattoo looked like a mix between the Republic’s symbol and the Separatist’s symbol. Sure, it made you curious but you brushed it off.

“What do you mean it isn’t just clones?! It was suppose to be a squadron of clones!” You yelled at the commanding droid.

“There is a jedi among them. But we almost have all of their forces eliminated. Should I order for the execution of the jedi?”

“No, I want to take them as a prisoner.”

“Count Dooku told us to eliminate any jedi.”

“Then why did you ask me?!” You yelled. “I want the jedi as my prisoner. Are we clear on that?”

“Yes, general.” Even if droids didn’t have feelings, you were sure you scared this one.

You made your exit, immediately heading towards the battle field. You spotted your droids gathered around a small group, giving you the exact location of the jedi. You readied your lightsaber, igniting it’s red blade, and sprinted towards the group of droids.

Obi-Wan and the rest of his small squadron were trapped in an endless sea of droids. If they faltered their attacks for even a split second, they would surely be dead. But instead of droids killing them, the clones were quickly eliminated by something else. You ordered your droids to stand down. “A real life jedi? I’ve only fought your kind from a distance.”

Obi-Wan turned and saw you standing over the clone’s body. Your red saber contrasted against Obi-Wan’s blue one. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” Obi-Wan replied. The two of you started to circle each other.

“My master never mentioned me? I expected more from Dooku. But don’t worry, we’ll have more time for introductions in your prison cell.”

You waved your hand in front of Kenobi’s face and just like that, he blacked out.

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“You captured Obi-Wan Kenobi that easily? I’m impressed, my apprentice.” Dooku said.

“Thank you, master. I believe we can get some information out of him.” You replied, lifting your head from it’s bowing position. Dooku nodded.

“You are dismissed. Start the interrogation on the jedi.” Dooku instructed. You stood up from being on one knee and left Dooku’s presence.

You ordered some droids to work on getting answers out of Obi-Wan while you had to plan your next battle. You’ve heard that the Republic was transferring some high tech supplies to one of it’s bases on the outer rim and you needed to stop that from happening.

“General.” A droid had entered your chambers.

“What?” You spat, annoyed someone ruined your focus.

“We need your help on interrogating the jedi.”

“You are droids, how hard is it to get answers out of a jedi?”

“He is resisting all our techniques.” The droid informed you. You groaned and got up, following the droid to the prison section of the ship.

You arrived in front of a interrogation room where Obi-Wan Kenobi was being kept. “Are you sure you’ve exhausted every interrogation option?” You asked.

“Yes general.”

You rolled your eyes, opening the blast door. Your black robes flowed behind you as you walked in front of the beaten jedi. “I said we’d have our introductions here, so let’s start with you, shall we?”

“If you want answers out of me, rest assure your droids already tried.”

“Are you deaf? I asked for an introduction, not the entire battle plan of the republic.”

“Did the sith teach you to have such an attitude?”

“Answer me first.”

“No.”

You cracked your knuckles, ready to punch the jedi in front of you but something on his neck caught your attention. You walked over and pulled his collar down a little bit to see his soulmate tattoo. It was just like yours. “What are you doing?” He asked, pulling you out of your stare.

“Your soulmate tattoo, have you found the other person with the same tattoo?”

“No, war has kept me from that and jedi can’t have attachments.”

“Interesting.” You replied, pulling your sleeve up to reveal the tattoo on your wrist. Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide. “Looks like you’re staying here for a while, General Kenobi. Hope your comfortable, I will get information out of you sometime.” You said before leaving the jedi by himself in the interrogation room.

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

By lights out, the ship had landed on a planet for the night. You were laying on your back on your, staring up at the ceiling. A republic general, a jedi at that, was your soulmate. You were a sith, a high general in the Separatist ranks, the respected apprentice of Count Dooku. You couldn’t pursue a relationship with Obi-Wan. First, he had the jedi code and you were a sith. You were suppose to kill him, not spend the rest of your days in a relationship with him! Second, he was in the Grand Army of the Republic, the army you’re fighting against. Lastly, your master would kill you if you even thought about courting Obi-Wan.

You made up your mind, sitting up which caused your covers to pool in your lap and show off your loose pajama shirt. You got out of bed and found your black cloak, flipping the hood up onto your head. You quickly left your room and ran down the halls of your ship, your feet lightly or barely touching the ground which allowed you to be quick and quiet. During the start of your physical training, you learned how to quickly approach an enemy without letting them hear or feel you coming.

You found Obi-Wan’s cell and opened the door, seeing a sleeping Obi-Wan strapped onto a interrogation table like how you left him. You quickly started to undo his restraints and caught him using the force before he hit the ground. Using the force, you closed the blast door and pulled Obi-Wan into your lap. “Wake up, jedi.”

Obi-Wan blinked a few times before he realized who you were and remembered where he was. He quickly pushed you away and kicked you in the process. “Ow! Calm down!”

“Calm down while a sith has me in their arms?!”

“Listen to me! I’m trying to help you leave, you idiot!”

Obi-Wan calmed down when he heard that. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?”

“We’re soulmates, we’re kind of suppose to help each other. Now are you gonna listen to me or freak out and expose both of us?”

Obi-Wan stayed quiet which you took as an answer. “Okay, here’s the plan. I can get you to the hangar and you can steal a speeder. I know a secret entrance you can use to escape, I’m sure you’ll find your way to a nearby town and get help from there. Do not mention any of this to anyone, got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good, now come on.”

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

The two of you made it to the hangar, it was surprisingly empty. You chalked it up to the patrol droids having already patrolled the hanger. “The speeders are kept over there. Grab one and meet me over here.” You said quietly, pointing over to a corner full of vehicles.

You ran over to a small entrance, pressing in code and opening the ramp. Obi-Wan met you by the ramp, the two of you walking down. “Thank you for helping me, even though you are a sith and a separatist.” Obi-Wan said, mounting the speeder.

“You’re welcome. For a jedi and republic general, you aren’t too bad.” You replied. Obi-Wan laughed quietly and was about to speed off but you stopped him before he could. You grabbed him by his collar and smashed your lips into his.

At first Obi-Wan was surprised, but soon kissed back. The kiss lasted a few moments but you had to pull away since you heard something or someone coming. “Shoot, ground patrol.”

“What?”

“You need to go, now. The droid’s sensors could pick up the speeder. Go.”

“Wait-”

“Promise me we’ll meet again.” You cut him off.

“I promise.” Obi-Wan replied. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and he sped off right as a group droids rounded the corner.

“General. What are you doing out here?” One of the droids asked.

“None of your concern, go back to your patrol.” You quickly replied.

“Roger roger.”

The droids walked away. You looked the way Obi-Wan went on his speeder, hoping he got away with no problems. As you walked back into the ship, you began to rehearse in your head how you were going to explain to Count Dooku how Obi-Wan Kenobi escaped.

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan imagine #obi-wan #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan fic #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars x you #obi wan kenobi x you #x reader #imagine #sith!reader #shes a bad girl and hes a good boy?! love it

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kaylewiswrites · 5 years ago

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How to recover from Post-Inspiration Burnout

What is post Inspiration Burnout?

We’ve all been there. The muses hit us hard, and we spend days, weeks if we’re lucky, churning out thousands of words a day. Our stories are on fire, it’s all we can think about, and if we’re not writing, something feels wrong.

And then it ends, as inspiration always does.

This is normal! Inspiration isn’t a personality trait, it’s a temporary state of being. When that fire burns out, we’re usually left feeling tired and uncreative. So how do we recover?

Why are you slowing down?

First things first, figure out the why. Take a good, hard look not just at your writing, but your life around it. Maybe you don’t know what happens next in the story, and you’re stuck. Maybe you’ve been working a lot of hours and staying up late writing, and you’re physically exhausted. Maybe something emotional happened in your life, like a breakup, or a fight with a friend or loved one. Sometimes it might just be the natural cycle of the muses, but before you chalk it up to that, really look at all the other options.

Some of those causes, like writers block, can be solved by going back to outlines or using brainstorming techniques. Others, like a fight, can only be solved by time. Which brings us to our next question....

Do you need a break?

I always say, if it’s a problem inside your story, you can write around it, write through it, or write about it, but you can’t solve it by not writing. If it’s a problem outside of your story? Then you need to take a honest look at what’s going on in your life to see if you can benefit from a break.

Not everyone needs one in the post-inspiration burnout phase, but plenty do. Let it be an option! Take some time to explore another hobby, another writing project, or to just lay on the couch and watch netflix. Whatever you know is going to help you recover those creative juices.

It helps to choose a start and end date to your break, whether that’s a day or a week or a month, so you can mindfully take time off from your project.

Can you recreate your inspiration?

While you’re reflecting on the reasons you slowed down, and if you should take a break or not, there’s one more thing you should try to figure out: was there something that prompted your inspiration, and if so, can it be recreated? Maybe you moved to a new writing place, and it awakened something. Great! Find another new spot, and see if that helps. Maybe it was a song you listened to over and over and over again until you wrung out all the inspirational juices from it. If it’s on spotify, go to that song’s radio to find other similar jams, or listen to other songs by that artist.

There’s not always a rhyme or reason to inspiration, but if you can find a source, take advantage of that!

Reread for fun

If you find yourself slowing down, give yourself a nice time by rereading all the fevered words you just furiously typed on the page. It’s a good way to spot check yourself to make sure you didn’t just throw out half your outline in a muse-induced haze, and it can bring back some of the excitement you felt when you were writing it. Besides, there’s something about reading words that were written joyously that is just so much fun. Let yourself have a moment.

Don’t hold yourself to the same standard

Were you writing for five hours a night? Were you writing 6k words a day? That’s great, but that’s done now. Don’t expect yourself to be able to sprint forever. Writing is a marathon sport, and there is no shame in physically and mentally slowing it down. If you work well off goals, that’s great, but choose a more realistic word count or time goal for your lifestyle, something that you could conceivably achieve every day, not just when inspiration lights a fire under your ass.

Be proud of what you achieved

Whether your inspiration lasted a day, a week, or months, it’s not something to mourn the loss of; it’s something to celebrate the existence of. Whatever you achieved during this time, be proud of it! Chances are, you wrote words you never would have gotten down without these moments, and had ideas that are going to serve you for much longer than any temporary period of inspiration could ever last. Throw a party!

Remember, no writer writes off of inspiration alone. It takes work, discipline, and some well timed breaks to be a consistent and healthy writer. I hope you enjoy your periods of inspiration, and smile during your periods of work.

#writing advice #writers of tumblr #writing community #on writing #writeblr #kay's writing advice

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princeanxious · 5 years ago

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The Royal Librarian- Chapter 1

Chapter 1- “The Road to Perfection is Destructive.”

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Future analogical, future sidelines royality, sidelines established dukeceit, background remile

Word Count: a little over 3k

Warnings For This Chapter: Virgil’s got anxiety and is a bit self depricating, brief mentions of panic attacks, Virgil stays up and works himself for so much longer and harder than is healthy for a normal person in one session, boi highkey overthinks a ton when he’s not occupied. Don’t work yourself for 24 hours straight like Virge does, it’s not good for you.

Minor notes on Virgil’s mental state in this fic: Virgil has ADHD(as reflected by my own life experience) that shows up in different ways here and there, and he suffers from RSD(Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria) which drives Virgil’s need to be perfect or fail till he damn near collapses from exhaustion, which also just feeds into his chronic anxiety. Thats all for now!

Chapter one(you are here!)|Chapter two(coming soon!)

Bonus stuff:

-the Rough Library Layout

[[MORE]]

Quiet. Such a word was practically synonymous with Virgil’s existence. The young adult practically grew up in silence, sought quiet spaces out like a moth drawn to a flame. And like a deer spooked by a snapping branch, he often fled from loud groups larger than three. He had been a quiet child, content to lose himself in any book he could get his hands on, reading for hours in any quiet atmosphere he could find. Alone, and content because of it.

So it was really no surprise he picked up a local library apprenticeship when he’d turned fifteen, and was a well-versed and well-read librarian by age nineteen. He had his lifelong friend Patton to thank for making him apply alongside hundreds of others to the opening position of the Royal Astra Family’s castle Librarian position, a year later. And, to be fair? He’d only applied because he’d been sure his resume would never have been seen, let alone selected, if only to simply placate his best friend’s excited begging.

He didn’t account for Patton’s connections as the Royal Head Cook to shift that margine of possibility to reach at least being seen. Though Patton chalked it up to the fact that he’d always talked about Virgil around the royal family anyway, long before the position had needed a replacement. It seemed to be just Virgil’s luck that ‘Virgil’ just happened to be a very uncommon name.

The panic attack that followed after he received a letter that his resume had been selected alongside a select few others for further evaluation had been a rough one. Still, he held out hope that his perceived inexperienced youth would save him, the stress and responsibility of such a serious job couldn’t be trusted with some ambitious kid like him, could it?

And, besides, it’s not like Patton’s constant praises carried that much weight, right? That's just how Patton was, a personified ball of sunshine! It was why Virgil was never surprised to hear Patton mention the royal family and staff by name on accident, or mention a silly story involving them in private, he’d clearly become close to them as the Head Cook. Though, the more he thought about it, he realized that.. Well, it’s not like the royal family had known Patton as long as Virgil had. Patton could be too trusting, and tried to see good in everyone, and well, perhaps the royal family trusted his judge of character over just simple skills. And wasn’t it just peachy that Virgil was lifelong best friends with said ball of personified sunshine? (Not that he’d ever trade their friendship for the world, never. It was just Virgil’s problem that he could never seem to tell Patton no, huh?)

Eventually, a nerve wracking week passed before Virgil finally had his answer in the form of an acceptance letter hand-delivered and an accompanying uniform and granted permissions to traverse and move into the castle grounds, all ordered and signed by King Thomas himself.

Apparently, his suspicions over Patton’s influence had indeed won out.

Three days later, Virgil finds himself silently saying goodbye to the home he’d made on his own, not as terribly forlorn over the loss as he thought he’d be. The small cottage he’d been renting didn’t feel much like home to him, anyway, not like a library did. Still, there was a longing to hide from the large change crashing into his life, and thrice he’d hid under his covers and cursed his weak will against Patton’s puppy eye’d pout. Eventually though, he’d talked himself out of his panicked haze, just in time for his first shift the following day.

“I can’t believe I let Pat talk me into this.” The ravenette grumbled as he leaned to the side. Using his weight and momentum to shift the sliding ladder he was perched on, he slid closer to the next book he’d been reaching for.

“Become the castle’s new Librarian! It’ll be fun, he said! It’ll help sooth my anxiety to work with even more books and even less people, he said, the head cook who works with at least 20 other staff each hour to maintain a steady meal plan for the entire castle staff daily!” The little librarian huffed to himself, resignation seeping out with each controlled breath.

His first day hadn’t been an easy one, and though he hadn’t expected it to go smoothly, he certainly hadn’t expected it to become such a mess. It wasn’t his first time working as a librarian, but leave it to good ol’ Virgil to let life make his days as eventful as possible!

From the moment he woke to the time he had his lunch break, not that he would actually willingly take a break nor need one yet, the day had been.. busy, to put it lightly.

It’d been storming when he woke, and though he was on time to get ready and leave, he’d only realized that his umbrella had broken the month prior. It had left him to make a twenty minute dash in the pouring rain when he found no other options.

He was plenty grateful for a bathroom stationed just inside of the library building entrance, where he hurriedly rushed inside to change out of his soaked attire. He’d been smart enough to pack away his official Royal Librarian uniform into a water resistant bag with a few additional dry essentials, and let his common clothes get soaked instead.

In a short six and a half minutes, Virgil was changed and mostly dry, though there was little he could do about his damp hair aside from comb his fingers through it. With his wet clothes packed away, he made it into the library on time to begin his first very long shift.

He’d already been sworn into secrecy when it came to occasionally dealing with the royal family’s history and artifacts in the future, and with his first and hopefully one of very few ever meetings with King Thomas out of the way, he was officially the new Royal Librarian. And now, also the only. As he was told in no certain terms that the last had retired and fucked off into obscurity before anyone had realized that the library had been left in disorganized chaos.

The old coot had apparently made his own system for everything, and hadn't bothered to write any of it down. From sorting sections to assigning books to genres, none if it clear and often very, very unorganized.

Virgil’s first big task was to comb through the entire damn building and use a new system, one that made sense. He was to reorganize every book and every section, using the appropriate genres and sorting. This way the royal family could actually functionally use the library and not waste time sorting through chaos.

This was where Virgil found himself three hours later, on the verge of a minor mental breakdown as he’d just barely sorted an eighth of the books on the main library floor into the Dewey Decimal system.

He’d had plenty of empty tables at the beginning of his journey, and right now every single one had some few stacks of books on each, labeled accordingly. Aside from his muffled ranting and the pattering of rain, the library was relatively silent.

It was odd, being alone in such a gigantic library. It almost reminded him of home.

He paused for a brief moment, having set down the final few books taken from the bookshelf he’d been working on. He’d gone through just one row of 6 bookshelves, and had 7 rows left to go, and that was just barely counting putting books back in the previous shelves as he went. A whine left him as he realized just how long this project was going to take.

“Fucking fuck.”

Somewhere between the second row and the third, Patton had stopped by to check in on Virgil. He found him hard at work sorting the fiction section on the left side of the building, tables half forgotten as Virgil attached unobtrusive non-damaging number labels to each and every book. Stacks of books lay carefully placed on the floor against each shelf, seperated by label and lack of label.

“You already look so at home, Virge!” The head cook whisper-shouted, though the sentiment was not necessary as the only other being in the library was the librarian himself.

“Yeah yeah, hush you. I’m a bit too swamped for ‘I told you so’s at the moment. So, what's up?” Glancing up at the taller man, Virgil briefly noted a small package wrapped in cloth was held in his hands.

“Can you spare a minute to eat?” Patton giggled, but Virgil knew better. He’d known Patton since they were kids, it wasn’t a question. Or a decision to be made. With a sigh, he placed the book he was holding in its place before turning to the cheery cook. “Yeah, I can.”

“How’s the kitchen today?” He asked lightly, having eaten the light meal quickly in order to get back to sorting. Patton hadn’t commented, nor had he been shooed away when Virgil began sorting again. He contently sat out of the way to finish his own lunch, his original goal having been accomplished.

“Oh! It’s going great today, honestly. Not too many mishaps from the newbies today either, so that's a bonus! And well, you know, making mistakes is in human nature but, they’re learning so quickly, I’m so proud of them! They’ll be taking my place by fall, just you wait and see! And, well, Roman stopped by earlier to swipe some snacks for Prince Logan, his brother, and himself. You know, the usual.” Patton chuckled, and if Virgil had looked, he’d seen the besotted look Patton always had when he talked about the head knight of the prince, he’d seen it a hundred times and was bound to see it a hundred or so more.

“Oh, speaking of,” Virgil butted in playfully, “I’ll finally get a chance to meet this knight and shining armor you’ve been swooning over for over a year now, huh?”

He watched Patton’s freckled face flush bright red, sputtering and then coughing on his mouthful of food. Virgil just cackled delightedly, stepping over to give Patton a few hard pats on the back to be sure his friend didn’t choke.

He laughed again when Patton gave him a pout and a soft “You’re so mean to me, Virge!” Eventually Virgil was able to placate Patton with a gentle hug, and the cook was sunshine and smiles again.

A finished lunch break later had Virgil finally sending Patton off, back to the warm bustling kitchens in the main castle building while he moved on to the next portion of his task.

He quickly found the steady back and forth rythme soothing. Pick a few books up, put them away. Pull a few books out, sort it by number as per their section of genre, set it in the right place. It was a blessing to find that there was just enough of a consistency to the previous plan that he could find up to five to six books in the same category in a row, and each set of books could be similar in subject, usually ending up just one section away. Often was the wayward book that found itself out of place, though he had assumed that these were often books just placed back haphazardly considering their subject patterns.

Often the most scattered and random books had ended up being of a few select categories. Without fail, he found that it would end up being a book on Space and Astronomy and/or Mathematics, in-depth Anatomy of Plants and Animals, young adult Fantasy Adventure novels, or Horror novels. It was.. Sort of odd, how there had been no section for each and all of these books, and yet there were so many evenly scattered. Perhaps that had been on purpose then, not haphazardly placed. But why?

Too busy to think deeply about it, he designated spots fitting each book type, and decided he’d figure out what he’d do with the puzzle later.

It was 6 pm by the time he’d finished the fourth row, and Patton had stopped by briefly to check on his best friend. He watched Patton’s merry expression drop some, concern seeping in as he took in his best friend’s progress.

“It’s almost 6:30, Virgil. Have you had another break yet?” He asked, watching his best friend continue moving back and forth. “Aren’t you tired? It’s been a little under 12 hours at this point, kiddo.. dontcha think it’s time to call it for the day? I mean, you’re already halfway there!”

“Library hours, at least Librarian work hours, don’t end till 9. And yeah, I guess I’m a little tired? But I’m in the zone, Pat. You know how I get when I’m in The Zone. If I stop now, who knows how long it’ll take me to finish sorting the other half?” Virgil rambled, half distracted and still trying to keep a vice grip on his concentration. “And besides, King Thomas said he’d be checking in on me tomorrow.”

“But Virge, you know he doesn’t expect you to have it done in one day. Thomas isn’t like that! That’s why he gave you a whole week to settle in, so you could move into the Library’s living quarters-which you haven’t done yet, might I add!- and get the library situated.” Patton stood stiffly, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. Virgil was as stubborn as he himself was when his mind was made up.

“Look, Pat.. just, I’m sorry. You know I hate to worry you. I’ll try to stop at 10, go home and get some rest, and tomorrow i’ll move my stuff into my new home here. And, i’ll take a break from sorting for a few hours. Okay?” Virgil reached out, taking Patton’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He let Patton pull him into a tight hug, and didn’t resist when Patton briefly rubbed at his tense shoulders.

“Okay. Just, take care of yourself, Virge, okay? If I find out you stayed out an hour later than 11 pm, you’re gonna be in big trouble mister!” Patton giggled, lightening the mood the way he knew how.

“Yeah, yeah, hear ya loud and clear, Dad.” He watched Patton beam at the nickname, and moments later he watched Patton disappear behind the library’s main entrance door as his friend left him be, reassured. Virgil gave a heavy sigh, looking down guiltily at the stray book clutched in his hands.

“Let’s just hope ‘trouble’ just means a week of disappointed reprimands like last time…”

Hours later, Virgil’s head jerked up from his sorting as a father clock somewhere in the library dinged, signalling 10 o'clock. Biting his lip, he walked to the front doors and examined his options. He found he could lock the library from the inside, and pulled down the shutters. Briskly, he moved to cover each large window with their thick drapery, finding the adorning cloth thick enough to keep the low artificial light from seeping out. He dimmed the inner library lights so the library looked closed, but otherwise the building was still functioning from within.

Unless someone else had keys to the doors of the library, no one would know that the librarian was still stationed and working within. No one could see out, and more importantly, no one could see in. Which meant that Virgil was safe from Patton’s wrath if the Cook came to check on him, temporarily at least.

“Fuck, Patton’s gonna be so mad..” He muttered to himself, leaning against the librarian’s desk with a deep sigh. He’d briefly admired the beautiful desk earlier in the day, from the intricate carving to the beautiful dark mahogany. It would serve him well in the future, he hoped, after the thorough ‘grounding’ he knew he was going to get from Patton.

He shook his head to free his thoughts. There was no sense in getting in trouble and feeling guilty about it if he didn’t do anything to learn from in the first place. It was time to get back to work, and if he was lucky, he’d finish the main body of the library by the time his next shift started. Then, he could try and play it off, like nothing had ever happened, he’d just keep Patton out of the library till tomorrow to hide his finished work.

11 pm came and passed as he worked, and when he looked next at the clock, he found it was nearly 4 am. Tired but determined with only one row left, Virgil trekked on with a new vigor. All-nighters weren’t anything new to Virgil, not in the slightest. He was a creature of the night who rarely got a full night's rest to begin with. And sure, it was rare he worked his body so hard and for so long, but fixations were hard to break once in The Zone, it’s not like he could feel it past the hyperfixation haze.

Patton had often told him off for it when they were young, but as time passed they’d come to realize that’s just how Virgil was. Laying down did nothing to lure his mind to sleep on even the tiredest of nights if his insomnia had something to say about it. Better that he used the extra time to be productive, rather than spend 6 hours tossing and turning in bed, numbers and thoughts crowding in his head, and only getting up more restless than before. Patton often just tried to ease the aftermath if he could help it.

Sliding the last book into place was like sliding a final puzzle piece into a massive puzzle. The triumph of accomplishment had never felt so good, not like this.

Though, he quickly found himself aimless not 10 minutes later, seeking errors to fix and lost books to give a home. His brain wasn’t ready to let go of it’s fixation just yet, but as each second crawled by, he found himself recentering into the real world.

His body ached, and he was exhausted. His stomach gnawed at him weakly in hunger and his eyes watered from staring unblinkingly for so long. He eyed the chair behind the librarian’s desk, his desk now, he reminded himself.

“Screw it.. The Library’s sorted enough, I've got the rest of the week to make it perfect. A ten minute nap won’t hurt, right..?” He huffed to himself as he pulled the window curtains open one by one. Shuffling over to the main library doors, he unlocked them and raised the shutters. Soft morning sun rays fluttered into the connected windowed hallway just beyond the doors. He smiled at the tiny beauty of life, spotting the main library windows letting in the same comforting, dappled light.

Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, he plopped into the chair at his desk, finding it soft and comforting. Leaning forward, he rested his head on his arms, and under the fluttering morning light, succumbed to sleep’s gentle embrace.

Unknowing of the rude awakening that was soon to come.

Chapter two

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doctorreids · 4 years ago

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folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER FOUR - exile

previous chapter | next chapter

word count: 2.3k

a/n: so i thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter so i hope you all enjoy! i’m the slightest bit worried that spencer is ooc but i’ll let myself lose sleep over that at some point. the donny hathaway song i’m referring to is this one - one of my favourite songs ever, so so so beautiful. reblogs, likes and comments are, as always very much appreciated - thank you for all the love so far x

“i can see you standin’ honey, with his arms around your body, laughin’ but the jokes not funny at all.”

It had been 3 months, 2 weeks, 3 days. He wishes he could recall the exact time but, for once in his life, he can’t.

There was life before Y/N and there was life with her, he never imagined that there would be a life without her; because if this is life…

The curse of having an eidetic memory is recalling every word, every glance, every silence, and every mistake. They filled his head every day, cacophonous and relentless.

He knows that 50% of couples break up then reconcile, he knows that this is more typical for unmarried couples to do. Yet, statistics do nothing to calm his frustration at himself. Statistics don’t tell him what he can do to fix what is broken.

There’s so much that he misses; her jumping at any chance to be with him, accompanying him to foreign film festivals, conventions, and anything he showed the slightest interest in. She would do anything for him, long before he ever called her his.

He’s still processing the depth of his loss. He had convinced himself for the first month that he could carry on and ignore the chilling cold of his bed at night or the loneliness of the subway journey home. By the second month, he could hardly look at himself. Now, three months on, the pain is so visceral, so real, that he cannot escape the crushing silence that surrounds him. No more quiet conversations on the jet, or laughter in the bullpen.

He wonders if her apartment feels just as empty as his.

He can’t help but let his mind wander to the conversation he overheard between Emily and Y/N in the bullpen - something about setting her up with a guy she knew from outside of work. He tried hard not to read into how reluctant she was accepting Emily’s offer or how defensive she looked when he went back to his desk.

What did he miss? Were there signs? Or did he, like he always did ignore the cracks as soon as they started to appear?

He didn’t want to think about someone else holding her, making her laugh, or being the reason for her smile.

It was dark outside, leaves littering the street, the rain pattering on his window. The sound of the occasional car passing by was the only sound that filled his apartment. Autumn was always his favourite season, it reminded him of change and growth, and when he first met her. It was cool that day, she was wrapped up in a royal blue knitted scarf and a soft brown worn coat - he swore to himself that he’d never seen anyone as beautiful before in his life.

He could barely focus on anything nowadays, from paperwork to books, everything was too difficult to confront. Sure, he’d been attending meetings, discussing his urges to numb himself from the world again. The beginning of his battle with addiction came before she did, it haunted him.

If he was being honest with himself, his addiction was the only thing he had fully confided in her. She gave him all the understanding that, at times, his own chosen family didn’t give him. He didn’t resent them for it but it was frustrating.

He knew he immersed himself in work too often, the sea of paperwork and cases kept his head above the water that threatened to drown him. After all his years working for the BAU, he still didn’t know how to properly talk about what they witnessed. He tried to chalk it up to facts and probabilities, that evil exists in the world and all he can do is use what he knows to prevent it from happening again. But he couldn’t stop it from happening in the first place.

Despite how much responsibility he placed on his shoulders with his work, he questioned whether or not his career was what he really wanted. He’d promised he would find a cure for schizophrenia by the time he was thirty. Yet, here he is - alone, many a Ph.D. to his name but no overwhelming achievement.

He knew his first mistake was not telling her about how he was feeling. But he was angry, he didn’t know how to verbalise what was overwhelming him. Frustrated and choked up, he pushed her away. He kept telling himself that he felt suffocated, he was anxious that he would lose her to his job and he couldn’t prevent that. There was so much in his life that he couldn’t control.

His mother wasn’t improving, getting worse day by day, and all he could do was stand by and watch. He could write as many letters, call every day, and visit as often as he could but he couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t change what was happening.

He was surrounded by people he considered to be his family yet he felt alone. All the time. So, he pulled up his guard, plastered a smile on his face, and carried on. She would always go before him in his life, nothing could change that.

Work had been…tense. He knew from the start that the girls would be protective of her and he didn’t blame them - he knew that very next day when she didn’t reply to his texts or calls or when JJ told him to ‘give her space. His only other option was Derek and his advice wasn’t, at times, what he wanted to hear.

Derek told him to fix it actively but he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to fix. Himself or their relationship? Some big romantic gesture would win her back, he was told, but he knew she hated those. He tried bringing her favourite flowers, roses, but he would freeze up every time he got to her front door. By now, it wasn’t the season for roses and he was running out of options.

JJ, Emily, and Garcia never treated him any differently, he just felt exiled from their bullpen meet-ups. From the start, all he wanted was JJ’s advice. That night they all went out, he sat in her house with Henry, listening to him babble on about Aunt Y/N and Uncle Spencer.

He won’t ever forget the sad look JJ gave him when he left, underlying anger and bitterness in her voice when she bid him goodnight.

He can’t help but think that he had irreparably messed up.

“all this time, we always walked a very thin line.”

They always said that working together was more of a blessing than a curse, they were never without the other. They could read each other like the back of each other’s hand. Until one day, they couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure what switch flipped in his mind but his ability to be vulnerable with her and to open up completely was turned off. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the words to express what was going on in his mind.

Then again, neither could she. That connection between them was lost, there was this impenetrable distance between them now.

He couldn’t get comfortable in his chair, his glass of whiskey sitting beside his growing stack of books. He kept trying to find room for them but he just couldn’t bring himself to put them away - it reminded him of her apartment; books scattered on different tables, never on the shelf. It was the only trace of her left in his apartment.

His pillow no longer smelt of her, sweet and fresh. Her toothbrush was no longer sitting by his sink nor her shampoo in his shower. He’d taken down the photos, they were too painful to look at almost every day. Yet, he still kept that scarf she had left at his apartment after one of their dates, the royal blue one. Her perfume was fading on that too.

“you’re not my homeland anymore, so what am i defending?”

She had been quiet the entire car journey home, exhaustion clearly written on her face. Her brow was furrowed in thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked softly.

A slight smile flickered across her face for a split second. It went as quickly as it came, she was angry.

“I just want to get us home in one piece, Spence,” she snapped, “can you let me do that?”

“Sure.”

She wasn’t just angry, she was pissed.

By the time they got back to his apartment, she was tired, cold, and frustrated with him. He was equally as tired but grateful to be with her, alive and well. His run-in with the unsub resulted in an overnight stay in the hospital and minor surgery. Well, he thought it was minor. She clearly didn’t.

She didn’t stop for tea the way they normally would nor did she bother to leave the light on for him in the bathroom. She just crawled into bed without a word spoken to him since they’d gotten back to his apartment. In all honesty, he thought she was just going to drop him off then go back to her own home. He was surprised that she didn’t.

Lifting the covers, he slid into bed as silently as he could as not to wake her.

“What you did was really stupid, you know that?”

She was awake. He should’ve guessed.

‘I know.”

She sighed, turning to face him, “Spencer, I know our jobs don’t exactly meet safety regulations but you can’t play the hero all the time. I had to tell myself a long time ago, that you can’t save everyone. I know you, Spence. You’re a good man, brave and you have more courage in you than literally every other man that I’ve ever met and I love you for it. But you can’t keep doing this to me, to us.”

“Doing what?”

“Scaring us all half to death. You don’t remember me holding your hand while we waited for the medics. You don’t remember Morgan telling me that you’d pull through. You didn’t get to see everyone’s faces in the waiting room. But I remember it all, I don’t think I’ll forget it.”

He was stunned into silence.

“I could only think of the worst. How was I going to be able to tell your mother? How was I supposed to carry on knowing,” her voice broke and his heart shattered, “that I would never get to hold you again, or hear one of your many facts, or be able to explain how much you mean to me.”

“But, you didn’t have to-“ he started.

“I know. You’re alive and I’m so grateful. But if you ever pull a stunt like that ever again…”

His smile was sad, “I won’t ever leave you. You’re my home. I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

“And you’re mine too.”

“i think i’ve seen this film before and i didn’t like the ending.”

The memory echoed in his mind. He thinks about what could have been, the family he pictured them having. He knew, even though it was unsaid, she wanted a little girl. He couldn’t lie and say that he wouldn’t want to see a miniature Y/N running around. He always wanted his own kids ever since Henry was born and something inside him changed when he saw you holding Henry for the first time.

He saw his future before him.

Or so he thought. His dream disappeared when he heard his front door slam that night. He would give anything to take that night back. Take back the things that were said, the things left unsaid, and go after her.

By now, he thought he was too late. He witnessed the most perfect, the most precious thing he had in his life play out like a Shakespearian tragedy on the big screen. His heartache played like a movie he had seen far too many times before.

Maybe they were doomed from the start, their ending determined by fate. Something he only ever believed in with her.

“You can’t save everyone.” He couldn’t even save himself. He thought he was kidding himself when he thought he could ever win her back, too much time had passed, too much distance.

There were oceans between them, and for too long he was too scared to start to cross the vast space.

He stared at his now empty whiskey glass and out onto the street - the rain was heavier now. He had no idea what time it was, it was late. He wonders if she’s still up. If she’s sitting in that chair by her window, like he is, thinking about him.

His whole body aches for her touch. He aches to tell her everything, to apologise and to tell her all the small little things that have happened since they last spoke. Like how that mug she used to always drink out of shattered when he was putting it back in the cupboard and how he cried because he couldn’t glue it back together. Or how he searched and searched for a new one but he couldn’t find it so he decided to not buy a new one, it couldn’t be replaced.

He would tell her that he listens to that Donny Hathaway song she used to always play in the car late at night. He’d like to think that she would be proud that he knows all the words - that he doesn’t just listen to Beethoven. Morgan told him to play a song over a boombox outside her window. He didn’t get the reference but he knew he would play that song.

He opened his wardrobe to pull out his pyjamas when it caught his eye. The scarf, a shimmer of glitter caught in the moonlight.

He knew what he had to do.

Grabbing his coat, keys, and the scarf, he opened his door and walked out into the night.

#spencer #reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #reidxfolklore

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fluffykitty1999-blog · 3 years ago

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Burned Chapter 20

The static in his head overwhelmed everything. His throat was raw and burning, as though he'd gargled nails. His chest was heavy, as though there was an elephant sitting on him. He was just a disembodied torso, floating on a wave of heat in the ocean. The water supported him, and he floated on his back and stared up at a totally black sky.

Above the static, he could hear soft crying.

"Big brother..."

But the voice receded behind the static. Water lapped at his cheeks, raindrops he couldn't see landed on his face, and he frowned, squirming.

He could feel small hands grabbing his flesh arm, and he looked down into the water and panicked, terrified it'd be those tiny black hands of truth pulling him through the gate again...

But as he thrashed, the hands receded, and he was back to floating on a sea of black water and staring up at the dark sky. He frowned, suddenly aware of the dull aching in all of his limbs.

He stifled a moan- his arms and legs felt as though they were full of pins and needles.

There was that voice again, pushing the static aside.

"Please open your eyes!"

He groaned and turned away, trying to push the voice away and gather the static back up. It wasn't pleasant, but it was something to dull the throbbing in his head...

"I'm scared!"

There was so much fear in that voice, he froze for a moment, before he was letting go of the static in his hands and swallowing, taking a deep breath and fighting through the pain, hurrying to get to that voice... Someone needed his help.

He opened his eyes and gasped, breaking out in a fit of coughing that left his eyes watering and already sore chest burning.

"Big brother!"

Elicia was still clinging to him, and he struggled to sit up to he could cough up a mouthful of black ashes from his mouth.

Slowly, recollection came trickling back to him.

Babysitting. The fire. The bathtub, the crawl space- the darkness all around them. They were still in his little dirt igloo, and the house was probably still burning. It was still hot. Or was it? He didn't know, he was dizzy.

"Elicia-" he was surprised by how raspy his voice sounded. "Are you alright?"

Elicia nodded, though she was still crying and sniffling, her teary eyes wide. "I thought you died! I thought I was stuck in this cave and I was gonna die too!"

Ed had no idea what to say to that, so he simply pulled the girl into a hug. It's what Mustang would've done for him.

Elicia dissolved into small, hiccuping sobs.

His soot covered hand came up to rub small circles on her back.

"I know, Elicia, It's been a bad night. I know." he soothed. "But you've been really brave- your dad would be proud..."

"Really?" Elicia looked up at him with watery eyes. She was close enough that he could see the tracks of soot-free skin from her tears.

"Yeah, really. We're almost home free. We just have to wait until the fire gets put out- then our dads will come get us..."

"Mustang is your daddy?" Elicia asked, looking surprised.

Maybe he was delirious from the exhaustion. Yeah. That was it. "Yeah. He is. And he's looking for me. Bastard." he couldn't help but smile at the last word, though he could feel the static starting to creep into his head again. He pushed it back.

"Elicia- can you help me sit up?"

Small hands- Elicia's hands, not the tiny black hands of the gate that showed him heaven and hell, eternity and nothing- Elicia, dammit- helped him sit up. The action left him more than a little winded, and he tried to calm his trembling and sweating. His chest burned- every breath was like sandpaper in his lungs. He tried to ignore the wave of nausea that washed over him. But clearly something wasn't right with his body- he was too exhausted to even consider tunneling out of this mess with his alchemy.

Even if the energy it took to perform the transmutation didn't leave him unconscious, he doubted he'd be able to make a stable tunnel with his head throbbing the way it was. That would be ironic- surviving the fire only to die buried in his own tunnel.

No, it was best to just sit and wait here.

Elicia had her sooty fingers in her mouth and was chewing on them- she was nervous.

"Come here, Elicia. Sit on my lap for a little while." he could at least distract the girl.

"It's dark here. I don't like it." Elicia did as he said, climbing into his lap. Ed swallowed down a groan of pain as she jostled his sore body. His legs hurt, but mostly his back was on fire... Still, she didn't need to know that.

"Yeah. It is dark. But if you just close your eyes, then it's not so bad, because its your dark." he was too tired to make sense now.

But Elicia closed her eyes anyways. Her fingers had fallen out of her mouth, and she rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes.

"Just be still for a little while, Elicia. Maybe when you wake up, your dad will be here."

"Mmmhmmm." Elicia nodded eagerly at the idea, though her eyes were still closed.

Ed listened in the darkness until her breathing evened out and she was asleep, before he coughed as quietly as he possibly could, wincing at the pain it caused.

This was odd. Sitting in the darkness, calmly. He wasn't one to sit and wait for help. But he was in no state to do anything to get himself out, and he trusted his family would be here for them soon.

In the back of his mind, the normal Edward- irrational, impatient, scared, having to do it all alone- shouted. Do something! Get out of here! They won't come for you You have to do it yourself, nobody is gonna come save you! Get up! Fight! Don't give up!

He wasn't giving up. He wasn't. But he'd realized- at some point, when he'd woken up in his room to find Roy asleep in a chair beside his bed at the Colonel's house- that he was no longer alone. He didn't have to do this on his own. He wasn't strong enough to save himself right now- but he didn't have to be. Because they would.

Roy Mustang hated rubble. He hated it. Despised going through charred beams- normally even seeing the remains of a house fire or arson scene was enough to set him into a week of sleepless nights, with ashes he couldn't wash off his hands no matter how hard he scrubbed and the smell of burnt hair that never left his nose.

But tonight- well, he went through wreckage like a fish in the sea, not caring how it stained him, dirtied him- Ed was in there somewhere. He had no time to be afraid.

If Ed had been on the first floor, he'd have most likely been able to get out of the home. Which meant that since he gotten out- they'd most likely been trapped somewhere on the second floor.

Roy forced himself to breathe- he ignored the smell of burnt wood and fabric, simply realizing that he was breathing and appreciating that, even though at the moment it didn't feel like it- he WAS in fact breathing, and so that hammering of his heart in his chest and feeling of not being able to breathe was his head lying to him. He had no time for this. Ed needed him.

He closed his eyes and envisioned the floor plan of the Hughes' home in his mind. He'd rarely been upstairs, but he'd helped Hughes move a bed up there when they'd moved in, so he knew the rough layout of the bedrooms and the one bathroom upstairs.

Ed had probably been in Elicia's bedroom, putting her to bed.

Roy moved through the wreckage, which was over his knees at some points, and stood below where Elicia's bedroom would've been- had been- two hours before. Something caught his eye, and he knelt down, sifting through the burned wood and tiles, pulling out a partially burned piece of cardboard. It was half charred beyond recognition, but on the unburned part, Roy could make out half of a 'Chutes and Ladders' game boards.

Roy's heart started to beat faster, if that was possible. He cast the gameboard aside, continuing to dig through the rubble. But there was nothing- no burnt hair, no burnt flesh...

Even if they'd been burned, Ed's automail probably would have remained- or at leas thte metal would have melted. But there was nothing. They had been in this bedroom, but they'd fled- probably when they'd realized there was a fire.

You couldn't make it downstairs, it was an inferno. The second floor was being burnt... where did you go?

Roy strode to where he'd seen the hallway. There weren't many options- a small closet, Hughes and Gracia's room, an office... Or the bathroom.

Roy scanned the rubble critically. It was up to his knees at most points- the burnt metal skeleton of springs that had once been the couch laid twisted at one point, but towards where the bathroom had been, the wreckage was higher, nearly piled up to his waist...

Did you hide in there? Turn on the water and try to buy yourself some time?

He was scaling the pile of wreckage now, pawing through it carefully until he stood on top of it. Over most of it, he caught a hint of white- a clawfooted bathtub? It'd fallen down from the second floor.

And there was water in it.

Roy tripped on something and stumbled, nearly falling. He looked behind him, brushing aside the pieces of burnt wood and plaster to see what looked to be hardened dirt... that was covered in transmutation marks. There was a hole in the floor- or what remained of it, anyways. And from beneath it, the crawl space, there was a small dome of dirt projecting upward- like someone had made a little cave to try and keep the rubble and heat off of themselves.

"Ed! Can you hear me!?" He was filled with strength he didn't know he had, picking up a heavy beam of wood and casting it aside. Hughes and Alphonse had heard him, and they raced over as well to help.

"He's in there! I can see the transmutation marks! ED! Ed, are you there!" They'd nearly uncovered the top of the dome, now, and Roy looked around. "I need some chalk."

"ED! Ed, can you hear me!?"

"Elicia! Daddy's here!"

"Brother! Are you in there!?"

"They're here big brother!" Elicia shook him, and Ed grunted, gasping in pain, before he looked up. He could hear the muffled voices of Roy, Hughes, and his brother outside.

He allowed himself a small smile.

"We're here!" he tried to call, but his voice was hoarse and weak.

Elicia looked at him with concern.

"Go over and yell. They'll get through soon."

"DADDY! DADDY I'M HERE!"

"Daddy! Daddy I'm here!"

Hughes legs gave out from under him, and he fell to his knees in the rubble, hearing the small voice. "Elicia! We're coming to get you, Daddy is, I promise..."

Roy hurriedly finished sketching the freehand array on top of the dome with chalk. He was no geological alchemist, but he'd studied it vaguely years ago... He slammed his hands on the array, and in a flash of blue light, the hardened dirt crumbled to dust, giving a view of the small cave within... And a small, soot covered Elicia.

"Daddy!"

Roy reached in and grabbed the girl beneath the arms, pulling her out and handing her over to a waiting Hughes, who smothered her in kisses.

"Ed? Are you in there?"

Ed had managed to get to his feet- the dome he'd created wasn't very big, and he had to walk hunched over, but he made it to the hole in the wall and looked up at Roy expectantly. The only part of the boy's face that wasn't covered in soot was his golden eyes, and even they were dull with exhaustion. Still, Ed cracked a small smile at the sight of him, his white teeth looking unnaturally bright in contrast with his sooty skin. "Took you long enough, Bastard." he said hoarsely.

Roy offered his hand and the boy gratefully took it, and Roy pulled him up from the hole onto solid ground.

Ed stumbled for a moment once he was out, but regained his balance, though Roy regarded him with concern.

"And then big brother made us get in the tub, an' he broke the toilet, and the tub fell through the floor and made a big splash!" Elicia was regaling Hughes, who'd handed her off to Gracia and was wiping his eyes.

"Are you alright, brother?" Al asked, soulfire eyes gazing at Ed carefully.

"Yeah Al, I'm-" Ed paused, doubling over as a hacking cough shook his frame. He spat a mouthful of black soot onto the ground and wheezed for a second, before straightening up and giving his brother a shaky smile "Fine."

"We're going to the hospital." Roy said, no room in his voice for argument.

"No!" Ed protested hoarsely.

"You can hardly stand." Roy said, onyx eyes looking at the boy critically.

"I can hardly stand for this bullshit any longer, you mean." Ed said, wiping his chapped lips. "Do you guys have any water? I'm thirsty."

"No, but we'll get you some- at the hospital." Roy said firmly.

"I'm fine!" Ed protested.

"Then walk to the car." Roy pointed.

"Okay, fine you grumpy bastard..."

Ed took two steps before his legs gave out.

"Brother!"

"Ed!"

Roy said nothing, simply catching the boy as he fell and nodding. "That's what I thought. How 'fine' are you again?"

"I don't wanna stay at the hospital!" Ed's voice bordered on whining, proof of just how tired the boy was. He looked up at Roy desperately "I want to go home!".

"I didn't say we'd stay, Ed." Roy said, expression softening. "But we at least need to get you looked at. Then we can go home."

"We should probably go as well, with Elicia." Mrs. Hughes pointed out.

Ed realized, for the first time, that the Hughes were here.

"Oh shit."

Everyone paused.

"Hughes- I, uh... I'm really sorry about the house. I mean, it burned down, but I didn't burn it down, but you guys left me babysitting for one night and your house burned down... I'm sorry." Ed lowered his eyes as though he were ashamed.

Hughes burst out laughing.

Ed looked up, surprised at the outburst, and Hughes stepped over, placing one hand on a seated Ed's shoulder while the other was wrapped around Gracia and Elicia.

"Ed- I don't give a damn about the house. Everything that's important to me is right here."

As always, coffee is appreciated! https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12

#fma fanfiction #FMA #burned #burns #injury #accident #Edwhumph #edward elric whumph #parentalroy #parental roy #roy mustang #ed whump #whumph #whump #angst #hurt ed #comfort #hurt #hurt/comfort

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bellesque · 5 years ago

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Sweet Dreams (Loki x Reader) Chapter 2

Read chapter one here on tumblr or on AO3.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.5K Warnings/Tags: Incubus Loki, right now I have no idea what else I’m sorry I’m exhausted Summary: It’s your first free weekend in what feels like forever and you plan on snoozing through it without any interruptions. Someone has other plans.

A/N: Happy early Valentine's Day! I'm actually so overwhelmed with the response this has gotten - it's crazy. I'm so grateful and I love you. Y'all are amazing.

YOU’RE ENTIRELY DISSATISFIED.

You woke up lightheaded and so close, oh so close, to the release that you craved. To have it robbed from you, to come so close only to have it taken away in a little less than a heartbeat, leaves you agitated and—quite frankly—still aroused.

It’s already midday. Surely by now the effects of the mystery man in your dreams have worn off. Surely you’ve forgotten the sound of his enchanting voice, the feel of his mouth on your skin, the absolute bliss that coursed through your body when he…

You’re a little in shock, to say the least. Memories of your fever dream linger in the back of your mind, resurfacing at the most random moments.

You are no stranger to wet dreams. Hell, they’re a welcome change from time to time. What makes this one so different?

Of course, you know the answer. It’s only your stubbornness and pride keeping you from admitting it. You want to chalk it up to just being a dream, too good to be real—only it was real, and you know that in your heart. You just can’t explain how.

Your Saturday morning is spent obsessing over the man (incubus, you recall him telling you) and replaying every little moment from last night’s tryst.

There’s a niggling feeling that you can’t shake: whatever happened last night is far from over. Oh no, things have only just begun.

And the thought thrills you.

You find yourself constantly checking the time throughout the day.

You’re antsy, whether you want to admit it or not. It’s a mix of fear from not knowing if whatever the hell happened was real or dangerous at all, and anticipation for what’s yet to come.

Until the next night of ours, sweet.

Next. You’re absolutely certain he said next, which means that your indecent show yesterday is getting an encore.

The sound of your TV blurs into background noise as you check your phone. 5:36 PM. Far too early for you to be going to bed, but you can’t even focus on the show you’re watching as your thoughts are consumed by what awaits you when you enter dreamland.

You’re too fucking excited to go to bed that the chances of falling asleep as easily as you want are slim.

With a huff, you rise from your couch, stalking to your closet in the hopes that some reorganization will help you clear your thoughts and relieve some of your pent up energy. Tidying up has that effect, right?

And it helps, even just a little. You settle into a rhythm: keep, toss, hey this is cute, and ew why do I have this; fold, hang, roll. You’re surprised to find clothes you haven’t seen in what feels like years and check if they still fit you. One particularly racy number catches your attention, bringing to the fore of your brain the reason why you’re fixing your closet in the first place.

You finger the silky material of one of the straps. Maybe if you wear this tonight…

You all but lunge for your phone and check the time, a twinge of enthusiasm in your actions because you can see it’s beginning to darken outside. Which means it’s almost time to sleep.

7:09 PM.

You let out an exasperated sigh.

As soon as 9 o’clock rolls around (it takes it long enough) and after a long, steamy bath, you pull on the lingerie you found earlier, your hands shaking as if you had just a little too much caffeine. It’s embarrassing how much you’ve worked yourself up over this, turning into a bundle of sex-crazed nerves. It was all you could think about today, you reason. Cut yourself some slack. Or maybe just enjoy it wholeheartedly without the guilt.

The last option is the most appealing.

So you settle into the covers, turn off the lamp that sits by your nightstand, and close your eyes, mentally prepared to accept whatever sexual fate you are to receive.

Only nothing happens.

Your thoughts from today, filthy and secret and quite numerous, play on loop, forcing your mind to stay awake. The opposite of what you want to happen. You want to fall asleep, to see the gorgeous man standing over you and to relish his reaction when he sees what you’re wearing, and then you want to see his expression turn wolfish as he begins to peel off—

You’re doing it again.

Damn it, why can’t you shut your brain off?

You inhale deeply, squeezing your eyes tighter as though the action is enough to command yourself to sleep.

“C’mon,” you mutter to yourself, squeezing your legs together now too. “Sleep, damn it.”

You don’t. Or rather, you can’t.

You don’t know how long you spend lying in your bed with your eyes closed and the rest of your body fidgeting. You toss and turn, attributing your inability to doze off to perhaps the wrong sleeping position. You lie on your back, your stomach, the left side, the right side—and you’re still as restless as before.

At one point in the night you sit up, half-growling, half-groaning your frustration. You just want to sleep. Hasn’t it been your plan for this whole weekend? How is it that they’ve been uprooted and changed so quickly?

Part of you wishes that as you sat up, you’d be met with the charming gaze of the man, signifying that you’ve successfully fallen asleep. Only there is no one to greet you in the night, and you are still most definitely awake.

You’re irritable and tired of the situation, so you grab your phone to watch something before bed. And then it clicks—last night you were listening to the audiobook! It helped you relax then, perhaps it can do the same now.

Triumphant as if you’ve cracked the code, you open it up and let the audiobook play, the narrator’s voice droning on, the words washing over you like a lullaby.

It’s working, you think excitedly as your eyes begin to leaden with sleep. This is the key after all! The audiobook is the gateway to sleep, and ultimately the gateway to him.

And a few good minutes later, you knock out.

You wake up.

Your mind whirrs first, before anything else. The gears of your mind are slow and heavy, groggy, needing a little push. Your eyes haven’t opened, but you can tell it’s already light outside.

What the hell, it’s already light outside?

Your eyes snap open. You’re awake.

You’re fucking awake and he didn’t come last night.

Humiliation creeps into your veins in the form of heat rushing to your face, even if there’s no one but yourself to see it. You even dressed up for him, you think, grimacing as you look down at yourself. Well. That sure was a waste.

Maybe this is the push you need: he isn’t real after all. This week you were tired, short-fused, and definitely sexually deprived. You climb out of bed and pad towards your bathroom. Yes—you conjured up a literal dream man who also happened to be a sex god. Only your mind didn’t give you the courtesy and satisfaction of actually boning with the said dream man.

As you turn on the showerhead, you can’t help the disappointed exhale that echoes around you. Maybe you’re crazy, and him simply a figment of your imagination, but he felt real.

But it’s time for you to stop living in your head, you decide firmly. You’re calling Isla (she’s the one who recommended the audiobook) to see if she can hook you up with a blind date next weekend. After all, you’re a woman with needs, and you can’t rely on dreams to get off.

This time you enjoy your Sunday without any new thoughts of him.

“So listen,” Isla says to you on the phone on Tuesday afternoon, “I finally got you a date, but the catch is, he’s not free on the weekend. Thursday sound good?”

“Thursday’s perfect,” you reply, hitting send on one of the emails you’re writing. “Thanks, Isles. What’d you say his name was again?”

“Jacob. He’s a solid 8/10 both in the looks department and in the sheets. You did say you wanted one night stand material, right?”

“Not a one night stand, per se. I mean, yes, well”—you blow air out through your nose—“it’s whatever.”

“Right, this whatever of yours is going over to your place on Thursday night so better get that engine running soon, because you don’t sound the least bit excited at the idea of getting laid. You okay?”

“It’s fine.” You swivel in your chair. You can’t exactly tell her your blind date-slash-hookup probably won’t top the experience you had with mystery dream guy, so you choose to be deliberately vague in your answers. “Thursday it is. Now, I gotta go, I have work to do—talk to you soon.”

This is your solution: to screw him out of your mind by replacing figment with fact. Hopefully it works.

You get the feeling it won’t.

Wednesday night, you fall asleep to the sound of rain outside. There’s something about the peace and tranquility, the steadiness of the pitter patter, that comforts you like a familiar blanket.

You’re dreaming tonight: it’s nothing out of the ordinary, just you and Isla on some island getaway downing tropical drinks. You’re heading up to your hotel room, laughing, but a figure in a jet black suit stands right in front of your door. You stop, blink, and the scene changes from your island getaway to your bedroom.

He’s back. And real.

You’re sitting on your bed, staring, your heart thumping loudly against your ribcage. Vastly different from you, he’s leaning against the door, his posture casual and aloof as if he owns the place.

He regards you with a twinkling eye, his lips just barely curved upwards. He quirks up an eyebrow as he pushes off the door and takes two steps towards your bed.

“Did you miss me, pet?”

Something inside you melts as soon as the question is asked, his voice still as rich and full as you remember it nights ago. And then you remember it’s been almost a week, and that he’s left you hanging for that amount of time.

Without much thought, you slink out of bed and walk towards him. “You came back,” you say, and you’re proud of the fact that your voice is stronger than you feel. Right now you want to melt, sink into him and all his spaces, but the humiliation you felt (albeit weirdly misplaced—who gets upset that they got stood up by a dream guy?) takes precedence.

“Did you doubt that I would, kitten?”

You are about a pace apart from each other. Feeling bold, you look up into his green eyes. Oh, how you can get lost in them: warm and seductive and—

No. You will not make this easy. He comes for pleasure, and his alone. You were a little naïve to think he would consider you in this equation, but you know better now.

“I mean, it has been a fucking week. Almost.” There’s an edge to your tone, you make sure of that. Just to make it clear to him that even if he isn’t human, it’s not fair to leave someone on the brink of orgasm and let them think about it for days on end.

“A fucking week?” he repeats, only his tone is amused and thoughtful. He takes a step towards you and you instinctively take one back. A dance of sorts, only there is no reciprocation from you. “I apologize for my absence, sweet. I had other responsibilities I needed to take care of and I didn’t think it would affect you this much. Let me make it up to you”—your knees bump against the corner of your mattress and you buckle under the surprise of it. You sit with a yelp, and he rests his hands on your bare shoulders. “Let me make it up to you by a fucking week.”

“What?” Is he going to make you wait again?

His fingers begin to drum lightly on your collarbone. His eyes are practically glittering with excitement, mesmerizing you with how devastatingly handsome he is up close. Especially when he’s looking at you like that.

“As you put so eloquently, sweet, a fucking week. An entire week of me coming to ravish you night after night, until you’re completely sated and satisfied.” His voice is a murmur, so low and heady you think you hear it inside you, warming you from your innermost parts to the tips of your fingers. “Does that appeal to you, pet?”

Your eyes flutter close as his long fingers skim up and down the column of your throat. Barely five minutes and your resolve has flung itself out the window.

“Yes,” you breathe, arching your neck as he brushes hair from your shoulders.

“Good. I intend to have my fill, and we’ve barely begun. Let’s make a game of it, hmm?” He twirls a lock of your hair around his index finger. “Being my lover is no easy feat. We need to heighten your senses, make sure you’re well-prepared.”

“What do you mean?” The question you ask spills from your lips as a default reaction, not truly thought out. Your attention is elsewhere, that being everywhere his fingers brush against.

“I’m going to learn about you, sweet. And you are going to learn about me.” He presses his palm flat against your chest, right on your sternum, the purposeful action a contrast to your now submissive self. Gently he pushes you until you’re lying on your back, and he climbs onto the bed with each leg on either side of you. His lean figure looms above you, dominating, as he lowers himself, stretching across you, the length of his body encasing you in his warmth and scent. He settles his weight on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you, but the hungrier part of you wants to have as little space between you as possible. It’s intoxicating you further; with every breath you take you feel like you’re inhaling more of him. You just want more of him.

He lowers his head until you feel his mouth at the shell of your ear. Something inside you coils in long-awaited anticipation, your muscles tense and rigid, as if any unwarranted movement will cause this reality to crumble in on itself.

His nose skims the helix of your ear, his prolonged inhale adding to the fire in your veins. And then he speaks in that spellbinding timbre that drives you mad.

“Night after night after night, I’m going to ravish you with my attention. My affection. I will discover, sweet, what desires you keep in the deepest recesses of your heart, where no one else but I can reach, and I will discover what desires have yet to be awakened in you. I like to think I’m quite skilled at that.” He chuckles in your ear, the sound filling your mind with fantasies and visions of other sounds he can make, none of them innocent. “I want to know everything, sweet. I want to see everything—every rise and fall of your chest when you come close to release, the way your delicious lips part when it finally happens.”

Your eyes have slipped close at this point, every fiber in your being attuned to his words and his voice, hypnotizing you into picturing what he means.

“Yes, can you see it now?” His index finger traces light, arbitrary patterns on the outside of your bare thigh. “Because I can, quite perfectly. You’re going to be a wonderful treat, my dear—so delightful to unravel. Every change in expression, every shift in of your muscle, I’m going to savor it all. Savor you. And then you will learn about me: what I enjoy, how to make me beg for you after you’ve begged for me.”

He drags a hand over your thigh from the knee up, until it rests on the spot between your hip and your ass. You can’t stop yourself from making a little noise (did you just whimper? ) and your hips lift off the bed ever so minutely you think he doesn’t notice—but he does, because he hums and settles the weight of his pelvis over yours.

He’s hard and huge, and a thought flashes through your mind: oh, the things he can do to you with that much power between his legs and the things you want to do to it.

“I like that sound, pet,” he comments, his lips skimming across your earlobe. He gyrates his hips over you once, twice, and then heaves off you. “Do it again.”

A curse tumbles from your lips, and he chuckles.

“What are you doing to me?” Your voice sounds different to you, breathy and almost whiny, and you’re hit with the realization that any form of coherency you have left is about to disappear from you entirely.

He puts his weight on you again, the stiffness poking at your belly a reminder—as if you need it—that there is the promise of more, and that he wants this probably as much, if not more, than you do.

“Teaching you,” he answers simply, his head dipping further to pepper your jawline with kisses. This time you allow yourself to relish the moment, and your neck moves to give him more access as his lips travel to a sensitive spot behind your ear.

“I… I’m not sure w-what I’m learning,” you respond between heavy breaths.

He sucks on a sensitive spot, just at the junction below your earlobe where the base of your jawline is, and you hear yourself gasp, a needy sound that under any other circumstance, would make you shy away in an instant. But here, in this moment, you feel there is no other way to express fully, and the sound is just right.

The gentle suction on your neck is somehow in time with the throbbing of your body, pulsing with the ache for more. His tongue licks over his new spot once he’s done, and your eyes all but roll to the back of your head at the action. The idea that he has just marked you as his sends an electrifying shudder down your body. He moves his face so it’s aligned with yours—you can feel his nose brushing against yours and his lips are a hair’s breadth away. They’re parted, so close to yours—you could easily capture them in a kiss with the slightest tilt of your chin. You try to do so, only you can feel him pull back and laugh lightly.

“First lesson,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth and then down to the ear he hasn’t whispered in. You shiver, craning your neck to the side. “Well, perhaps not a lesson just yet. But the first thing you must remember is my name.”

Yes. Finally you will know his name, something you can scream and whisper and groan in the future. It’s as if he reads your mind, because he continues, “I want to hear you say my name in all different ways. Soft, loud. Pleas, demands. Is that alright with you, sweet?”

You can’t string a single sentence now, with his mouth at your ear and his hands skimming over the skin where your pajama top has ridden up. Your brain is fried, muddled with lust, so all you do is nod.

“Good girl. Now let me hear it from that pretty mouth of yours.” He moves to kiss both your closed eyelids, your nose, until he’s hovering over your lips. You can feel them move above yours and it takes all your willpower not to kiss him right there. “Repeat after me: Loki.”

Loki. It’s a fitting name, for some reason. You can’t picture him with anything else.

“Loki,” you whisper against his lips, quiet and hushed, and it feels right, rolling off your tongue like a stream of water.

“Very good,” he says, and at last he presses his lips against yours, searing hot and languid at the same time. It’s as if he’s taking his time tasting you while you let him take control, his tongue skimming your top lip. And then he kisses you with more fervor, a little growl coming up deep from his throat, and he opens his mouth and takes your bottom lip in between his teeth.

Stars. You’re seeing stars.

Your breathing hitches as he sucks on your bottom lip, a steady rhythm that opens up the floodgates of filthy thoughts and wants and wishes. Giving one final suck, he completely lifts his entire body off of you. Your eyes open, bleary and heavy, and you can see just how divine he looks above you: aroused, flushed, and staring at you with the intensity of the summer sun.

“First real lesson, sweet,” he says, his voice just the slightest bit rougher, “is sound.”

#loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x reader #smut #incubus loki #reader insert #tom hiddleston #fanfic #by belle

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namelessarcher · 5 years ago

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Hello, hope you're doing okay considering what's happening out there! Can I request for Arthur Pendragon and Merlin having a s/o that lacks self-preservation? Like they tend to overexert themselves and ignore their injuries that aren't completely healed because they wish to become a better master. They don't say it outright, but they do this to avoid another situation similar to what happened in Fuyuki

Arthur Pendragon

Arthur can see how your current path was one wrought with despair and destruction. Every step you took was filled with hardship, and he could feel the desperation in your actions despite how your words and body language showed otherwise. To those that weren’t close enough to you, they did not see how you’d always choose the riskier option over the safer choice if it meant that the riskier one would lead to fewer casualties. The real risk was never how much they’d have to fight, or how long they had to fight, but rather how safe it was for you.

Arthur does his best to keep you safe and out of trouble, but sometimes he feels like he can’t predict your actions as well as he thought he could. He understood your mindset and your rationality rather well, yet when it came down to the actual moment and you were forced to change your path, he wasn’t always at hand to stop you. It worries him immensely how you just ignore your own well-being for the sake of ending the fighting faster, for the sake of saving the world.

He gets it, really he does. He understands more so than others how important it is to protect the world and to save humanity. After all, that was his purpose as well, it was perhaps the reason why he felt such kinship and fondness towards you - that both of you were aiming for the same goal, albeit with a slightly altered path. He wants nothing more than to make sure you actually reach your goal, even if he has to put his world-hopping on hold, he’ll stay by your side as long as he can until your goals reach fruition.

But he doesn’t want to see you reaching your goals and destroy yourself in the process. Yes, there was a limit on the amount of time you had to complete and reach the goal of saving humanity, but honestly he wanted nothing more than to keep you off the field if he could. It pained him that no matter how much he tried to talk some sense into you to just take a day off, to rest for an extra 5 minutes, you’d shake your head and just trudge into the field with bandages barely replaced and refreshed.

It’s not long before Arthur finally pulls you aside, yet again, but this time with more desperation than he had anticipated to ask you to just take care of yourself properly. It doesn’t hit you until you hear the pleading tone in his voice and see the concern in his eyes. He knows that you’ve been carrying a heavy burden, and he also knows that you’ve been bottling it all up for a while now. You haven’t bothered to tell anyone the reason behind your desperation. No one knew what made you push yourself to the death. They had chalked it up to the burden of saving humanity, but when you finally admit that you had to get stronger, that you had to get better because you couldn’t afford to lose anyone else - that was when Arthur and everyone else in Chaldea realized that you were still holding yourself accountable for the events of Fuyuki.

You don’t change overnight, but you do start to reconsider your actions before burning yourself out. It helps that Arthur is always there by your side to reaffirm that your conviction and purpose is correct and that it’s valid for you to feel frustrated about past events. However, he doesn’t want you to linger on them and wants you to live for the present. He wants you to remember that the past is there to help you learn from your mistakes, not to hold your mistakes over your head for the rest of your life and making you feel like you aren’t good enough. His support and encouragement helps you realize how detrimental your previous mentality and stance on taking on the task before you was, and helps you learn from it instead of having it burden you further.

Merlin

Merlin knew what it was that made you push yourself to your limits every single time. He could still remember witnessing the despair and horror on your face when you had lost the Director. And to this day, he can still see the anguish on your face every time you wake up from that same nightmare every other day. You can still hear the cry for help, the despair in her voice and the sorrow from not ever feeling worthy. Marisbury’s cries for help echoed within you and you couldn’t help but carry those memories as a constant reminder that you weren’t good enough.

He hated it though. He hated how you took risks without even considering the consequences, and no matter how many times he’d advise you not to, you never listened. Why was that? He couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t take his advice to heart, he knew he messed around a lot, but as soon as he stepped foot on the battlefield with you there wasn’t a moment where he wasn’t serious. After all, if he had given you the wrong strategy, if he didn’t tell you all the possibilities to survive the upcoming battle, then he failed you not only as your trusted Servant, but also as your Beloved.

He does his best not to nag at you all the time though since he knows you probably have heard it enough from your other Servants, yet perhaps he should nag you more cause at least you consider his words. It’s not helpful though as he notices over time you just sit there staring at the campfire as his words go in one ear and out the other.

Merlin isn’t the type to tiptoe around the topic, nor is he the type to sugarcoat it. He can’t stand that one night you’d tell him how much you love him and how he means the world to you and that you’ll do your best to survive and live just so that you could be with him longer - and then the next morning you’re throwing yourself onto the field without a single worry or thought in your head about your survivability.

When Merlin calls you out on it, it’s perhaps the first time you hear so much anger and disappointment in his voice - genuine anger and disappointment. He’s feigned his emotions many times, in fact, to this day he still claims that he cannot feel the emotions that many others feel, yet here he was, feeling genuinely upset and frustrated with you. It startles you and brings you to tears upon hearing his anger directed at you. You never meant to purposely do this to him. You never even realized that you’ve been pushing yourself to the point of exhaustion several times.

It’s after this confrontation that you finally begin to realize what you’ve been doing to yourself, and consequently what you’ve done to others around you to basically protect you from yourself. He’s glad that he’s finally helped you see reason and logic, and honestly he’s more frightened at himself for experiencing such vivid emotions. But he can’t help but feel some sense of happiness that he finally gets to help you realize your real potential instead of letting you walk upon a path of destruction.

#arthur pendragon #merlin #fate grand order #fgo #headcanons #mod jenn #Anonymous

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prince-dongju · 5 years ago

Text

Runaway Prince

Prince! Seonghwa x Reader

Words: 7.1k (I got a little carried away)

Fluff, a lil angst but a happy ending. The ending gets cheesy, like really cheesy

Summary: When a handsome stranger shows up at your house, you take him in out of the kindness of your heart. What you didn’t know was how big of a turn your life would take as you grow closer.

@shikyus… I finally posted it!!

It was a Thursday when he showed up, a tumultuous night filled with wailing wind and scattered thunderstorms. Claps of thunder and pouring rain caused a massive power outage, shunting the warmth from your apartment. Curling deeper into the sheets on your bed, you burrowed further into your hoodie. A sudden knocking at your door nearly made you jump out of your skin. Reluctantly, you left your warm cocoon to check who was at the door. Peeking through the peephole, you saw a man who you judged to be in his early twenties. His hair stuck in every direction, and his suit had probably seen better days. Shrugging your shoulders, you decided he looked pretty non threatening (and cute). Grabbing the handle, you opened the door.

“Hello.” He sounded confused, like he was fully expecting you to not answer.

“How can I help you?” You tried your best to keep your breathing steady, realizing that helping a complete stranger may not be such a good idea.

“I… um…,” He stuttered, looking at the floor nervously. “This is going to sound insane.”

“Try me.” Great. He’d probably been stalking you for months and had finally decided to talk to you.

“I need a place to stay for a week or two, just so I can get back on my feet.” You weren’t expecting this. Judging by his appearance, you thought he would be some playboy millionaire’s son living off of his father’s money. Why would he be knocking on doors looking for a place to stay?

You thought about his request for a moment. If he was looking to rob you, nothing you owned was of much worth. Why not? You made your decision.

“You’re just in luck. I’ve been looking for a roommate for a while now.” Okay, that was far from the truth, there was no way you could squash another person into your tiny studio apartment. “On one condition. You help out around the apartment.”

“Deal.” He smiled. A smile so bright and charming with teeth so bright he could outshine the sun. You almost forgot what you were talking about. “Can I um, come in then?”

“Oh, uh yeah.” You mentally slapped yourself for getting caught up in his smile and his deep, warm eyes.... Pushing the door open further, you let him step inside. The tour of your apartment only lasted about a minute, long enough to show him around the miniscule space.

“Would it be okay if I took a shower?” He seemed nervous with his request, like you would reject the possibility of him cleaning up.

“Of course. Let me find you something to wear.” Rifling through your closet, you found some clothes left by your ex. They seemed like they would fit so you decided to let him take them.

“Here.” Giving him the bundle of clothes, your hands brushed his and you pulled back immediately. “Take as long as you need.”

As the water rumbled through the pipes to fuel his shower, you plopped down on the couch. In a moment your life had turned around completely. You lived an average life, maybe partied with one or two friends on the weekend, nothing outrageous. Now you suddenly had an unidentified guest who would be sharing your living space. Your ex did tell you to be a little more spontaneous though, claiming that your inability to surprise him ultimately brought an end to your relationship. Pushing the thoughts from your head, you noticed the water had stopped running. When the man stepped through the door, he looked extremely uncomfortable. As if he had never worn sweatpants before.

“If you’re uncomfortable, I’m sure I could find you something else,” you said, turning to look for something else in your room.

“No no, It’s fine.” He smiled to show you he was okay. “Thank you for accommodating me. Your hospitality is much appreciated.”

How proper. Shaking it off, you nodded and smiled back. Now… where should he sleep? Looking around, you decided the couch would be the best option. The couch also happened to be only thirty feet away from your bed. You sure hoped your gut feeling about him was right, or you might end up with a knife in your chest. After setting up the couch for him to sleep on, you realized you had never asked for his name. Upon asking, you learned his name was Seonhwa. A fine name, elegant like the man himself. Once he was all settled, you turned off the lights and crawled back into bed.

“Goodnight, Seonghwa,” you whispered before falling into sleep’s comforting embrace.

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Opening your eyes, you took in the light filtering through the curtains. Stretching your arms above your head, you looked around. Last night felt so long ago. As if it was a distant memory. You would have chalked it up to a wild dream if not for the mop of blonde hair curled up on your couch. Rolling out of bed, you got to work on breakfast. Although you were trying to be quiet, the banging of pots and pans eventually brought your guest back to consciousness. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he yawned deeply and sat up. Even though his hair looked like it had gone through a wind storm, you had to admit he was still extremely handsome. His posture was extremely straight, his back as stiff as a board. When you told him breakfast was ready, he stood and walked elegantly to the table. Never had you seen someone move with such grace in their step. Now you were starting to wonder just where he came from. Maybe he spent some time in a boarding school for elite children? One of those places where they teach snobby kids how to be even snobbier. He thanked you profusely for the meal, even if it was just a piece of toast with some bacon and scrambled eggs.

While you were finishing up your food, you decided to get some things out of the way.

“I work until seven tonight. I have Netflix on the television if you get bored. It would be nice if you could clean the place for me, though.”

His face lit up and he nodded eagerly before stopping himself and smiling a little. “I can do that. I am quite good at tidying up.”

“Okay…” You’d never seen someone so eager to clean. “Tomorrow I’m off, so I can take you to get some new clothes.”

He gave a slight nod. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done for me. You are truly the kindest person I have ever met.”

You thanked him for the compliment, but something about it made you think deeper on it. The kindest person he had ever met? He surely was just saying that. If this was the kindest someone had ever been to him, that was a little heartbreaking. From the few hours you had spent with him, he had been nothing but polite, to think that people were unkind to him made you feel a little sad. Shaking your head, you chastised yourself for thinking so deeply about a man you just met.

Checking the clock, you realized you were running a little late. “Crap! I’m going to be late.” You exclaimed, hopping up to quickly wash the dishes.

“Leave this. I can take care of it.” Looking up from the sink, you notice Seonghwa standing right beside you. Looking into your eyes with his comforting chocolate gaze, he gave a slight nod before motioning for you to head off to work.

“Thank you Seonghwa.” You muttered before sprinting out the door as fast as you could.

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Work was a little hard to sit though. Your mind kept wandering back home to where Seonghwa was, doing heaven knows what in your apartment. Maybe leaving him alone was a bad idea. Mentally running through your apartment, you were confident you had hidden your important items. After hours of questioning just who this mysterious man was, the clock struck seven. Driving home was extremely nerve wracking. When you got home would your apartment be in one piece? Had he cleaned like you asked him to, or did he make a mess of the place? Turning your key in the lock was the scariest moment of your life. Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you pushed the door open and prayed for the best. The apartment was definitely not a mess. In fact, it was far from it. The windows were spotless, the counters sparkling, and… had the fan been dusted? You couldn’t remember the last time you had put so much effort into cleaning.

“What do you think?” Seonghwa quickly stood from his perch on the couch, looking at you like he was nervous of what you would say.

“Seonghwa! It’s amazing! You really are good at tidying up.” He smiled, his bright teeth glowing in the light of the room. “Thank you! Everyone at the pal- at home says I’m good at it. Come sit down. You’ve had a long day.” Guiding you to your own couch, he was ready to get you anything you needed. After draping a blanket across your legs, you offered to share it with him, smiling as he pressed closer to you. While watching an awfully cheesy comedy, you felt your eyelids growing droopy. Swaying back and forth on the couch, you tried to keep yourself awake. But it was no use. The day had taken a toll on you, leaving you exhausted. Noticing you were about to fall off the couch, Seonghwa gently directed you to lean back on the couch so you wouldn’t fall off and hurt yourself. When your head lolled to the side and landed on his shoulder he froze for a moment, unsure if he should let you stay or wake you up. He decided that you needed your sleep and let you be. Halfway through the second movie he caught the time on the clock and decided he should probably wake you up. Ever so gently, he shook your shoulder. When you yawned, he thought it might be the cutest yawn he had ever witnessed.

“You should get to bed.” He looked at the floor, a little shy at the thoughts running through his head.

“You’re right. Gotta get up early so we can go shopping before it gets too busy.” While you were waiting for your turn in the bathroom, you stared at the floor, deep in thought. A day ago you didn’t even know this man. Now you were falling asleep on his shoulder? What had come over you? One thing was certain, you felt really comfortable with him considering the fact that you had just met. Your thoughts were interrupted by Seonghwa softly calling your name.

“y/n?” looking up, you took in his appearance. His hair was perfectly styled, as if he was going out rather than to bed. Skin glowing, and eyebrows shaped beautifully, his visuals were perfect. Even the clothes you gave him last night fit him better than they did your ex who actually owned them. “I’m done.” his words knocked you out of your trance, and you turned your head to hide your blush.

In the morning you woke to the sound of the sink running. Looking over to the kitchen, you saw Seonghwa standing at the sink washing a few dishes. He noticed you were awake and gave you a warm smile. “I made breakfast for us.” His cooking was definitely better than you expected. Better than your own if you were being completely honest. Maybe letting him stay was a good thing. If he cooked like this all the time, you should keep him around. Conversation flowed easily as you walked down the street to the mall. It felt like you were talking to an old friend, making the time pass twice as fast.

He looked a little uncomfortable going out of the house in the outfit you had given him, but you promised him that you’d find him something better to wear in no time. You noticed he was extremely cautious, eyes flitting around as if he was afraid of someone seeing him.

You chalked it up to him just being embarrassed about the clothes and continued on your way. The first store you entered had a few clothes you suggested he try on. He seemed content with the clothing you picked out, thankful for something to wear. After a few stores you told him to pick out an outfit, telling him you’d buy it so he could wear it out of the store. Waiting for him to change, you were curious as to what he would pick out for himself. When he stepped out of the changing room, you were floored. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a Vogue photo shoot. Models couldn’t pull off the look as good as he did. A white star speckled blazer rested atop a plain black turtleneck. The pants,which were complete with holes in the knees, were also black and matched the shoes he wore.

Your jaw dropped before you could stop it, shaken over how effortlessly he pulled off the look.

“How do I look?” He asked. Upon seeing your reaction, he smiled a little, gaining some confidence.

“You look… you look good.” You managed to choke out.

He noticed a blush spreading across your face and smirked a bit. Where was this sudden confidence coming from? He had been extremely shy and reserved up until this point. “Let me pick out something for you.” Snapping your head up to look at him, you got a little shy. There’s no way you’d look as good as he did in whatever he picked out for you. He could easily obtain a spot in any modeling agency, but you… not so much.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Please y/n. It’ll be fun” He took your hand and pulled you around the store, stopping at a rack of dresses. “This one.” He said, pointing to a tan and blue striped dress. Taking it off the rack, he placed it in your hands and gently guided you to the dressing rooms. After kicking off your clothes and reluctantly putting it on, you had to admit it looked kinda good on you. Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself and pulled back the curtain to the room. His eyes flickered to you immediately and he straightened up from the counter he was resting on.

“Y/n…. you look. Wow.” The last word came out a little breathless as he stared at you, taking in your appearance. He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. Not when you looked that good. Now it was his turn to blush. Chuckling, you give him a bright smile. You thanked him for picking it out for you, amazed at his fashion sense.

Once you had paid for the clothing, you decided to take him around the town. You learned that he wasn’t from around the area, he was just passing through. Conversation flowed easily again, and before long it was sunset. The whole day had passed so quickly, and you got a little sad at the thought of returning home. You suddenly became curious. Where was home for Seonghwa?

“Seonghwa. Where are you from?” His eyes left the sunset to rest on your face. Taking a moment to trace your features, he thought to himself.

His eyes held a sadness at the thought of the town he once called his own. “Somewhere special.”

Puzzled at his response, you let it go and watched the final swatch of pink fade from the sky.

“Do you want to go home? Maybe watch a movie or something?” You wanted to take the last few moments of the day to relax before you had to return to real life the next day. He agreed, and you took off towards your apartment complex.

“You sure do watch a lot of movies.” He teased with a grin.

“Hey. Movies take you places, to foreign lands and galaxies. Don’t judge me for wanting to escape reality every once in a while.” Your tone was light, but the smile fell from his face.

“Believe me. I can relate.”

Walking the rest of the way in an awkward silence, you thought about the sadness held in his words about his hometown. Now you were curious, but you didn't want to press him about it.

Turning on a cheesy chick flick, you tried to forget about all the questions running in your mind. One thing was for sure, Seonghwa made a pretty good friend and you were actually hoping that he would stick around in the city so you could see him after he left your place. Eventually, you drifted off to sleep. Watching movies late at night always had this effect on you. You could hardly stay awake once you pressed play.

Seonghwa smiled softly as your head found its way to his shoulder again. Carefully, he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. Looking at your resting face, he whispered to your sleeping form, “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you about me yet. I promise you I will tell you before I leave.” He didn’t bother to wake you this time, slipping his arm under your knees and the other behind your back. Carrying you bridal style to the bed, he placed you under the soft covers. Pulling the covers over your body, he whispered a soft ‘goodnight’ before turning off the light and making his way to the couch.

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Seonghwa had been with you for a week now. You had grown closer to him every day he was with you. It concerned you a little, knowing his stay was gradually progressing to the end. As the days went by, you learned more about him, his likes and dislikes. You learned he hated messy rooms and loved to clean. His cooking was phenomenal, and he always blushed a little when you complimented him on his cuisine. When you asked him to teach you how to be as good as him, he was so patient. Coaxing you along, he’d tell you which spices would work the best in each dish and gave you endless compliments till the end. You now knew he loved the color blue and when asked why, he said it reminded him of home. Then he’d stare off with that sad look in his eyes that always broke your heart a little.

Life had become a routine at this point, coming home to find him on the couch. Usually he prepared dinner or ordered take out, always having something ready for you when you arrived at home. You’d watch a movie or two with him, always falling asleep before it was finished. You had often pondered on why you couldn’t finish a movie. Maybe it was because you hated endings. If you were asleep you’d never have to witness the fantasy of the movie coming to an end. In the morning you either found yourself in your bed, or on the couch with your head on Seonghwa’s shoulder. When you found yourself in the later position, he would chuckle as you both awoke, brushing the hair away from your face as you helped him do the same.

With each passing day you found yourself falling for him a little more. At first you chalked it up to friendship. But the way he smiled at you had your heart pounding. It was also the little things he did for you, cleaning the apartment and picking up things from the local market that reminded him of you. All you could do was hope he felt the same, or pray that the feelings would leave quickly if he didn’t.

A few nights before a big evaluation at work, he’d offered to help take your mind off the stressful event. You were sure you’d never forget the way he made you laugh, eliminating your stress completely. Wrapping your fingers around a bottle of cheap liquor, you gazed at him through hooded eyes.

“Why are you staring at me?” Seonghwa playfully shoved your leg, giggling a little as he teased you.

A few sips later with your senses clouded further, you told him, “Nothing. You’re just gorgeous.” Resting your chin on your hand, you let out a long sigh. “It’s really unfair.”

Your admission brought a few chuckles from the male. “Me?” He scoffed a bit. “You’re the gorgeous one.” He may have slurred his words a bit, but he meant every one of them. And he hoped you understood that no matter what.

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Coming home after work the next night, you were greeted by the familiar blonde headed boy. He led you to the little dining area and showed you the meal he had prepared for you. It looked as if he had gone all out, digging the packed up wine glasses out of your cupboard. He even lit a few candles and placed them around the table. You told him that you had received a promotion at work and it seemed like this was his way of congratulating you.

Pulling out your chair, he helped you get seated before he walked to the other side of the table and sat himself.

“Congratulations on the promotion y/n.” He smiled brightly across the table at you.

Feeling your heart flip flop at his action, you smiled back. “Thank you Seonghwa.”

Dinner passed with casual conversation, but there was a heaviness evident between you. A tension in the room that was almost palpable. After the other night, something had changed between you two. Admitting to each other that you found the other very attractive could understandably change the relationship a bit.

Reaching across to wipe something from the corner of your mouth, he paused and looked in your eyes. Electricity crackled and the world stopped for a minute before your phone buzzed and you looked away. Shakily, you continued the conversation until it was time to clean up, avoiding the intensity of his gaze as you got up. You took to washing the dishes, trying to clear your head from whatever had happened earlier. To your surprise, a pair of arms encircled you, spinning you around in their embrace. Your hands came to grip his forearms, steadying yourself from the sudden action. Dazed, you looked up into Seonghwa’s eyes, the eyes you had grown to love after gazing at them for so many days. They were filled with something deeper now, a sense of desperation. The familiar scent of whatever cologne he wore invaded your senses, making your knees weak and voiding your head of all thoughts but those of him. Pushing even closer, his hands gripped at the edge of the counter behind you. Eyes flickering towards your lips, he moved his head even closer to yours. Noticing the way you froze up at his actions, he pulled back in embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry y/n. I thought you felt the same way. I guess I was wrong.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes as he pulled away in embarrassment.

“Seonghwa, wait.” You brought your arms around his neck and pulled him back to you. “It’s just… I’m scared.” You confessed, looking into his eyes which were now laced with confusion.

“How so? Are you afraid of me?” The thought of you being fearful of him seemed to pain him.

“It’s not you, Hwa.” Letting out a soft sigh, you tried to calm the frantic pounding of your heart. “I’m afraid of how fast I’m falling.” The words were nothing more than a whisper, falling from your parted lips like a faint breeze.

Tilting your chin to maintain eye contact, his forehead gently met yours. “I feel the same way. But I don’t want to stop.” He moved forward now, wrapping his hands around your waist delicately as he tilted his head to the side. Lips pressing against yours softly, he let out a sigh of relief. As if he had been waiting for this moment. Tightening the grip you had on his neck, you pulled him closer, losing yourself in the feeling of his lips burning against yours. His mouth moved against yours slowly, savoring the way your lips felt on his. The way he kissed you left you breathless, somehow filling you up yet leaving you for want of more. After a few moments, he pulled back to leave a gentle kiss to the side of your jaw. Your eyes remained shut even after the loss of contact, trying to hold onto the way he made you feel for a moment more.

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Sitting on the couch the next night, you couldn’t help but feel that everything was right. You had never been so happy as you had been since Seonghwa came into your life a week ago. Had it really been that short? It felt like an eternity had passed.

It felt good to be in his arms, and he told you just the same. With one of his hands around your waist and the other carding through your hair, you had never felt so safe.

“y/n.” He looked you in the eyes. “I think I should tell you where I’m from now.”

You braced for the worst, waiting for him to tell you he grew up in prison.

“I’m actually not from around here. I grew up far away from here in a small country. But none of that matters anymore. All that matters is that I can never go back.” The familiar sadness upon mentioning his hometown was back. You wished you could take this pain from him and tell him that everything would be okay. On top of that, you were curious as to why he could never return home.

“Why is that Seonghwa? Why can’t you go back?” He turned to face you a little and looked you in the eyes.

“This may come as a bit of a shock, but I’m… I’m a prince. Or, I was”

Immediately after the words left his mouth, your jaw dropped wide open. No way. He was kidding you right? Princes only existed in fairytales and ancient monarchies, not in drabby one room apartments.

“I’m sorry… what?” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and continued with his explanation.

“My stepmother married my father when I was just a little boy. He was so blinded by his love for her that he didn’t notice how she truly was. She slowly took control of the country and by the time he realized, it was too late. I was never enough for her. One of the reasons she resented me so much was because I was not her own child. In the end, she… she killed him. She murdered her own husband and banished me for crimes I never committed.” A single tear rolled down his cheek, falling upon your intertwined fingers. “If only I was fast enough. I could have stopped it. I could have stopped it all. And I-I-” His words cut off as sobs wracked his body. Pulling his head to your chest, you held him close and rubbed his back as he cried. The pain he was experiencing sounded unimaginable. Whispering words of comfort, you felt your heart break for him, wishing you could carry some of his pain.

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You awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the windows. Acutely aware of something tickling at your collar bones, you turned your head to view Seonghwa’s head buried in your neck. You had fallen asleep on the couch. His body was pressed upon yours, one of his arms draped over your waist while his other hand held yours tightly, as if he was afraid you would leave him. Letting out a sigh, you leaned forward to press gentle kisses along his forehead. He stirred a little at the feeling, snuggling deeper into your embrace. Grateful that you had the day off, you decided that a little more sleep couldn’t hurt.

The next time you awoke, Seonghwa was gone. Opening your eyes wider, you looked around for him. Only once you located him were you able to breathe easily. He stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back. Standing from your place on the couch, you carefully approached him, admiring how the sun’s rays illuminated his features.

“Seonghwa.” You called to him softly, catching his attention. Reaching for your hand, he gave you a sad smile. The pair of you stood in silence, gazing upon the awakening city. You felt his uncertainty, his fear of the future. Pulling him closer, you wrapped your arms around him in a comforting embrace. Closing his eyes, he sighed and leaned down to rest his forehead against yours. You stood there for a while, feeling his beaten heart pulse against your skin.

The next two days were especially hard. Seonghwa was uncharacteristically down, the remembrance of his past taking a toll on his mood. You tried your hardest to get him out of his slump, even offering to help him clean. Even if nothing helped, you would always be there for him, a shoulder to cry on when the world felt like it was caving in. He told you once that he had never felt so at peace than when he was with you, all his worries slowly slipping away. It would take some time to heal, like every loss does, but having you with him made it feel a little easier. Although, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt. You had given him so much and what had he done for you in return? Ever since he had shown up, he’d flipped your whole life around. The added expenses of keeping him here must be taking a toll on you. When he showed up he asked for two weeks, which were quickly coming to a close. Although it would be hard, he knew he should leave.

That night, the power went out again. Another storm thundered outside of your apartment, knocking over a telephone pole. No power meant no heat, and you could see Seonghwa trembling under his single blanket on the couch. Cautiously, you spoke up. “S-Seonghwa. You can join me. If you want.” You told yourself that you’d offered a spot under your covers because he was cold. But maybe it meant more than that. Memories of the night you spent on the couch constantly flooded your brain, the feeling of his arms around you felt even better than you imagined it would be. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want him to hold you again.

Oh so slowly, Seonghwa stood from the couch and cautiously made his way over to you. Standing over the bed, he looked at you with a nervous expression. “Are you sure?” Although he had slept with you before, doing so in your bed felt so...intimate.

Nodding your head and giving him a shy smile, you scooted over and patted the mattress as an invitation. Carefully, he peeled back the covers and slipped beneath them. He had the overwhelming urge to reach out and pull you to him, to hold you so tight that there was no space between you. The idea of brushing your hair from your face and whispering sweet nothings in your ear sent his heart racing. But he held himself back. Leaving would be much harder the closer he got to you. Laying on his back, he stared at the ceiling, listening to your breathing. He could tell that you weren’t asleep quite yet, and when your hand reached out to grasp his own, he couldn’t take it anymore. Turning to face you, he wrapped his arms around your middle and pulled your body flush against his. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he breathed in your now familiar scent.. He felt your fingers rub across his back gently, sending sparks of electricity down his spine. His lips trailed the expanse of your collar bones, each kiss confirming his adoration for you. Your fingers stuttered along his back when you felt his teeth reach to nip at your earlobe fondly. “Thank you for everything,” he whispered. It was a little hard to process the words when his fingers were running along your arms. His mere presence was intoxicating, sending your head spinning in ways you thought were impossible. When he dipped his head to give your neck some attention, you tangled your legs with his and slid your hands up his chest to wind your arms around his neck. Pulling back, he gazed into your eyes with a loving expression, studying every detail of your sparkling irises. “Seonghwa,” you whispered. Gosh, he loved the way you said his name. When you whispered to him again your voice was quiet, but it sent his heart into overdrive. “I think I love you.” Watching him nervously, you searched for any sign that he didn’t feel the same. His response was to crash his lips onto yours, eliciting a gasp from your pretty pink lips which he greedily swallowed with his own. Your words echoed in his head, driving him to press his lips to yours over and over again, making up for every time he’d wanted to kiss you yet refrained. He could swear his heart almost melted when he felt your fingers tug at his platinum locks, applying the perfect amount of pressure. “You’re so gorgeous,” He mumbled on your swollen lips, dipping his head to share a final tender kiss. Once the passion induced haze cleared from his eyes, he noticed how red and puffy your lips had become. Feeling a sudden surge of pride at being the cause of this, he swiped his thumb along your bottom lip and laughed gently. Looking into your eyes, he was captured by the intensity of your gaze. Becoming shy, he hid his face in your neck once again. He knew he should go soon, and continuing this would only bring you more pain. But how could this be so wrong when holding you in his arms felt so right?

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Three days later, you decided to take him around the town again.

Stepping from the apartment, you felt his hand reach over to intertwine with yours. You felt a surge of emotion flood you, completely enraptured by this gorgeous man. His fingers were long and slim, completely enveloping your own in his warmth. Turning his head, he gave you a soft smile. You blushed at his sweet gesture and quickly looked away, missing the way his smile turned into a smirk. When you were with him time seemed to slow down. All your worries and fears slipped away in his presence, calming you like nothing else. Looking at the sky, you silently blessed whatever force brought Seonghwa into your life, for whom you were eternally grateful.

Everything about him could truly be described as princely. The way he held himself was so elegant, you had once wondered if you were even good enough for him. Those fears plagued you often, dragging you down until he assured you that if anything, you were too good for him.

You walked around the city, content with each others presence. Stopping at an ice cream shop, you picked up a portion of the sweet treat for the pair of you. A small trek led you to the pier where you shared the desert. Reaching up, you moved a spoonful of ice cream into his open mouth. You couldn't look him in the eyes for too long, his gaze far too heavy for your heart to take. Moving your eyes to the water, you ate a spoonful of ice cream, deep in thought. Seonghwa felt distant lately. When he spoke to you he rarely made eye contact and when he did his eyes were sad. Adding to that, he had been particularly quiet this morning. You couldn't help but wonder if something was wrong.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by two fingers tilting your chin towards him. Before you could ask why, Seonghwa leaned down and captured your lips in a sweet kiss. You barely had time to trail your hands through his hair before he pulled away and gave you a sheepish smile.

"You had ice cream on your lips."

Although it wasn't deep, there was a sense of urgency to the kiss. Something was definitely wrong.

"Seongie. What's wrong?" Cupping his face, you forced him to look at you. He avoided your eyes as best as he could, trying to make a decision. Letting out a sigh, he finally met your gaze.

"I've been thinking." You waited for him to continue. "About leaving."

"What?" He couldn't possibly be serious. Not when things were going so well. "Why?" You couldn't stop your voice from shaking.

His eyes softened upon hearing the emotion behind your question. "It's time for me to go. I've burdened you enough already. You deserve so much better y/n. Not someone marked as a traitor." Looking up to your face, he paused when he saw a tear trailing down your cheek. Bringing his hands to your face, he wiped your cheek, aching internally for the pain he would have to put you through.

"No. You can't." You knew this was coming, but you didn’t want to accept the reality of his words. Thinking about your life without him left an ache in your chest. "Please don't." Tears fell from your eyes and dripped to the pavement like rain in the spring. He wiped away every tear, eventually pulling you forward to bury your head in his chest.

"If they found you with me, I couldn't bear the terrible things they'd do to you." He had informed you of the cruelty his people were known for. Although his punishment of banishment felt bad enough, those he once held so dear would not hesitate to harm a man who had supposedly betrayed his country. If it was discovered that you were housing him, you would be targeted as well.

Running his hands over your back in a soothing manner, he shed tears of his own, hating the decision he'd been forced to make.

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That night Seonghwa slept in your bed again. Although you felt his breathing steady and his body grow heavy, you could hardly calm your brain. He was leaving in the morning. Nothing would be the same once he walked out that door. His presence was like a heavy blanket, something that takes getting used to, but its absence felt so deeply. Twisting in his arms, you took a moment to trace his features one last time. Once the morning came your vision would be too blurry to take it all in. Brushing his hair back, you traced the smooth line of his eyebrows, trailing to slide along his delicate nose. With one final look around his face, your eyes came to settle upon his lips. The lips that told you things that words couldn’t possibly express when they met yours. Lips that poured out praises when he thought you looked particularly good. Your own lips moved forward to brush over his cheek and press a sweet kiss to the soft skin one last time.

When the morning came you ate a quick breakfast and helped him pack up the last of his stuff. As you moved to lay a sweater in the bag he was taking, a tear fell to land on the soft fabric. You didn’t even know you were crying. Seonghwa noticed and wiped away the tear streaks on your face. When he gave you a small smile, the dam broke and the tears came flooding back once again. You remembered your hatred for endings. It seemed like the world was playing a dirty trick on you, handing you the hardest ending of them all. He pulled you into his arms and held you tight, taking in the feeling of you in his arms for one last time. It would be hard, but he knew it would be better for you in the end. He couldn’t put you in danger because of his selfish desires any longer.

Pressing a farewell kiss to your forehead, he said the words you had longed to hear from him all along, “I love you.” Turning to open the door, he grabbed his small bag and walked out of your arms, and your life for what could be forever.

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Two weeks had passed since you last saw him. Although you hadn’t known him for long, that didn’t stop you from missing him deeply. You had spent every free minute you’d had with him. His absence would take some time to recover from.

You spent that night on the couch, falling asleep after watching some mindless show to get your mind off of things. When a knock sounded at your door early the next morning, you were jostled into consciousness. Opening the door, you gasped in shock. There he was. The man you had tried so hard to get out of your mind.

“Seonghwa.” you whispered, overjoyed to finally be in his presence again.

“I can’t do this y/n. Every thought that runs through my head begins and ends with you. I know it's selfish of me. So damn selfish. But please tell me you’ll take me back again.”

Did you even have to think about it? “Of course. This place is just as much yours as it is mine.” Pulling him into the comfort of your apartment, you barely had time to shut the door before he pressed your back to the door and captured your mouth in a heated kiss. His lips crashed onto yours continuously, beginning to pay you back for all the days you spent without them on yours. “I love you so much,” he whispered against your lips, wrapping his arms around your waist and cradling you as close to him as possible. His kisses turned gentle, dripping with emotions you had never felt before. As you ran your fingers through his faded blonde locks, he pulled back to look into your eyes. “A prince should never leave his princess,” His forehead met yours as he spoke. “I never expected to you to open the door that night. You took me in when I had nothing. I’m so grateful for that night. It gave me you.”

Everything would be okay now. Seonghwa was back in your life, right where he belonged. It looked like this wasn’t an ending after all, but a new beginning. One you were extremely grateful for.

"Oh how I've missed you, my prince."

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